Find the shape and tell it!
All Students: Be sure to read the entries for this group --November writers). Everyone is required to comment on at least THREE different pieces of writing. You must submit comments
on Canvas (for each one, include the name of the author and the title
of their piece, and then your positive, specific comment ) by Friday, January 10 on Canvas.
It was the summer of 2024, and as the break approached, I couldn’t contain my excitement. I rushed to my friends, eager to make plans for the upcoming vacation. While the sultriness of the sun beat down on me, one of my friends, Jane, called out, “Hey, Roman! Are you free to come to my graduation party?” she exclaimed. Although I didn’t know Jane very well, I eagerly agreed, it was my final chance to say goodbye to all my upper classmates. She handed me the invitation with an excited smile, and the date was set for two days after finals, the first Saturday of my long, awaited summer break.
The days leading up to the party were filled with the grueling pressure of finals, but my mind was constantly focused on the event. As the stress of exams began to fade, my anticipation for the party grew. Finally, the day arrived, and I was both excited and anxious. What was I supposed to wear? What should I bring? What would I do when I got there? Though I knew a lot of people who would be attending, I couldn’t shake the feeling of confused uncertainty.
In the end, I accepted the fact that I couldn’t prepare for every possible scenario, so I threw on some clothes and rushed out the door. It was my first time driving to this area, and although the journey was short, I became increasingly nervous as I got closer. The address on the invitation led me to a reasonably sizable house, and I arrived too early. Panicked at the thought of being the first person to show up, I began calling my friends, desperate to know when they would be arriving. They reassured me that they would be there soon.
Once the party began, I found myself feeling overwhelmed. The booming bass and the hum of mumble rap created discomfort in my ears, and familiar faces started to fill the rooms. Seniors arrived one after another, crowding the space. I spotted John, a close friend of mine from statistics class, and we retreated to a quieter corner to play board games and card games away from the chaos.
As more people arrived and the sun began to set, John, a few other friends, and I decided to play some sports outside. Meanwhile, the mood inside shifted. College students began filling the rooms, the drinks flowed freely, and the noise grew louder. Eventually, we returned indoors, and I couldn’t help but notice a stark contrast between the party’s earlier lightheartedness and the scene that unfolded before me. The smartest students I knew, the ones who had ranked among the top of their class, were now clashing drinks. The music blared relentlessly, and the atmosphere became nauseating.
A pungent smell filled the air, something green, I couldn’t quite place. I stepped outside for some fresh air, but the odor grew stronger, nearly dizzying. I saw a small group of students, Ashtrays and green substances littered the coffee table they sat by. Soon, the scent became overwhelming. Disturbed, and I returned to the house. The music, while still loud, felt strangely comforting compared to the chaos outside.
As the night wore on, the party became more chaotic. The host began bringing out red cups and ping pong balls, and the cheers of celebration filled the air. It was surreal, some of the people I regarded with the highest respect, students I admired for their intelligence and achievements, were now partying in ways I had never imagined. The house seemed to pulse with energy. Screams, laughter, and shouts echoed everywhere. Large groups of intoxicated teens were endlessly roaming the rooms for space. As I walked through the house, I saw students slumped over on couches, others lying unconscious on the floor. The party was clearly winding down, Jane, barely able to stand, muttered something about it getting late. I soon understood it was time to leave. As my friends and I began to leave, the noise quieted, and the house began to settle into a peaceful silence.
The ride home gave me plenty of time to reflect, thinking about the people I respected the most, the smartest students I had always admired for their intellect and achievements, now engaging in behaviors I could never have imagined. This experience made me question the way I viewed others. I realized that there’s much more to people than just the way they present themselves in public. People are complex, and everyone has different sides to their personality that might not be immediately visible.
Family History, 2024
Zyrah Edwards (b. 2007)
Acrylic on canvas
The play that inspired this artwork was “The Piano Lesson” written by August Wilson. This play resonates with me because it offers a realistic perspective on how people engage with their history, especially with the symbolic conflict over the piano, which represents the struggling with honoring the past and seeking progress. This artwork symbolizes the balance between wanting to preserve history and wanting to move forward.
At first glance, you would assume the girls in the painting are twins but that is not the case. I decided to depict two girls to symbolize the internal and external conflict of being torn between the family debate of trying to sell the family piano. The mother wants her daughter to carry on her family heirlooms and values, while her uncle argues that selling the piano will allow him to buy land back in Missippi, which can benefit the family. While trying to understand both sides, she is also trying to understand her place in the family history, which is a challenge given her youth.
When making this painting, I intentionally avoided using bright colors, as the play is set in Pittsburgh 1936, and I wanted to evoke an old timey feel. I used many light colors to give small detail to my painting especially in the tree. I chose to make the carvings in the piano lighter to make it stand out, which also represents their family history. Through this work, I intend to convey the feeling of wanting to preserve history while also wanting to progress from it. This piece questions what would you do if you were in the same situation.
On October 28, 2024, the time my life completely changed. I went through a devastating crisis in life—my first-ever car accident. For me, I got ready for a normal school day. I rode my bike to school on a breezy cold morning. As I blinked my eyes, I was in the center of a car crash. In that second, I was on the floor, covered in bruises, and not being able to hear a thing. As my body acted like everything was alright, I subconsciously felt like my whole world was shaking out of balance. I was unable to grasp the situation, as I lay on the pavement waiting. In a couple minutes, my parents came and my stepfather took me home as my mother stayed to figure out the situation of the incident. As I arrived home, I went straight to my room to lie down, to fully consume what had happened to me. I looked out my window and I noticed how silent and alone it felt in my home. Not a single sound was made. It was only me and my mind. I felt so vulnerable, so lost. I did not know what to do, I was scared. I grabbed my phone and texted my significant other asking for comfort; for this person was the only one to whom I had an intimate connection. I soon realized that I texted my feelings to a wall, to a person who lacks empathy, who lacks comfort, and a lack of intimacy towards me.
My significant other did not show any signs of concern, not knowing how serious of a situation this was. I felt so heartbroken, like someone put a knife deeper into my wounds and I have never felt more alone than ever. I was at my most vulnerable, Just like a rock, I was tossed away, as it sank into a deep blue lake, a rock that had no significant value. I had no one. I questioned myself, “Is this all I am worth? Do I truly deserve this?” It felt cold.
A few days after the incident, I broke things off with my now ex-partner. It was painful to let go of something I loved so dearly, but I know that if I don’t, I will lose myself. I realized that this is not what I deserve and I shouldn't be treated like an emotional punching bag for someone’s personal use. I decided that instead of getting consumed by all the negative emotions, I’m gonna start doing things that will bring the best version of myself, a person I can be proud of becoming. I know that instead of sitting around, breaking down thinking there is no purpose in life, I took notice that if I don’t start a path for myself, there will be no journey in life for me. I realize that life goes on and I told myself that I should build a self-person that can never be broken again. Never vulnerable.
At the start of my healing journey, I designated a place where I could feel at ease, a comfort zone. The place is a park, located behind my house—a place where nature won’t judge me, nor resent, but pity me. As I sat under a tree, I could feel the cold yet gentle breeze flowing through my hair, consoling me. Time passed, and as I saw the sunset go down, many thoughts zoomed into my head. I reflected on how life is, where bad things happen to help you become stronger. I reflected on what it's like to be truly loved, to be truly wanted. A person who would never let me go, even in their worst state, someone who would love me as much as I loved them. I reflected on my mistakes as a person, and a desire to become better. I repented. I reflected on becoming a person I am proud of with no insecurities, a life where I can truly feel free and enjoyable. This burning desire to become a better version of myself became my new motivation in life, a promise to myself.
A month later, I found comfort in myself. My life was filled with peace, surrounded by nature. Nature becomes the sanctuary of my healing. Nature gave me clarity on what life truly is. In those moments of solitude, I found how to enjoy my own company. During the time I spent in nature, I realized that nothing is more rewarding than loving yourself for the actions you take, the responsibilities you bear, and the appreciation for every moment I am alive. The emotional dependency I had with my ex-partner hindered my ability to grow as a person, as I relied so much of my happiness on them. As I stood in nature listening to birds humming, and the grass flinging, I realized I’m living too. I lived in moments with people who matter the most to me, where I can love myself the same as I love others. I discovered the passions I have long neglected. I notice how much life can offer you, boosting your personal growth. I became a gentler and kinder person. Kinder, forgiving, loving yet accepting person with no resents. I grew closer with people who had reminded me how much I was worth, creating a stronger bond with them. I fully was proud of where I was in life, finally enjoying the moments that life can offer, where I could finally open my heart again to new beginnings friendships, and another chance to love. It was no longer cold anymore, but a new warmth that had been rekindled in my heart.
I remember it as though it was yesterday. It was an average day in my life, nothing interesting really occurred. I bolted through the front door, taking off my coat and school shoes complaining about the rain and how my books were completely soaked. I trudged up the stairs and slowly began to remove my drenched school uniform, peeling my tights off my legs. I threw my clothes in the laundry basket, took a shower, changed into my pyjamas, and began my homework like I always did. I made sure to call my father who was currently in California temporarily for work, like I always did. My friends and I spammed the group chat with hilarious Musical.lys like we always did. Everything was normal. Suddenly, I heard a light tapping on my bedroom door. My mother peeked her head around the corner and asked me to come to her room for a discussion. "Crap," I thought to myself. What have I done this time? I don't think I did anything. Upon entering her room, I immediately noticed my sister and brother were there also, wearing the same perplexed looks on their faces. This must be serious. At least I'm not the only one in trouble.
"I have an announcement. We will be going to join your father," my mother announced with a nervous smile, uneasiness clouding her features.
"Like for a holiday? I've always wanted to visit California!" I exclaimed. A holiday? I felt a smile take over my face as I dreamt constantly about seeing the Hollywood sign and running into celebrities on the street.
"No Ade, not a holiday. For good." Instantly my smile vanished. I've always wanted to see the Hollywood sign, but not badly enough that I'd be willing to give up my entire livelihood for it. What about my friends, people I've known since I was a baby? Did those relationships not matter? I glared at my mother with a look of betrayal contorting my features. She refused to meet my eyes.
All of a sudden, the room filled with protests and exclamations all against this impromptu move. My then 7-year-old brother looked incredibly confused. He didn't get it, but then again why would he? He will move to a new country and forget his friends in an instant. I doubted if he would even have the burden of lugging memories across the Atlantic with him the same way that I was forced to.
Thud! The door slammed harshly against the wall as my sister rushed out of the room. Perhaps she was crying, I couldn't really tell, all I could grasp at that moment was how frozen I felt. I was the type of person who hated change, and I most likely still am. I watch the same shows on repeat, eat the same meals I'm accustomed to, and talk to the same people daily. Living in America was far too much too soon for me. I wasn't ready to be bombarded by new people in an entirely new environment than what I grew up in.
As the weeks flew by, more and more furniture began to disappear. The dining table, the living room couch, even our family car which I will never know the name of as I don't care about cars that much, but I still missed it all the same. I no longer had that initial mortified feeling associated with the "Big Move" as my family liked to call it, but I wasn't completely comfortable either. Talking to my parents was futile as they already had their minds made up, and the cries of an 11-year-old girl weren't going to persuade them otherwise. July 22, 2019, was when it happened. My mother, my sister, my brother, and I all boarded a British Airways flight destined for the sunny paradise of Rancho Cucamonga, California where my cousins happened to live. 12 hours later, I stepped into my new life. The sun shone on my face, leaving me temporarily discombobulated. This was it I guess. It was time to fully embrace this experience rather than fight against it.
Fast forward 5 years, and here I am. A high school senior in the midst of college applications planning out what the rest of my life is going to look like. The only difference is now the decision is completely up to me. There is no overbearing mother selling my wardrobe to the next-door neighbor, or smothering father telling me that it is all for the best. My major, the school I attend, the courses I hope to take, and the state I choose to live in, will be my choice completely. I feel liberated. It seemed as though my entire life had been dictated by those around me, and now I have it sitting in the palm of my hand. This is all I have been yearning for since I was 11 being whisked away to a foreign country, the opportunity to make my own decisions, even if it leads me to ruin. I will navigate that ruin optimistically because at least that ruin is mine and mine alone. I feel excited for the next chapter of my life.
We are built upon the people before us. My old high school was quite literally built on the land of the Tongva, an indigenous tribe in the Los Angeles Basin. Being born and raised in LA, I was already exposed to such a diverse range of cultures. A particular society I was not very familiar with, however, was the Tongva. Despite learning about Native Americans in school, the extent to which we were taught about the different indigenous groups and where they lived was limited. The first day of high school was quite frightening for me because not only was it my first year back in person after quarantine, but I was also very bad with directions. Upon receiving my schedule, I noticed that I had P.E. for my first period. After asking seniors for instructions on how to get to the gym, I quickly found myself lost in what felt to be the biggest campus. I began to follow another student who seemed to be headed to the gym as well. Little did I know that this very path that I would start to pass through every day to get to my first period, would be one with such a rich history.
As I passed by the Tongva Springs on my way to P.E. class every morning, the sound of the water flowing always tranquilized me. The springs was bordered by a fence that I could look through just enough to see the thickness of the tall tree trunks and pond of water; it was all enchanting. My biology teacher, as well as the Environmental Club mentor, introduced the idea of volunteering at the springs. I still remember how involved and genuine she was in supporting the community and environment. At the springs our Tongvan guide, Bob, very passionately relayed to us the history of his ancestors and why this natural site matters to him. His speech inspired me to volunteer and bring my friends along to join. We volunteered at the Springs and I was tasked with raking the tree bark from off the floor and clearing the pond. We also got to see how Bob was planning to remove the invasive species such as the crayfish out of the pond in his crate boxes. As basic as it sounds, not a second was boring. We all worked together as a community and had a lot of fun along the way. There was so much to look at including the native plants and animals we helped preserve. The water in the pond was said to be clean enough to drink and there was even a story we were told about how our school’s soccer team got very thirsty and drank some water from the pond. This little spot of nature resonated very much with me. So much so, that even after I moved from Los Angeles to Fontana, I went back and volunteered again with my friends. During my volunteering visit, I was surprised by the wide variety of people who came to help. From elders to little children, and teachers to students, everyone in the community worked together to protect and maintain the spring. Bob always showed appreciation for all his volunteers and even showed us to a shed where we could view historical artifacts. It was a green shed that felt like a mini museum. As I walked around in the shed, I saw a gallery of Tongvan representing items. I don’t normally take an interest in looking at artifacts but these were very unique.
The Tongva Springs, also called the Kuruvungna Springs felt like a separate world, detached from the school that was built around it. Although Bob taught us many things about the Kuruvungna Springs, there was one thing I hadn’t learned: the actual meaning of Kuruvungna. It means “a place where we are in the sun”. I asked myself what it mean to be in the sun. As I questioned the significance of the name, I thought back to my experiences there and it clicked. My interpretation of the name was that as the sun shines bright, providing light and energy for others not relying on other forces, likewise, the springs was a natural rejuvenating area that radiated freshness and gave off peace and resources.
It was so rewarding to be a part of the volunteers helping not only the Tongva community but also the school. By volunteering at the Tongva Springs, not only did we help to preserve native land, but we also spread awareness of the importance of the historical site. Because of volunteers like us, the Spring continues to be a protected land that gives us a glimpse of the past while also reminding the community of students who once lived on the ground they walk on.
“What does it mean to bring home a victory after an eight year losing streak?” This is what I thought to myself on the evening of November 9, 2024, on the whole bus ride home from the most important Key Club event of the year, Fall Rally South.
Key Club is the largest student-led community service organization for high school students, but also a place to make new connections. A handful of high school Key Clubs make up a Division, and every November, hundreds of Divisions from Southern California, Nevada, and Hawaii journey to Six Flags Magic Mountain to compete at Fall Rally South. Thousands of Key Clubbers come to compete at Spirit Sessions and Spirit Battles with chants and cheers that celebrate our community service efforts, fundraising for charity, and Key Club Spirit. The main event is the Spirit Sessions that take place at an amphitheater in the theme park throughout the day. Here, a few dozen divisions face off to win the coveted Spirit Stick, with chants and cheers that have been meticulously written by Spirit Coordinators and rehearsed by members for months. Etiwanda High School Key Club belongs to the Division 15 North Giraffes, along with eight other schools from the Inland Empire area. On November 9, 2024, Division 15 North took home the Spirit Stick for the first time since 2016.
As a Freshman, I fell in love with Key Club as we were practicing for Fall Rally South 2021. I felt so excited, alive, and connected to the new friends around me who made me feel like I was worth something, as we jumped and cheered together. I also looked up to the hardworking officers who showed me kindness and saw potential in me. That year, we had made it to the third round, but due to time and safety constraints, we were unexpectedly cut from the round. My Freshman year was just the beginning of my journey.
During my Sophomore year, I was picked to go on as an Emergency Cover, and cheer at the front of the Division with the Spirit Committee at Fall Rally South 2022. While I was just an understudy, it mattered to me. I was happy to just be a part of our division as another enthusiastic voice in the crowd, but getting recognized for the love and passion I harbored within me felt like a massive honor. We proudly made it to the final round, but couldn’t swing it.
In Summer 2023, when applications for the Spirit Committee opened, I submitted an audition as soon as I could. I was selected as a Regular Spirit Coordinator, and once again felt honored to be part of the team. In my Junior year, I also served as Vice President of our home club, which came with its own challenges. In October 2023, there were major arguments between officers across our division. These public quarrels were between a teammate of mine on the Spirit Team, my own friends, and the leaders who were meant to be guiding our division. I felt as if this unrest went against every core value we were meant to be exemplifying as officers. If we as officers could not uphold the values of leadership, inclusivity, caring, and character building that our organization is built on, how could we ask our members to do the same?
Ultimately, when we went to compete at Fall Rally South 2023, we were not operating at our best. The effects of dissent among our officers, disorganization in how we taught chants, and spotty leadership manifested in the way we placed fifth in our Spirit Session. I couldn’t help but mull over our mistakes. I realized that I needed to lead by example at all times. If I wanted to see positive change, success, and a high level of commitment happen within our division, it needed to start with me.
Suddenly, it was Summer 2024. Applications were open again. I had been elected and installed as the President of Etiwanda High School Key Club. I submitted my audition for Main Spirit Coordinator, and hoped for the best. I was selected as one of two Main Spirit Coordinators, the other Captain being a younger fellow officer who I have so much love in my heart for. Our Spirit Team of six, scrappy, spirited kids used the months of August and September to write two, strong, memorable one minute chants, and also to get to know each other. Before our eyes, we realized we only had eight weeks from the first Key Club Meeting of the year to get our members informed, prepared, and ready for Fall Rally South 2024.
This was a challenge that I didn’t know if I could take on. It became exhausting to spend every week organizing, planning, and facilitating events, members, and meetings, to then spend every Friday, Saturday, and Sunday working at community service events, teaching high energy chants to groups of teenagers, or, when I was especially lucky, doing both in one day. However, I got to make countless memories. Eight weekends of service and social events meant eight weekends of getting to know members, laughing loudly with them, seeing them serve with passion and exuberance, and watching my members and officers become close friends with each other. In these eight weekends, my Spirit Team and I taught our Division two Main Chants, and around 10 shorter Battle Chants.
After these eight whirlwind weekends, it was the big day. It was surreal to realize I was in the shoes of the Presidents and Spirit Captains who came before me, and had each inspired me so deeply in my youth. Our Division did everything we could to leave it all on the floor. We made an effort to secure a front-row spot in the amphitheater, practiced hard, and tried to keep our spirits up. Lucky for me, I came down with a cold the night before, so I conserved my energy, and ate real food before going in for the Spirit Session, so that I could give our chants my best effort.
In my mind now, it is difficult to recall exactly what it was like in our Spirit Session, as those moments were so transcendent and overwhelming that I can hardly remember them now. It was like we filed into the front row, I blinked, and suddenly, the final tallies were being added up. In another blink of an eye, I hear our Division, my Division 15 North, get announced as the winner, and all of us couldn’t help but spring up, scream, cheer, and celebrate our victory. I started sobbing uncontrollably. I had been fighting for a Spirit Stick, a championship, a title for four years, and that whole time I never even knew what the Spirit Stick looked like. Holding it in my hand filled me with an indescribable feeling. The hours after our win didn’t feel any more real, as I embraced my friends, took pictures, cried some more, and most shockingly, realized our Division hadn’t won in eight years.
I acknowledge that it is objectively a silly thing to care so much about. Stomping, clapping, cheering, and chanting at a theme park for a chance to win a cardboard Spirit Stick with plastic flowers hot glued on it is inherently unserious. In the grand scheme of things, this is far from the most important thing happening on the planet. However, I believe that it is everything we did together to win that stick that matters most.
The true victory can be seen in the smiles on my returning members’ faces when they leave an event where they got to make a difference in our community. It can be heard in the loud laughter of my members when they find people who make them feel like they belong. It can be found in the way I’ve watched my officers grow into confident leaders, caring friends, and passionate young people who are emboldened to make the world around them a better place. The true victory is knowing that I did it with and for the younger selves who exist within me, and in honor of the officers who put me where I am today.
I got to call Division 15 North my home for four years. Knowing that four years of spirit and service culminated in a historic victory is the most awe-inspiring reminder of the memories, spirit, and love that I have for this club. “What does it mean to bring home a victory after an eight year losing streak?” I now know that it means an unforgettable sense of gratitude, for every officer, member, and friend who fought with us for eight weekends to take home our first win in eight years. It means that we can call it ours, and really mean it.
I remember growing up and talking to myself because no one else would listen. Being so quiet people wondered if I could speak. Most times my consciousness resided in my imagination, with fantasies of the all unattainable. I didn’t dream of superpowers or clouds made of cotton candy. I imagined times where my stuffed animals were people. I’d wish for them to help me make friends and console me when I couldn’t. For them to kiss my wounds and dry my tears. I wished to hear them say they’re proud when I drew our family picture. I held onto this dream, and to me, it became a reality. I took them everywhere I went, from grocery stores to dentist appointments. We sat together on long rides, visits and mediation. They distracted me when there was arguing ear to ear and when the weekends felt too long. I remember tugging on my mothers sweater while holding my stuffed animals; I'd given my tiger a new haircut. Wanting to show her with the big smile on my face, she looked down and to my surprise, she took them. I was far too old, and it was childish, she said. They then became a dream to forget.
I tried to navigate life around me alone, finding a new means to my adventures. Now all my attention had turned to my mom. I showed her all the things I did with them hoping for some sort of reconciliation. It just wasn’t the same. And suddenly now, my drawings weren’t worth mentioning anymore, and my cuts and scrapes bled by themself, and the tears pooled in my eyes. I didn’t understand why she was any different. I was able to go unnoticed; what felt like a recurring theme in my life. Slipping into my imagination fantasizing about what life would be like if I were different. I sought for someone or something, like my animals, to comfort me. I watched as the kids around me got along so easily, and I wondered what it’d be like to have that closeness. I tried to create my own distractions like writing stories or coloring in the hall. There wasn’t a thing I could do to take the feeling of loneliness away.
As a result, I spent my time thinking. My mind wandered but would never shut off. The absence of a distraction created a little voice in my head. Although it was faint it could bring a shock to my chest. It could sting my heart and shatter my confidence. It was easy to compare the lives of others and swap assumptions about those around me. It has always been easier to notice the bad rather than the good, because once you know how to find it you can’t ever miss it.
As I got older my dreams shifted with my age. I had still hoped for comfort. I carried so much love to give but no one to share it with. I met people along the way who I attached too easily. I poured the entirety of myself in them in hopes of validation. The lack of reciprocation made me question my worthiness. I was constantly searching for a filler, a placeholder, anything to keep me from my own thoughts. The silence wasn’t something I was comfortable with. It was driving me wild.
And as the months went by It felt like I was pushed further apart from the world around me. I spent hours staring at walls submerged in my thoughts. I felt paralyzed by my mind in a body I didn’t even feel was my own. It felt like they had a disconnect and most days it seemed like I was watching myself from the outside. I wanted to be invisible. I never knew how to reach out or what to say. And in all honesty I couldn’t even find the words to utter what the matter was. I just always knew there was something. It created a discomfort with who I was. Who was I meant to be? I wondered if I had genuine purpose.
I don’t remember exactly how it went but slowly I began to understand myself. With each new experience, hurtful or not, I learned. Change is hard and so is acception. I had never let go of who I thought I was. Always comparing myself so that I never built my own sense of identity. I used to believe I was simple and humble. Never breaking my patience, never being cruel or falling to the obscenities of the world. It’s taken a lot to recognize that I am not perfect. I am flawed in every direction. I get upset and I shut down and I don’t always do what’s right. I tried so hard to conform and mold into who I used to be, or desired to be. The thing is that it would never of worked. Change is inevitable. It’s only when you let go of the expectation, it’s a lot easier to see the beauty it may bring.
Soma - Aubrey Talines
The Strokes’ “Soma” is the inspiration behind this piece. I remember asking when this project was introduced, if it would be possible to use a song instead of a literary work, as I knew from the very beginning that I wanted to make my project about a song by this band. The images drawn in my piece are essentially what comes to mind whenever I listen to this song; Soma is a prescription drug intended to relax muscles, represented by the pill drawn, with one half being inspired by the album that this song is off of, Is This It. The other images are of Powder/Jinx from Arcane, and while there isn’t a specific character to this song, I feel like she can definitely embody the lyrics that I used, as, after being abandoned, she was forced to seek refuge through other means, changing her view on life and the people around her. This piece is a mixed media of various materials that I figured would go along with the piece. I knew that I wanted it to be less “polished”, as “Soma” and the other songs from that album were intentionally produced to be “gritty” and not “too clean”, which I wanted to reflect. Some of the materials that I had used are a canvas pad (which for many years I had failed to find use for), washable markers, cardboard, and the bottom of a Trader Joe's bag. The song itself is rather energetic and upbeat, despite the darker lyrics, so I aimed to use bright and vibrant colors, contrasted by the neutral browns of the paper and cardboard to show that. To end off with, it goes without saying, but I would definitely recommend you guys to check the song out for yourselves!! It’s short, but the buildup towards the last 30 seconds always leaves me wanting to replay the song a few more times just so I can hear it again.
I am a young, working class woman, currently studying to get a college degree in Aeronautical Engineering. Sounds complicated, right? That is what I would have said a mere two days ago, all before my life went downhill. I lived in a one bedroom apartment, I had no roommates–the only people who would visit were family & friends. One night, I was cooking myself a meal in the evening, when I heard a click at the door, before it suddenly swung open. My parents were out of town, I had not invited any friends over as it was a weekday. I was startled, and cautiously made my way to the front of my apartment, kitchen knife in hand for safety. When I approached the door, it was wide open. I could feel the cold breeze on my body, but no one was there. Was it the wind? It could not have been; the wind had not been harsh that night. That was when a man came from behind, grabbed me, and locked me in a chokehold. I was gasping for air, and my heart was racing. I clutched the kitchen knife which the man had not accounted for, and sliced his arm open. He let go of me in a fit of rage and pain. He yelled as blood dripped and seeped into the cracks of the floorboards.
Crash! Bang!
The man raced around the house, running into walls, knocking over furniture,
attempting to find something to treat the open wound. While doing so, I noticed
he grabbed a fork to attack me with. Not wanting to prolong the confrontation,
I sprinted toward him and sent the knife into his gut. With a shocked grunt of
pain, he slid down the wall onto the floor and began bleeding out. Realizing
what I had done, I dropped the knife and screamed in terror upon the sight of
the dying man. I was reluctant to call 9-1-1, as I wanted to help him, but did
not want to get arrested myself. Soon I gave in to my worries and dialed the
police, attempting to stay calm as the man gagged, holding on to the last bits
of life he had remaining.
Several minutes later, officers arrived on the scene and took me away. The man had already passed away. I had failed to help him, and felt I should be punished. My memories from that point were blurred, until they took me into a private room for questioning. My father told me that if anything were to happen and I ended up in the hands of the law, I needed a lawyer. I was conscious of the fact that the decisions I made up to this point were not very logical, and instead made out of fear alone. I knew it was not the right call to suck up to the man who was interviewing me at the other end of the table, but I felt that I needed to tell the truth, if anything, for the man I killed–and so I did. They let me go later that night–lucky me–but I had to stay with a friend. I could not go back to my apartment, not until the investigators were finished with their work. An officer dropped me off in front of my friend’s residence and assured me that everything would be alright. It was not alright. Nothing was okay–I had a gut-wrenching feeling deep within me, that I felt would never leave me until the day I die. As I sat there in front of the home for a moment, I came to realize that such feeling was not for the man I murdered out of self defense, but for something more. The night breeze began to pick up, forcing me out of my daze. It startled me, as I looked around. I felt as if someone was attempting to sweep me off my feet, or, at least, there was a sensation of someone breathing down the back of my neck. I could not tell, nor distinguish the feelings. I was overwhelmed. I quickly ran up to the door of the home and repeatedly knocked until my friend answered and brought me to safety.
I remained in the home for most of the duration of the following day, it had already been well into the evening before I even thought about leaving for the outdoors. I stared out the window for a while, before noticing something peculiar behind a neighbor’s fence. I squinted, and managed to make out a face, presumably belonging to a tall figure that was hidden behind the wood. I felt a sudden urge to approach it, as if it was calling me. It was not out of curiosity, though rather a feeling I cannot explain, even now. I called out to my friend that I was going out for a walk, and made my way across the street toward the figure, if not for looking away for even a moment to itch my hip. It disappeared. I was both confused and gravely disappointed. I looked around, as far as the streetlamps would let me see. I saw nothing. For some reason, I failed to note the fact that I felt obligated to approach the figure in the first place, and instead simply returned to where I was previously. As I approached the door, the breeze kicked up once more, and this time, it howled. I was quite disturbed, but decided to investigate. At this point, it had been the second instance of the wind randomly picking around me. Though, something that caught my attention was the fact that it was making so much noise despite not being very powerful. Then, I realized that the howling was, in fact, not the wind, but instead was sourced from that same “thing” I saw earlier. It sprinted toward me, and not wanting to lead it into the house, I ran in the opposite direction, screaming. I knew of a church nearby that I used to attend with my parents when I was younger, and opted to hide there. As I approached the chapel, I began to spot more strange creatures, who seemed to pay no mind to me. Strange and scary sights all the same.
I barged into the house of worship and slammed shut the large wooden doors behind me, taking a breath. The church was quiet and dimly lit with candles. It was jarring, experiencing such commotion outside only to find true peace within the one place you would expect. My footsteps echoed as I made my way to the other end of the building.
“Who goes there? Why, here, at such an hour? Does one seek guidance? Forgiveness, perhaps?”
I recognized the voice. A soothing warmth came over me as soon as I was called. A robed man emerged from a dark corner of the hall.
“Father Mateo!”
“Ay, mi hija! Been quite a while, has it not? What has been troubling you?”
I told him everything, from the murder, to the creature that chased me all the way here. I was expecting him to question me further, but he understood. He responded as if he had dealt with such a thing countless times before. Slow knocks echoed through the hall, as our attention turned to the large wooden doors. Mateo called out.
“Come in, if you must! Though, you may not find this place welcoming to your kind.”
The doors barged open, revealing the same dark creature that had been following me all this time. The doors slammed shut behind it, as it gradually made its way down the hall, toward me. Mateo, with such swiftness, grabbed an unlit candle and chucked it at the thing, bouncing off of its dark skin and splatting on the concrete floor. Still, the creature paid no mind to Mateo.
“What was that?”
I questioned, out of curiosity for his methods.
“–Confirming my suspicion that this demon can, indeed, interact with our world.
With that being said, I advise you to take cover behind me, my dear.”
I did as he said, shuffling behind him, as he bent over and searched within an open cabinet inside the podium which he would preach. To my surprise, he did not take out a scripture, or even a cross, no–he grabbed a shotgun. I was overwhelmed with fear and confusion, as I expressed such with random, nonsensical noises.
“Cover your ears. What I am about to do has not been approved by the Vatican.”
He aimed and fired, striking the creature right in the dome, as it flopped over and sunk into the floor, appearing as a dark, sludgy mess. From that point forward, I regularly visited Father Mateo. I still see those “demons” to this day, but none pay mind to me. I have begun studying them, as they come in all shapes and sizes. This was not the life I was expecting, but I am glad it all turned out okay.
“Tighten your grip on the line, Arin.” said her father. They were in the water, guiding the boat. It was a sunny day, with a fresh breeze blowing through the air. Her dad was wearing his usual boating attire: cargo shorts, a t-shirt and a fishing hat. She always made fun of how goofy his hat looked, and he’d always say, “I’d rather look ridiculous for a couple hours than get burned.” She tightened her grip, and pulled on the line to angle the sail. Her dad shot her an approving glance. He didn’t need to tell her how to do this anymore. She was a pro and She loved making him proud.
“Can we take it out further today?” she asked. She always wanted to sail as far as the wind would take them. But they always had to go back to shore.
“You know what, sure kiddo.” Arin couldn’t believe it, but she didn’t say anything in case he changed his mind. She tied the line to the mast and joined her dad at the wheel.
They steered the boat further south. The further they got, the more excitement filled Arin. Sailing with her dad was one of her favorite things in the world. There was nothing else like it. She looked around, taking in the scene.
A pillow hit her face.
“Get up,” said her sister Willow. “I already told Martha you were making up your bed.”
Arin needed a second to take in her surroundings. No, she was not out on the water with her dad, of course not, he was gone. She was in the dreary bedroom she shared with her sister in their group home.
“Arin, come on, she's already in a mood today.” Willow tried to pull her up, but Arin growled at her.
“Just go tell her I’ll be down in a sec,” she said. Her sister disappeared down the hall. Arin sat in bed for a few more minutes, trying to wake up. She hated having those kinds of dreams. About the way things were before. They dug a pit in her stomach. She didn’t have time for that. She hardly ever had time for anything other than Martha’s chores for her and the other girls. Martha was the manager of their group home, and she was a tyrant. Like Cinderella’s evil stepmother on steroids. And she was incredibly strict about the girls being up and doing their chores by seven every morning.
Arin got up and made her bed, then got ready for her day. When she went downstairs, Martha was nowhere to be seen, thankfully. The other girls were already working, a couple in the kitchen making breakfast, and others working in and out of the house. Arin sat on the stool next to her sister at the counter. They had a little bit of time to eat before they had to get to work. They got to do their chores together, which made things more tolerable.
“Did you have another dream about him?” Willow asked. It startled Arin that Willow knew when she was dreaming about their past. It made her uncomfortable. She didn’t like to talk about it.
“Uh,” she hesitated. “Yeah. I did.” Willow gave her a sympathetic look, but she didn’t pry. She knew her sister. Willow was young when their dad passed. Well Arin was too, she was only thirteen, but Willow was younger. Willow didn’t sail with them often, and Arin secretly enjoyed it. She loved her sister, but she also liked bonding with her dad, just them.
The girls ate and cleaned up, then they went to go do their chores. Arin and Willow’s jobs for the day included going into town to buy paint and stuff for the garden, and then going back to the house to put what they bought to work. They had to walk, which was nice because it gave them more time alone and outside the house, but not so nice when they’re carrying buckets of paint and bags of soil.
Walking also gave Arin a lot of time to think, which she was always doing. She lived in her head. On the walk back from town, she thought about the night before. Martha had come back to the house in a terrible mood. She was furious. About what, nobody knew, but she took it out on the girls. She yelled and threw things, and made them clean it up. Arin hated how terrible she treated them. But whenever she tried to stick up for them, Martha would lock her in her room, like she did last night. What's worse than that is that she’d lock Willow in with her, even if she hadn’t done anything.
As they arrived at the house, Willow’s arms gave out and she dropped the bag of soil on the ground.
“Oh jeez,” she dropped to her knees, futilely trying to collect the spilled soil. “Martha’s gonna kill me.”
As Arin knelt down to help her sister, an angry voice sounded behind them.
“What on earth have you done?” Martha asked. “What a waste! I ought to ground you for that.” There was nothing any of the girls wanted less than to be stuck in that house twenty-four seven.
“It was an accident, I’m sorry Ms. Wallace.” Willow said, trying her hardest to appease her. Arin hated when she addressed her like that. The last thing Martha deserved was their respect.
“That’s no excuse. Clean this up immediately, then go tell Hayley and Phoebe that you’ll do their chores today. It's the least you can do.”
Willow and Arin already had a lot to do today, and adding two other girls’ jobs would be too much. Arin had to step in.
“That’s not fair, it was a mistake. One that wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t make us carry all of this on a nearly two mile long walk.”
Things escalated very quickly after that. Martha had just as much patience for Arin as Arin had for her. Arin thought about all of the things they had endured since their dad passed, and since being in the group home. She wasn’t sure how much more she could take. Which is the only reason why she pushed Martha out of her face, and grabbed Willow’s hand and ran.
Arin was not one to act on impulse. But when she thought about staying in that house for any longer, she couldn’t stand it.
So they ran. And Martha chased them, shouting.
They lived on a small island, so she knew they couldn’t go very far until they reached water. She didn’t know what to do after that.
As they neared the docks, Arin realized there was nowhere else to run. She looked around, trying to figure out their next move.
“What now?” Willow asked, frantic.
Arin was still looking when her eyes fixed on a sailboat. It wasn't much, it was a bit small and one of the sails looked tattered. But it could work. It was anchored about a hundred feet from the dock. They would have to swim. And it being out there meant that its owner was nearby, or possibly in it.
“Arin?” There was no time. She grabbed Willow’s hand and took off down the dock. The sound of shouting got louder behind them.
“Jump!” Arin shouted. The girls leapt from the dock into the water and started swimming.
Once they reached the boat, Willow managed to get up first, then she helped Arin.
“Okay,” she said. “This is more your domain than mine. What do we need to do?”
Arin picked up a rope attached to one of the sails and ran her thumb over the knot. She thought of the sailing lessons with her father. The wind in her hair, the gentleness in her father’s voice as he guided her through taking off, how exhausted she’d be when they docked. She thought of him then, how he’d want her to leave all of this behind her. All he ever wanted was for Willow and Arin to have everything they needed, and what they needed most was to get away from here and never look back. She looked up at Willow who was waiting for a response.
“Go check for any supplies,” she said. “Food, water, first aid kit, anything we’ll need.”
“Got it.” Willow went around the boat looking for anything useful. She found a first aid kit and a cooler with some snacks and water. There were also two sets of clothes. “Hey! I found a wallet. Two of them!” She walked over to her sister to look at their contents with her. “Seventy-three dollars and some change. Nice.”
“It's not a lot,” Arin began. “But it is something. I might have some cash on me too. Just whatever's in my pockets. I didn’t have the chance to grab anything.” She started getting nervous.
Willow noticed. “We’ll figure it out. We always do.”
She was always trying to find a silver lining. Before Arin could object, someone shouted at them. “Hey! Hey, that's my boat!” The girls looked and saw a couple not too far from them in the water. They looked upset.
“Let's get this show on the road, shall we?” Willow quipped. “Or show on the water, I guess.” While Arin got the boat moving, Willow dug through the cooler until she pulled a sandwich out.
“What are you doing?” Arin asked.
“I don’t want to keep their wallets.” She took the sandwich out of its plastic bag and put the wallets inside of it. She blew air into the bag so it puffed up, then she sealed it. Arin gawked at her. “What?”
“We’re taking their boat and you’re worried about their wallets?” Arin questioned.
“We just need the money, not the other stuff,” Willow pointed out. “We need to boat too, but we don’t need their identities.” Arin hadn’t thought about that.
“Okay, just hurry. We have to go.” Willow tossed the sandwich bag at the couple, who was still shouting at them.
“Sorry!” She tried to apologize, but the couple cursed at them. “We’re desperate!”
Arin got everything in its position, and soon they were off. She took one last look at the island. She was raised there. Everything she knew was on that island. But it was not her home. Not anymore. Her home was with her sister, wherever that may be.
So they took to the sea. They sailed for as long as the wind would carry them, and then they went some more. They traveled far, through sunny and stormy seas, in search of a place they could start fresh. A place like the one their father described to them when they were young.