Stream of Consciousness

Ruth, posted by Avery I recently had the opportunity to meet with Holocaust survivors, and not only was it very amazing to hear their stories, but it was also amazing that the woman I spoke to, Ruth, allowed me to take a photo of one of her poems. She wrote it about 40 years after going into hiding. She was around nine when she went into hiding for two years, and she vividly remembers her inability to make sound, to read, to speak, and so on. While Ruth made it out safely and was able to study in the United States, many of her friends and neighbors could not. Through poems like this, her experience will live on. -Avery July 11, 1986 The Chair The room is small, in the attic, under a flat roof. Two tiny windows, in the slanted side, show pattches of sky. The chair, made of wood, straight back, uncomfortable. Seated on it is a child. From early morning till dark she sits. Does not move for fear to make a noise. Hands,  mostly idle,...

Christina It seemed like a relatively easy task at first, one that I could manage. As co-president, it was my responsibility to design a t-shirt for our class to enhance team unity and spirit in Academic Decathlon, and I only had one restriction: to keep the budget low. But soon, I realized that this task wasn’t going to be a breeze after all. Academic Decathlon didn’t even have a logo or a design that I could simply plaster on, so instead, I labored for hours, researching design ideas, sketching it out, tracing the image’s outline, and finally obtaining approval. And to make matters even more complicated, when I shared my final design with my classmates to hear their feedback, I expected praise and approval, but reality provided a stark contrast. While they prefaced their feedback with “It looks great” or “No offense” or “Just an idea,” I knew that what followed would be harsh and critical regardless of their futile attempts to soften the blow. “I wish that we could put a different im...

Avery I don’t really like to drive with other people anymore. It transitioned quickly; in March (though I had my license for 9 months), I still hadn’t driven alone, but now, moments when I am alone in my car are some of the tiny highlights of my day, all because of music.  Some people enjoy news stations, podcasts, or the silence, but I cannot recall a time when I wasn’t listening to music in the car. I’ve been on Spotify since 2015 and I have 107 playlists, which I never thought of as a lot until I saw how much fewer my friends have. This is not a mark of musical superiority or anything, but I guess the reason why I have such an abundant amount is because I make each playlist based on a different mood, a different movie, or a different aesthetic. And they can get really specific: “Cry Baby,” which is full of bands like Arctic Monkeys, the Neighbourhood, Cage the Elephant… essentially modern rock bands that make me feel cool, which I am not. Currently this, along with...