Stream of Consciousness

Christina Standing on the precipice, I gaze down. Expecting to see a chasm of darkness, representing my uncertainty and hesitation in how to proceed, just as I have seen in the past, instead, I am met with an entirely different view. Gazing back at me, with equal fervor, is a familiar set of eyes, not quite of a stranger yet not quite my own: charcoal in color, soft with compassion yet hardened by time and experience. These eyes are those of a future self, and indeed, I am met with my own reflection. These eyes, apertures into the soul, radiate confidence, maturity, and knowledge that cast a long shadow over the confusion, naivety, and ignorance that I exude now as a seventeen-year-old. While one screams satisfaction and belonging, the other struggles to find her place and purpose in the world. The difference separating the two stages of life is massive, vastly beyond the hope of reconciliation, yet somehow, they are one; somehow, they are mine. It seems that time is the great ...

Avery                   How do I write something about the new year, something about personal reflection, while also making it something I want to share? Sometimes it’s best to leave things a bit ambiguous. I felt inspired by the concept of Gauguin’s “Where do we come from? What are we? Where are we going?” so I’ll see where that takes me.               Who am I? Where am I going? What am I doing? I don’t know. I am me, though I’m not sure who that is. I am going somewhere, though I’m not sure where that is. I am doing something, though I’m not sure what that is. I am me, always changing, always the same. Always questioning stereotypes, futures, and appearance. Always loving words, art, music, fashion, movies, photos, creatures, God, nature. I am going somewhere, always somewhere new, always coming home. Is it literal? ...

Avery A drip on the window sill, again, again. The sky’s colorful components cast away, a medley of silent hues, no blue, remain. It is fertile out there, soil darkened, leaves enriched. Each dry, despairing, desolate plant, gets a chance of revival, rejuvenation, rebirth. The pouring is unpredictable, but it happens. When will we learn the same is true for us? The seasons of dryness are fleeting, stagnancy will pave way to droplets, growth.

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...

Christina Hey Mar! Ever since the beginning, we’ve been best friends (and during our occasional fights, worst of enemies), yet regardless, we’ve been destined to be sisters. I know that I’ll be going to college in less than a year, and you’re probably secretly excited to move into my room and to sell my entire wardrobe, but to be perfectly honest, I’ll probably miss you the most. I still remember the days when we were just toddlers, still living in Georgia. You were so scared of blowing out the candles on your birthday cake that you ended up crying, so I had to blow them out for you. I guess I got two birthday wishes that year. Or the time when we were sitting on our leather couch and you fell from your upright position onto your side. Your pacifier dropped onto the floor, so I bent down, picked it up, blew on it real hard, and stuck it back into your mouth. You never noticed that it was missing. Or the time when we pretended to be videographers with that tiny, old iPhone 3. ...

Avery People spend their lives finding others, But I didn’t spend much time looking. They came to me, one after another. From childhood, to now graduating.  From the middle I came,  She was the first friend I had made. A little smaller than me, But faster than I could ever dream to be.  Big, brown round eyes,  ponytails, just like mine.  12 years later, we’re close, And for longer I know. The next with with strands so bright They turned green in the water. My best friend, since first meeting and sight, Both the oldest child and daughter. Quickly my sister, For a while, I missed her. Not as blonde anymore, But decades of sisterhood in store.  Weird, quirky, unafraid of judgement, If fun needed be, to her I went. If weeks pass without heavy discussion, One meeting, back to normal, words start rushing. A light to others once in darkness, A pure joy and nothing less. In the movie world she’ll be, ...