The summer before middle school, I visited Korea for the first time. I was looking forward to connecting with my Korean roots as I immersed myself in the culture. I remember going to a street market excitedly. I was at a food stand when the vendor asked, “한국말 알아요?”. Do you speak Korean? Even though I was with another Korean friend, he looked only at me, as if he could see right through me. He started speaking in English and it felt like a pierce to my heart. Couldn’t he just

The words “I remember” trigger a whole host of memories, but most are from early childhood, meaning preschool and elementary school.  There’s a magical quality to those memories that can’t be tainted. I think my mind gravitates towards those because it wants to hold onto when things seemed simpler. One of my earliest “I remembers” is eating off of colorful plates with fish designs in daycare. 요리 시간, cooking time , is what it was called in Korean. If you know me, it’s very app

The footsteps were moving away. My face unclenched ever so slightly. The walls were  damp and the moss felt gold against my back. My ear was pressed against the crack. My legs just barely folded tight enough behind the stone I had somehow rolled in front. The ground covered with a mixture of moss, dirt, and soot. The small fracture in the ceiling, big enough for only maybe a roll of tape to fit in. The ridges on the back wall.  Every inch of this place would stay ingrained i

Woori Mart.  It’s spelled out in plain green letters. Our Mart.  Whose “our”? The Korean community here in New Jersey? I walk in. Immediately on my left are a few stands selling cosmetics and clothes. Glancing over, I notice a cardboard cutout of Korean star IU standing next to a bottle of refreshing green soju—a common Korean advertisement. To my right is a small food court. I decide to plow ahead first. I’m greeted by a colorful garden of fresh produce: endless boxes of gol

I drove across the appealing country roads, the azure sky filled with clouds above. A nice peace washed over me as the cool breeze whipped my hair around, the strands veering side-to-side. I noticed something was missing… Ah yes, the radio. I reached over and turned the knob, resuming the music. But something hot and runny pulled me out of my zestful reverie. As my eyes caught sight of it, a deep sense of foreboding ran down my spine. Blood.  The liquid coated my hands and wa

I met a man for coffee. He made some joke about how indecisive women are. Who knew an egg with a yolk, was like a punchline to a joke, and one could never uncrack it? I stared at him with a milk blank expression. Why so bitter? He asks, Must be the coffee, I answer. We take turns wondering rude things about each other. It’s somehow the most polite thing we had accomplished.  Why can’t she be less uptight? Why is everything that comes out of his mouth a slight? Why is she neve

The first time I cried at a gender reveal, blue confetti exploded into the air. All my prayers for a baby sister, hours of deliberating names, wasted. Blue cupcakes. Welcome, sweet baby brother #2. Mom said she’s done, so girl cousin, maybe? Year after year, aunts and uncles delighted by blue balloons, blue smoke, blue silly string. 8 little boys… and me. The baby boom is over. 6 years go by and my hope for a girl cousin evaporates… until a glimmer of hope. My youngest aun

I met my younger self for coffee. We both just made it in time.  I gave her a hug when I saw her. She looked uncomfortable as I wrapped...

It floats lazily up above, a puffy white entity looming over its lowly, landwalking subjects. It rushes through our veins, fast and...

My room is a box that holds memories and feelings, celebrations and sadness. It’s where I always come home to after good news, where I...

I’ve been hungry since January “They’re out of season.” I’m bereaved Waiting patiently, my plea becomes dated and fizzles among new priorities—in season Days darken. Rivers fill. It seems I don’t walk but rather am carried; feel work not progress time slips under my feet There, see two pomegranates waiting for me at the end of the kitchen on the counter by the window They aren’t large, but nevertheless shine right into my eyes Two stop signs. Two shining jewels. Two reminders

Together we scrambled To make it through We were chased across A hot stone bridge O’er pools of lava I cried when it burned my feet You just ran faster Every girl for herself I can’t blame you for running But I will for pushing me back behind you I think you thought Only one of us was allowed to make it So you sabotaged and sabotaged But this confounds the memories Of quiet saturday mornings When you’d get me granola bars And we’d rot before the TV For hours In a silent truce

My family started in the hidden mountains Tilling nutrient-rich soil to grow hardy foods Herding goats across untouched terrain We began in humble homes Small apartments in a unwelcoming city Surrounded and spit on by those who loathed us Young and scrappy, they ventured to the unknown to make a name for our family Constantly battered with challenges and innumerable obstacles they persevered And with little guidance, limited education, and immeasurable determination, they flo

If ortolan be eaten, what foul grace Could truly rise from gold, her silenced song? Clandestine chimes of blinding voice or lyre, From eyes unopened, lips in waiting, still. I’m beckoned to caesura, blushing sin; God, shield your sight from raw, unfaithful praise. With three white napkins covering their heads, And one, to call my name, set on the chair, What fills the silver domes, adornèd end, Like sunlit myrrh, a jub’lant chant, a mirth. What impetus have I to take my place

color unexpected the noon sky oranges and we just stare at it for now whispers whispers some shouting now in awe, we raise our heads and wonder how a hue could bear relief relief pointing at me like I should know and share while they question I dwell upon anthills anthills muted madness consider what they think dust-specks on the Earth’s mantelpiece worry worry I won’t succumb I’ll step onto the sky the world watching my pilgrimage floating

I tried to be brave but all I did was cry Every time mommy and daddy would fight I grew tired of always feeling so inferior So instead I donned a harder exterior My heart calloused over like the palms of my hands I never looked back, not one single glance I tried to be cool, thought growing up quickly would somehow make my life less shitty I thought I was so brave, so cunning and witty Men did what I wanted because I was pretty They let me think that I had the power But one r

Brushstrokes of silver starglow, the anthem of youth harmonizes with the sustained chords of age The whispers of twinkling lights uttering secrets, “don’t tell anyone!” The world slipping off my fingertips, fleeting glances of all that surrounds me I spin, the corners of the room curling into me, my surroundings tangle into a cat’s cradle An unlimited solar system and I’m the sun Spiraling into rejuvenation, toppling back to my youth, it tickles my fingertips, its humming its

Chapter I. When Fernanda was a little girl with quiet footsteps and mischievous hands, she loved to play a game where she pretended to be her mother. She would sneak into her quarters every night as crew members would gather for dinner, clashing goblets of beer and eating potatoes with thick meat. Her mother’s voice would flow through their boat as she sang with a guitar, becoming a siren every night. Her voice was like velvet, cocooning their boat in a melody that touched ev

To Preface: The banning of Cancel Culture, paradoxically, violates freedom of speech; however condemning it promotes the Constitutional rights of the people, and the safety of the people. Hence the reason for this piece's publication. Cancel Culture is a social phenomenon that has recently grown through the increased use of social media and the increased attention to social reform movements. When one is ‘canceled’ they are subjected to extreme ostracism as a result of being ‘

Authors Note: None of this content is based on CHS Eyes open, closed, open, closed. A sunny April day shines through my window. Day 164 of school, I swear it's like putting a smelly gray carpet over cherry hardwood floors, such a shame. Rolling out of bed on a school day may be the longest part of any day, but before you know it you’re outside walking to the car. “Better fix that posture of yours.” My mother shouts from inside while putting her shoes on. She takes a solid 3-5