Category Archives: Multicultural

A New Home

James was lying on the back seat of the car with his feet outstretched. He looked at his mother through the rearview mirror to see if she was watching, and then he peeked through the zipper on his bag to check on his phone. The phone was at seven percent–James was pleased that his tactics had worked. He had set his screen brightness to the maximum and turned on his mobile flashlight when he had gotten into the car at school.

“Mom, my phone died already. It was like fifty percent when I got in the car!”

“Give me the phone.” James’ mom snatched it from his hands and inspected it. “How did the battery die so quickly?”

“I don’t know! Why can’t you just buy me a new phone?”

“I bought this for you a week ago and you’re telling me you already need a new one? We’ll deal with this later; for now, let’s just get going.”

“But Mom, I need my phone for school tomorrow and all the Apple shops close at seven.”

“I can always buy you a flip phone or give you your dad’s old one.”

“But Mom, I need…”

“Not now, James.”

Impatiently, James tossed his phone onto the seat beside him. The real reason he wanted a new phone was that it had gotten scratched in his bag, but now he might be stuck with his dad’s old phone.

Instead of turning the car back on, James’ mom pulled the key out of the ignition.

“Why’d we stop?”

“The streets are too narrow. We’ll get out here, travel by foot. The apartment is over there,” she said.

James looked around. Unlike downtown Seoul, the streets were dark and the sidewalks were empty. The usually smooth pavement in the road was severely cracked and gray.

“Mom, why aren’t we going home?” he asked.

“I already told you. Weren’t you listening? We’re going to look at a few homes and hopefully make a deposit on one.”

“We already have a home. Why are we buying a house in this filthy neighborhood?”

James already knew exactly why his mom was trying to buy a house. He was only hoping that she would realize how ridiculous the whole idea sounded. She had explained how Korea’s taxes were unreasonably high but that because of a loophole, families could save a little bit on their taxes by adding a second address and pretending to live separately.

With an irritated sigh, James got out of the car and dragged his feet through the streets. A sudden movement caught him by surprise. On the other side of the tall gate he was passing through, he saw a young boy staring right back at him. James took a few steps back. The boy was wearing sandals and two t-shirts in the middle of a cold winter afternoon.

“Hello,” said the boy quietly. He awkwardly scratched his left ear and continued staring.

James had never engaged in a conversation with someone so poor. He was unsure what to say, so he remained silent. After a few seconds, James turned away and ran to catch up with his mom.

Entering the building, the first thing he noticed was the lack of an elevator. Wasn’t this apartment supposed to be on the third floor? As he pulled himself up the stairs with a scowl on his face, James could smell a different odor on every floor. A strong smell of cats on one floor, then burnt plastics on the next.

The stairs opened directly onto the roof. All there was to see up here were a few empty flower pots and a greasy grill.

“Why are we on the roof? Where’s the third floor?”

“This is it. This is our home.”

“The roof? The roof is our home?”

“There it is over there. Isn’t it cute?”

James looked doubtfully at his mom’s face, checking to see if she was cracking a joke, but she seemed to be completely serious. Was she delusional? Then James noticed the small shack in the center of the roof. He walked over to it and cranked open the rusty door that had drooped and embedded itself into the floor. Inside, there was barely enough room for a mattress and a sink. Behind it was a separate, even tinier room with a toilet and a showerhead attached above.

“How do you expect anyone to live here?”

“Well, we won’t really be living here. We’re just here to see what we’re buying.”

Right as James was about to exit the shack, he accidentally kicked a can of cola. The can was nearly empty and only a few drops spilled out.

“Do people live here?” he asked.

“This has been a home to many people. The most recent people living here were a couple, and they were fine.”

James tried to imagine how people in his neighborhood could endure living in such a small and wretched home. He remembered the foul smells coming from the floors below and wondered what the conditions were like on those levels. The buildings to the right and left–an entire landscape of old, deteriorating apartments–were all homes to people without the chance to enjoy anything that he had.

After not even four minutes in their new home, James and his mom decided to stroll back to the car. After all, there wasn’t much to look at. When he reached the car, he paused and looked over his shoulder. He had hoped the boy from earlier would still be there, but he seemed to have gone back inside to avoid the cold weather. After taking off his goose-fur jacket, James gently hung it over the boy’s fence.

James’ mom was focused on her phone screen. “Hurry, Apple stores close at seven!” she said.

“What?”

“Didn’t you say you needed a new phone?”

“No, my phone’s working again,” James said as he shivered and stepped back into the car.

By Ace Yeom, age 15, Seoul, South Korea. This was selected as one of the Noteworthy Entries in our 2021 Youth Honor Awards program.

Intoxicated: My Life with Social Media

By Isaac Choi, 16, Oregon.

As one critic of social media observed, “There are only two industries that call their customers ‘users‘: illegal drugs and software,” said Edward Tufte, a computer scientist in The Social Dilemma. According to a 2018 Pew Research Center survey of 750 teens, 97 percent used social media and 45 percent were addicted to it. I was one of those teens. I first tasted the social media world on my 12th birthday. I had nagged my mother for months, and now it was in my grasp. I quickly became absorbed by the features and abilities that social media possessed. In my first few days, social media consumed my mind. I thought about it during school, at dinner, and even in my sleep. Its presence stalked me like a tiger in a forest and lingered like a ghost at night. I fell into an abyss of likes, followers, and posts. From the moment my eyes landed on the scrolling screen, a habit instantly formed, beginning the intoxication of my mind.

About a year after developing my profile, I developed a daily routine. After school, I would seize my phone to browse social media apps. It was supposed to be a positive way to connect to the outside world and join the online community. But that was not the case. Instead, I became obsessed with how many followers and likes I had. It separated me from reality and presented me with a false identity. I had become a salesman and an addict; I thought of ways to appeal to people to follow me, just as a CEO would handle marketing. For example, if I took photos from my chin up, my insights showed deflation in followers, whereas if I took pictures from a head to heel angle, I would experience inflation. I would try to recreate the bios and profile pictures they had. It made me feel invincible, numbing my mind with ecstasy. This kid who never touched social media before was now living the high life.

By the end of next year, I was a living disaster. I was consumed by social media. Instead of spending time with family on holidays, I sneaked into my account, and I scrolled through posts, instead of completing schoolwork. Consequently, my life was full of procrastination and constant fights with my family. I was stressed by the pressure of trying to support my “perfect” reality online. But thankfully, this cycle came to a sudden halt.

It was around seven or eight p.m. on a Saturday when my mother called me to the living room. She wanted to show me a documentary on Netflix. My mother is not a lukewarm parent; instead, she is the total opposite- a “tiger” mom. With that being said, my mother watched my social media addiction with an eagle eye. She saw that I was not able to live with both social media and school, and realized that I needed change; not by a minor fix through small talk but by a dramatic metamorphosis. At first, I had no idea what it was about, but I just stayed until I saw the title.

As soon as I saw the words, The Social Dilemma, sweat droplets rose from my palms and my back. I had heard from a blog that the documentary could turn the lives of addicts completely around. It motivated people to delete their social media apps and renew their lives. But I did not want to be a part of that. I detested the thought of quitting social media and giving up my “perfect” reality. But, my mother insisted that I just watch and listen. So to avoid any conflict, I stayed, but the sweat slowly rolling down my back added to my uneasiness.

The Social Dilemma resurrected me from the gorges of temptation and deceit. As I watched former employees of tech companies like Facebook and Google give their testimonies on how the industry managed social media, everything they said was an explanation for my addiction. One employee said that the companies looked at people’s views on posts and recommended similar content. This led to addiction. Another employee said that companies would send notifications to attract users. This led to distraction. From that point on, I told myself that I would not be brainwashed by money-loving trolls who took advantage of the vulnerable, which led me to believe that social media was not an app, but a drug.

After the documentary ended, my mother asked me how I felt about it. I hid my true feelings and said that it was boring because I still had the desire for social media within me. But suddenly, my mother wanted me to make a decision: either choose social media or my life. I did not want to do this, so conflict was the only alternative. While I was resting my hoarse voice, a calm rushed over me. Instead of resuming the conflict, I suddenly wished for a newer life, full of meaning and purpose. That was when I made the choice that changed my life, one that would influence my future. With that, I quit and deleted all my social media apps and accounts.

The aftermath of this decision led to so many great results. I started a successful club at my school, became number one in my class, and started a new sport. What began as a tumultuous odyssey to becoming an addict eventually evolved into a tour of reflection. I had no sense of reality and most importantly, I was intoxicated by false illusions of perfectness. But I found a light that shines my true self, revealing my potential and purpose.

The first step to any recovery is seeking help. The Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration (SAMHSA) helpline combats addictions from drugs to social media. For more information, visit: samhsa.gov. Thus, will you linger intoxicated or refresh into a successful life? Your choice will direct your path in life. Social media may get dopamine rushing all over the body, but there are many other highs in life which we can all embrace.

By Isaac Choi, age 16, Oregon. This was selected as one of the Noteworthy Entries in our 2021 Youth Honor Awards program.

Sit by Me

By Sonia Mehta, age 17, Russian-Indian heritage, Ohio.

“Excuse me. Is this seat taken?”

Anika glances up to see pleading eyes.

“Sorry,” Anika says, looking past the girl. “Our friend asked us to save the seat.” She resumes her lunch.

The newcomer leaves. From the corner of her eye, Anika watches the new girl navigate through the crowded cafeteria. Two noisy upper classmates jostle her to the side. Anika clenches her fork. They keep walking as though the girl is invisible. The newcomer chooses an unoccupied table in the corner and sits. Anika’s chest tightens. She takes a deep breath. No relief.

“Anika, you’re mean,” Cynthia says.

“Her name’s Darsha,” Meghan adds from across the table.

“Who?” Anika feigns.

“The new student,” Cynthia replies.

“Oh, I don’t know her.”

Meghan pushes her thick glasses to the top of her broad freckled nose. “Is she from the same part of India as you?” She tugs at her thin red hair.

“No. Different region.”

“She looks a little like you, Anika. But darker.” Cynthia twists her wavy chestnut hair around her plump index finger.

Anika feels a guilty pleasure hearing these words. The desire for lighter complexions in parts of India is a poorly kept secret. The classified section of the India Today newspaper is filled with matrimonial ads. Prospective brides are described as having ‘wheatish’ or ‘cream’ complexions. The defining characteristic of men is ‘successful.’

“I feel bad for her,” Meghan says.

“Someone should talk to her,” Cynthia adds.

Anika knows this means someone else. The friends look at Darsha. She is short and thin. Her long black hair glistens with coconut oil. It is pulled back into a messy ponytail, exaggerating the roundness of her face. She wears denim pants that are a size too large and a dull green t-shirt. Darsha stares at her plate, playing with uneaten food.

Anika rakes her fingers through her freshly straightened caramel-tinted hair. It accentuates her heart-shaped face. She tugs on the collar of her cropped Brandy Melville shirt.

“We can’t associate,” Meghan says, “or we’ll be losers too.”

Anika considers protesting but does not. She has ascended the school hierarchy to the level of blending in. She can live with that.

Three years ago a girl from India entered a classroom. She prepared for life in the States by watching every movie available to her in Surat, India. She expected to be introduced to the class by her new teacher. Such was the custom in her country. Instead, she was directed to an empty seat.

Within minutes, an American girl raised her nose and sniffed loudly. Other students mimicked the action: a pack of hyenas catching the scent of a prey. They soon triangulated the smell to the backpack under the newcomer’s desk. Disapproving looks followed. Her mother’s khichdi sat in the plastic container. It was the least spicy and malodorous dish she knew to pack for lunch.

After class, she rushed to the restroom and dumped the lentil dish. Next period she made the mistake of answering a question about Alexander Hamilton. She did not know that her thick accent sounded like marbles had been placed on her tongue, “Hamilton was a veddy (very) important patriot. He reeelly (really) cared about a strong federal government.”

A boy jeered, ”Did he reeelly?”

Snickers followed. She never volunteered another answer.

The worst introduction happened in the cafeteria. The room, the size of a football field, buzzed with a slow-moving current of American teens. Each table pre-filled with students laughing and gossiping. Their backs turned to her–a phalanx of shields. She found a corner table and sat alone. She stared relentlessly at her watch, willing the minute hand to move faster.

From her left, sunlight came through a window and separated into a rainbow on the wall. She pretended the colors were a palette of paint. She imagined dipping her brush in the red and produced her grandmother’s beet pickle. The cinnamon-anise smell touched her nostrils. A smear of green brought her Auntie’s fried elephant leaf paatra. Was that the scent of coriander? With a dash of orange, her mouth watered with the sweet cardamom-flavored jalebi.

She felt better looking at the rainbow. It was her color palette . Colors were a part of her life. She used to toss the powdered dyes at her cousins during the Holi Festival every year. The colors transformed them into living canvases.

“Earth to Anika,” Meghan says.

“What?” she mumbles, coming back to the present.

“I said, time for fifth period.”

Anika glances at Darsha’s now vacant seat. She tries imagining the new girl leaving alone. Instead. Anika sees a girl from Surat who once filled the emptiness in her heart with colors dancing on a wall. Anika has recognized the aching loneliness in another but has chosen silence. She leaves with her friends.

The next day, Anika joins her two friends at their usual table.

“Did you hear about Darsha?” Cynthia asks.

Anika looks up from her phone.

“She dropped out,” Cynthia continues.

“So soon?” Meghan says.

Anika’s stomach knots. She stares at the seat Darsha was in yesterday. Empty. That deserted table used to be hers. Her eyes drift to the window. It’s sunny outside, and a rainbow flickers through. My color palette , Anika remembers.

“Does anyone know why she quit?” she asks.

“Probably hated being a loser,” Cynthia answers.

“Where did she go?”

“I guess where she came from. Where was that again?”

“Somewhere else,” Anika whispers.

I wish you had stayed, Darsha. I should have shared my color palette. I could have. She looks again at the rainbow. It flickers merrily, unmoved by her thoughts.

A single cloud rolls in. Its shadow obscures the colors.

*—Sonia Mehta, age 17, Russian Indian heritage, Ohio.* *The story is being published as one of the Noteworthy Entries of our 2021 Youth Honor Awards program.* *The story was also published by **Telling Room** earlier this summer.*

Haenyeo, the Sea Women of Korea

By Fanny Wong, New York.

Orange pumpkin-like buoys bob in the water off the island of Jeju, 55 miles off the tip of the South Korea peninsula. Baskets attached to them wait for their owners. The sea women, in groups of ten or more rise to the surface and make a distinctive whistle…“Hoowi, hoowi!” It’s an ancient technique to expel carbon dioxide from their lungs and to alert one another of their presence. They’ve been under water for 30 seconds or longer. It’s time to breathe. Everyone is accounted for. No accidental death today.

Haenyeo Divers of Korea — **A Haenyeo Diver.** *Illustration by Nina A. Forsberg.*

The women wade ashore or climb onto a waiting boat, hauling their baskets of the day’s underwater harvest. They take off their old-fashioned headlight-shaped scuba masks to reveal lined and weathered faces. These women are old! Who are they? What do they do underwater?

For hundreds of years, the sea women, known as the haenyeo, dive as deep as forty feet to harvest seaweed, sea urchins, sea cucumbers, octopus, shellfish and abalone from the ocean floor. They free dive without an oxygen tank, equipped only with fins, gloves, and a belt of lead weights to assist diving. They use different simple tools; such as a small harpoon for piercing fish, a sickle for collecting seaweed, a long hoe for prying abalone of rocks.

Jeju is a 700 square miles island of volcanic rock and soil, off the southwestern coast of southwest Korea. It has a beautiful coastline and is listed on UNESCO’s World Nature Heritage. Windy and rocky, there isn’t much land for productive farming, except for mandarin orange farms. But the sea provides an alternative farm.

Life of the haenyeo is hard. They harvest from five to seven hours a day, about 18 days per month, depending on the weather and tide conditions. It was only in the 1970s that the government subsidized wetsuits, which protect them from the cold water. The women used to dive in loose cotton clothing and could stay in the water up to an hour during the winter months. They had to sit by a fire to dry off before jumping back into the water. Wearing wet suits, now they can earn more by staying longer in the water, and to dive into old age.

Underwater is a dangerous place to make a living. The divers must be careful not to push too far for that prized abalone. Deprived of oxygen, a diver can suffer a heart attack. She must know when to have enough breath to come up slowly, and perhaps give up a precious find stuck under a rock. One side effect of longer dives is decompression sickness. They also contend with dangers, such as jellyfish, poor weather, big fish and even an occasional shark.

Most of the divers are old, with the oldest in their eighties, and even nineties. The average age is seventy. These elderly women learn from a young age to understand water pressure, oxygen level in their lungs and resurfacing distance. The girls as young as eleven start to learn to dive in shallow water, then in more challenging depths. Some women have dived all through pregnancy and given birth on a boat! This job used to be handed down from mother to daughter, but now, the young women prefer a more comfortable life in the island’s two cities or on the mainland. From more than 14,000 in the 1970s, there are fewer than 2500 haenyeo today. Some women abandoned the dangerous sea diving in old age. They and the ones who died were not replaced.

The haenyeo culture relies on cooperation and hierarchy. The beginners and the older women belong to the bottom level of divers, the hagun. The middle level junggun diver can hold her breath between 40 seconds to a minute. The top-level sangun diver can work the most difficult areas, dive deepest and may be able to hold her breath up to two minutes. The more experienced offer their guidance to the less experienced. It can take a new diver five years to be fully competent.

The women generally sell their catch through a fishery cooperative in each village. There are about 100 cooperatives. Each cooperative has its own regulations about the boundary of the fishing ground, qualification and catching methods. When a problem arises, the haenyeo get together in a form of town hall meeting to make decisions everyone understands and accepts. The community spirit is strong. Before and after a day’s work, they change their cloths in the traditional bulteok, an open-air circle marked by a 4 feet high stones wall, with a fire in the center. Recently built bulteoks are cement buildings with showers and heated dressing rooms. They chat about personal matters and issues related to work. The conversation is affectionate and warm.

A diver earns about the equivalent U.S. $12,500 a year. That’s not a lot of money for their hard work. A second job farming on small plots of land supplement their income. But they are proud to be their families’ providers. With no education, the women had little choice but follow their mothers’ footsteps. Now, they want their children and grandchildren to get a good education, even to go to a university.

Where are then men? Some elderly husbands wait on shore for their wives to return. They help lug the heavy loads onto land, help weigh and sort the catch. It wasn’t always this way. Men from Jeju harvested shellfish as far back as 1460, as mentioned in a court document. Why the change? One explanation is that in the 17^th century, the men were taken away to fight Korea’s foreign wars. Another explanation is that women’s body fat enabled them to endure the cold water better. Diving for seafood became exclusively female and remains so today.

There is some stigma attached to their work. In modern South Korea, women are generally prized for being delicate. The divers are anything but delicate. They have grit, physical and mental stamina. They talk loudly on land because the build-up of air pressure in their ears means that noises are muffled. Not lady-like at all!

But, the haenyeo has gained respect in their efforts to protect the marine ecosystem. They are marine specialist by experience. Knowing the cycle of marine life, they do not over harvest. For example, abalone and conch are caught from October to June, sea urchins from May to July and sea slugs during the winter season. They don’t take anything under-sized. Even different seaweeds are harvested at specific times of the year. They are lauded for their eco-friendly methods and community involvement in managing their practices.

Normally in South Korea, men dominate, but not in Jeju. For centuries, they had high status and independence in their community. They are the breadwinners, take care of the children and make household decisions. In the male-dominated culture, they were modern before their time. Even today, when many elderly South Koreans over 65 are poor, these elderly women’s financial independence is remarkable.

The haenyeo’s legacy is not just economic. It’s social. It’s cultural. Every February in the lunar calendar, the haenyeo hold a ceremony in honor of the God of the wind, Yeongdeung. He visits Jeju Island on the first day of February. In mid-February, they send a small straw boat loaded with offerings out to sea to accompany him as he departs Jeju for the year. The women pray to the God, believing that he helps them hold their breath underwater and to keep them safe. They also pray at shrines.

Interest in the haenyeo has grown. In 2006, the Haenyeo Museum opened. It explains the history and culture through models of their traditional homes; displays boats, tools, masks and diving wear. Underwater photographers published books about them. In 2015, the Jeju government began to help pay for their accident and medical insurance. In 2016, UNESCO awarded the divers a Cultural Heritage of Humanity designation, recognition they long deserved.

But the haenyeo themselves are pessimistic about the future. Tourism is increasing and generates more revenue than the diving catch. With few young women willing to go into the profession, the culture will eventually die out. Moreover, they witness the effect of climate change in the ocean. Pollution is reducing the amount of and quality of edible sea life.

How can the haenyeo tradition be preserved in the age of modernity? Modifications can make life of the haenyeo easier and more attractive to the next generation, just as the wetsuits made a lot of difference. Perhaps something mechanical can help them lug the heavy baskets of wet seaweed and algae onto shore. A full basket of seaweed can weigh as much as 65 pounds. Better medical intervention can prevent and lessen the physical toil to their bodies. Some of the ailments include headaches, tinnitus, digestive problems and increased risk of strokes.

Meanwhile these tough women who ride motorcycles to get around remain graceful underwater ballerinas in the silence of the deep. They continue to be Jeju’s most valued treasures.

By Fanny Wong, Asian American author, New York.

Advice to My Younger Self

 Advice to My Younger Self
 A poem by Michael Sitarski, 17, Italian American, Missouri.
 
 There’s no way of predicting the future
 You’ll just have to go with the flow
 So don’t worry
 Do your best
 Do what you believe in
 Do what you think is right
 But if there was one piece of advice
 I had to give you
 It would simply be
 Moderation

My Love for Written Words

By Mehek Azra, 15, New York

How do you survive reality? That is a question that had me pondering for years. Every individual has his/her own coping mechanism. Mine is reading. And that may sound strange but I would not survive in a world with no books. Ever since I could read, I did. Although I wasn’t much of a reader when I was younger. I mostly read the books that were required for my class. My first ever book series that I read was the Harry Potter series, which is why it will always have a special place in my heart. But it’s not just that. The Harry Potter series had introduced me to the fantasy world. It showed me a way to shift to another reality. I can never stop recommending it to others, even if fantasy isn’t their favorite genre. (Which is a sure sign of madness if you ask me.)

I don’t read classics or any educational books unless I’m required to. I mostly read fantasy. Fantasy has a lot of world building in it and I want to read books that are less likely connected to the real world. So that is an assumption people make about me when they find out that I’m a reader: I am a nerd and a gifted student. That is a misconception and a truly great one. Encountering with someone who has his or her face buried in a book may give you the wrong impression sometimes. I read for fun, not necessarily for knowledge. The knowledge I get is a bonus. If I don’t enjoy reading a book, I will most likely put it down because there are many other books that will pique my interest.

I love reading. But I never exactly understood why before. Everyone reads for a reason; whether it is for school or for personal enjoyment. If you are a reader, ask yourself what is it that you love about reading and why? Here are a few reasons that make reading fun:

It is a form of escapism

“Reading gives us someplace to go when we have to stay where we are” —Mason Cooley

When my life gets too overwhelming and insolvable, I just open a book. I let the words consume me and make me forget about reality. I love the feeling that I get when I’m so lost in a fictional world that nothing outside of it matters or makes any sense. It leaves my head in the clouds. Avoiding conflict and life problems may not be the best idea but sometimes you need to divert your mind for some temporary peace of mind. Books become my therapy, my consolation. When I read, I feel at home.

2. Problem solving skills

“The trouble with fiction is that it makes too much sense. Reality never makes sense.” —Unknown

Reading fantasy broadens my imagination. It increased my capacity of showing empathy to others. I can easily put myself in others shoes to try to understand their point of view. I became more creative for problem solving in real life. Think about it. Suppose you finish reading a murder/mystery books, you are going to grasp some concept related to conspiracy. It will then allow you to apply that in real life and maybe even solve a case. For me, it had mostly to do with how I perceive things around me. I think about all the possible solutions while I’m faced with a problem. And I am open to different ideas and I always have a hope that anything is possible.

3. Discovering yourself

“Always keep a book in case of an emergency; like a social gathering.” —Unknown

Have you ever read a book with a story that completely devoured you? Have you read a book that changed your perspective and mindset? I definitely have. In a fiction/fantasy book, we get introduced to a lot of diverse characters. Each character has different goals in life, an interesting life story and distinct personality. You may not be able to resonate with them all but sometimes you get to learn new things about yourself. I go for books with characters that are wholly different from me but sometimes I find myself discovering new passions and hobbies after reading about a character that I loved.

4. Increases vocabulary

“A writer only begins a book. A reader finishes it.” —Samuel Johnson

As mentioned earlier, the knowledge I get from reading is truly a bonus. However, reading has improved my writing skills by a lot. Not only can I write better, but also I can speak more fluently than I did before. Like reading, writing is also one of my hobbies. Every author has a different writing style. Some are very descriptive, some are poetic and some are more like freestyle. After reading a lot of books, I realized what kind of writing I enjoy reading the most. And that is poetic. I like it when authors use a lot of metaphors and other figurative language. I also enjoy descriptive ones. But when it comes to writing, I write mostly nonfiction prose, which is freestyle.

5. Fictional characters become my consolation

“You know you’ve read a good book when you turn the last page and feel a little as if you have lost a friend.” —Paul Sweeney

As a person who has only a few friends, I can easily confide in fictional characters. They may be fictional but they feel real to me. Whenever I finish reading a book and put it down, I go through the “mourning” phrase. Occasionally, our brain can’t tell the difference between real and fictional people because we get so attached to them and we refuse to believe that they are imaginary. That would explain why we sometimes get the book “hangover.” We struggle to pick up another book and start reading it because our mind is still lingering in the book we just finished. The feeling of having one or more comfort characters is phenomenal. Nonetheless, the moment I realize that my love for them is trapped between pages and won’t be real, it will honestly put me in a reading slump—a book hangover.

Reading decreases stress levels and can overall make a person happy. It’s not just a lot of words clustered on a piece of paper. You will enter a whole different world. You can start dreaming again and be more compassionate. If you say you’re not a reader, you just haven’t found the right book yet.

By Mehek Azra, 15, high school sophomore, New York. She is Bengali (from Southeast Asia).

A Journey Behind the Walls

**City** by Eileen Kim, age 17, South Korea

**Bird** by Eileen Kim, age 17, South Korea

**Cheetah** by Eileen Kim, age 17, South Korea

**Venus** by Eileen Kim, age 17, South Korea

A Journey Behind Walls

In recent years, the search for graffiti has taken up a big portion of my time. Within the monotony of my school routine, finding tags and art hidden in building corners or behind walls was akin to a treasure hunt. I have often taken pictures of the latest artworks I found and saved them in my photo album as if they were pieces of a collection. As an artist, I feel inspired to create my own signature style and to learn more about the interesting world of graffiti.

But, growing up in South Korea has reminded me of the impermanence of the culture here. I’ve often observed buildings being demolished and supplanted by newer, shinier structures. Stores I would visit frequently would suddenly close down, and the art that I once cherished would no longer exist. It’s unfortunate that we are so busy moving forward at a fast pace that we can’t appreciate the creations around us. Society doesn’t provide ideal conditions for graffiti in terms of conservation.

On top of the ever-changing nature of Korean street art, COVID-19 has made it even more challenging to explore as frequently as I had in the past. However, last month, I found the perfect opportunity to revisit the childlike wonder I have felt while observing graffiti. While browsing the internet, I came across tickets for URBAN BREAK Art Asia, a three-day fair showcasing street artists.

At the fair, it was almost as if time suspended, and the pandemic didn’t exist. I was surprised to see that people from all walks of life came to see the show, from teenagers donning denim bucket hats to older professionals in their weekend attire. Despite everyone wearing masks, the individuality was compelling and echoed Korean life exactly as it is—one of constant sounds, smells, and colors intermingling. The exhibit echoed the cacophony that citizens experience in their daily routine. I distinctly remember one artist playing the piano in his booth, surrounded by paintings of traditional Korean houses. Meanwhile, an underground rapper signed autographs for his fans a few booths down.

There were numerous exhilarating artists that caught my attention, but the one who stood out the most to me, personally, was a female artist named Junkhouse. Toward the end of the show, I recognized a familiar artwork hers that I’ve seen numerous times on a building during my walks home from school. Luckily, I was able to contact Junkhouse after the show, and she was more than happy to share her thought processes with me.

As Junkhouse compared graffiti in Korea to that in foreign countries, she confirmed that South Korea’s tendency of getting rid of old buildings rapidly prevents street artists from experimenting with their artwork and freely using the city as their own sketchbooks. Furthermore, with the law being strict in terms of interfering with property, young artists move further away from the traditional street art culture. Younger generation artists would rather choose social media as a way of presenting their work and connecting to the greater public.

As she spoke of her free-spirited artistic process, where she draws organic shapes onto existing structures, my mind kept going back to a recurring thought: there is always room for freedom within constraint. There exists a certain, and often justified, stereotype of Korean art as being highly elite and institutionalized. Proprietary gallery owners are often part of a closeted establishment that promote lucrative art forms, such as porcelain from the Goryeo Dynasty or paintings by artists within their inner circles. But unlike traditional art galleries holding the key to the next generation of artists, some people are ready to break the mold and directly communicate with the audience themselves—even teenagers like me.

As I reflected on my own conversation with Junkhouse and on the vibrancy of the works at the art fair, I felt encouraged to challenge my own perceptions. In a rapidly modernizing country like Korea, what would finally allow graffiti art to soar to its highest potential? As for me, what are some preconceived notions and existing barriers that prevent me from reaching my maximum potential?

The answers to both questions are yet to be found, but I am slowly on my way to discovering them. In the meantime, I have added forty new pieces of art to my virtual graffiti collection, which I can browse freely from home. These pieces serve as a reminder to seek freedom even amidst the busy days that lie ahead.

By Eileen Kim, age 17, high school junior in Seoul, South Korea. She adds:

“I am an active artist and writer who enjoys learning about the intersection of culture and the environment. Born in the United States but raised in Korea, I am a bilingual Korean and English speaker with the privilege of examining different perspectives. My interest in environmental conservation, particularly in reducing the use of plastic, has led me on many exciting journeys. Recently, using my art skills, knowledge, and love for the environment, I designed environmentally friendly, reusable masks. My ultimate goal is to create a sustainable system for the future in populated cities, such as Seoul and New York.

As an artist, I am also highly invested in the emergence of street art. In search of works from creative peers my age, I came across your magazine and felt the courage to submit some of my works. “A Journey Behind the Walls” details the street art culture in South Korea and how our strict society has led to a creative underground movement. Though street art is forced to take on a more limited form in Korea compared to other cities like New York or London, it is surprisingly pervasive and thought provoking.

I have also attached my original artworks, “Bird,” “City,’ “Cheetah,” and “Venus.” The recurring theme of these works is the impact of the climate crisis on the ecosystem, from animals and humans to the environment itself. My essay and art attempts to relate to the universal longing of community, freedom and change.”

Dare I Say / Y Me Atrevo a Decir

 Dare I Say
 By Cassandra Martens Diaz, Mexican-Canadian, 17, Manitoba, Canada
  
 I do not pronounce it with familiarity 
 I do not read it
 I do not spell it
 Dare I say I speak it at all 
  
 Pepper burns my tongue 
 I turn away from the heat 
 I do not take the spice
 Dare I say I have a taste at all
  
 The Jalisco too small 
 Tucked away, unused, unworn
 Body stiff, and still 
 Dare I say I can dance at all 
  
 Though in my blood
 Though in my citizenship 
 It is not to be found in me
 Dare I say I am Spanish at all
 
 
 Y Me Atrevo a Decir
 por Cassandra Martens Diaz, 17, Manitoba, Canada
  
 No lo pronuncio fácilmente 
 No lo puedo leer 
 No lo puedo deletrear
 Y me atrevo a decir que lo hablo
  
 El ají quema mi lengua 
 Prefiero alejarme del chile
 No tolero el picante
 Y me atrevo a decir que lo saboreo
  
 Mi traje de charra me queda chico
 Alzado, sin usarlo ni vestirlo 
 Cuerpo rigido, e inmóvil
 Y me atrevo a decir que bailo 
  
 A pesar que está en mí sangre
 A pesar que está en mí ciudadania 
 No lo he podido encontrar en mí
 Y me atrevo a decir que soy Latina 

  Cassandra adds: "My family immigrated to Canada from Chihuahua, Mexico when I was 
very young. Since I was raised in a country that was culturally very different from Mexico, I have always felt detached 
from my extended family because I lack a lot of the experiences that they’ve had. It is important to me that 
I continue to work on my Spanish and learn more about my mom's culture.. I am just beginning to submit my work 
for publication. I was inspired by Jessica Wang’s heartfelt story submission, Xiang Xiang, 
published by Skipping Stones."

Sri Lankan (Sinhalese) New Year

By Seja Kularatna, Age 10, Wisconsin.

Hi my name is Seja. I am 10 years old, I live in Wisconsin, and my parents are originally from Sri Lanka. I will tell you about the Sri Lankan New Year. Sinhalese New Year, called Aluth Avurudda in Sri Lanka, is celebrated on April 13^th or 14^th each year.

Sri Lanka is an island country that is just south of India. The temperature is always warm in Sri Lanka.

This year, the Sri Lankan New Year is on April 14th. Before this special day, people make preparations that include cleaning and redecorating our houses, making of Kevum (our traditional sweets) and Kiribath (milk rice) and engaging in religious observances.

Every year, here in the United States, we have a Sri Lankan New Year Celebration with friends and family. We have lots of yummy dishes, games, and entertainment.

Ladies wear Sarees and the girls wear Lama Sarees. Lama means kids in Sinhalese, so they wear kid’s versions of the Sarees. The men and boys wear traditional clothing. They have long sleeved shirts and sarongs. Sarongs are like long skirts for boys and men. The kids wear their white clothing to sing the Sri Lankan National Anthem.

For the New Year celebration, the kids perform dances or sing Sinhalese songs. Our parents begin training us a few months prior to the celebration. Usually, we do group dances with other kids, so we go to each other’s homes to practice. The parents make our dance costumes.

On the Sri Lankan New Year, there are different types of food. Lots of people like to make something at home and bring it to share. We usually eat rice with other side dishes, and when we’re done, we eat sweets.

The adults plan games for the kids. We usually play games like Tug of War, Draw the Eye on the Donkey, Musical Chairs, and more.

The Sri Lankan New Year is an occasion to pay homage to our elders and receive their blessings, to renew our relations with friends and relatives. It is time for great fun and enjoyment for the kids. My favorite part is practicing the dances with our costumes and props.

By Seja Kularatna, Age 10, Wisconsin.