“Letter to Future Self” by Einas Faraj / “Intangible Roots” by Rui Zheng

“Intangible Roots”

Rui Zheng

“Letter to Future Self”

Einas Faraj

Dear Einas, 

As I settle into my chair to compose this heartfelt letter to you, my future self, a feeling of wonder washes over me as I contemplate the relentless march of time. I contemplate how time does not wait for a soul, how the mind does not comprehend the swiftness of these years until it is too late, and all I can do about it now is to sob into my pillows over the heartbreak of missing my innocence. These are the moments that I begin to reminisce about times I had wished to grow up faster, not knowing all I want right now is not only to stop getting older, but to be younger again.

I am now 16 years old, and a junior in high school. As soon as July 31st comes by, I will never be 16 again, exactly how I will never again be 2, in Syria, chasing my sister and her friends. I will never be 7, learning to ride a bike in the parking lot of one of the masjids I grew up in. I will never be 9, with a blue cast on my arm after breaking my hand rolling down my cousin’s backyard in plastic cars, while our mothers were inside making us dinner. My favorite color was blue because my moms favorite color was blue. I will never be 13 getting my nails done for the first time during my last ever year of middle school. I will never get those years back and that is a feeling that confuses me. 

Time truly is a phenomenon that continues to captivate me, the impressive thing about the future is that we never know what is to come. Even with our endless hopes and expectations, anything can occur and alternate the path we are on. I have learned that through the vast array of experiences I have been put through. I would have never anticipated my house setting on fire, my parents splitting at a young age, my mother moving away to a different state and having no consistency in any aspect of my life with all the moving I have done, with all the people I have lived with, with all the schools I have moved to. After living through it, it all seems typical and is my one and only reality. 

Engaging in a deep reflection always seems to engulf me in a whirlwind of emotions. I, for one, believe that everything is a blessing in disguise, and am forever grateful and thankful to the one and only Lord above me. I have been given a chance to grow through harsh times and learn valuable lessons, gaining wisdom. My experiences have collectively molded me into the person I stand before you as today and will continue to frame me into other versions of myself till my time is to come. Each moment seems almost dreamlike, a powerful testament to the ephemeral nature of time itself. 

My English teacher says that at this age, the stress we feel for the future is ordinary, that we are young and are afraid of the new chapters that wait for us. However, the realization that not only has time sped by, but will continue to hurtle forward at an unwavering pace is what resonates most deeply within me. As I craft these words, a heightened awareness washes over me – these next years will zoom by in the blink of an eye. It’s a thought that carries a certain weight, an urge that makes me want to live each and every day with a clear sense of purpose, to truly savor every moment, and to never take for granted the blessings that surround me, because one day, I will wish to be 16 years old, and a junior in highschool again. 

As I delve into contemplating the uncertainties of the future, a multitude of questions wash over me. The questions I ask myself about the pending future are my motive to keep going, and my motive to give up. The future remains veiled in uncertainty, but one truth remains undeniably clear: time is a relentless force that waits for no one, and the responsibility falls squarely upon my shoulders to make the most of every precious moment bestowed upon me. I often spend time wondering who I will become, where I will find myself, if I will pursue my dreams, passionately chase after my deepest desires, or leave an indelible mark upon the world,

I do not want to look back with a pang of regret, yearning for the opportunities I let slip through my fingers, the risks I never dared to take, and the chances to embrace life to its absolute fullest that I let go of. As I ponder the swift passage of time, a quote by the esteemed poet Henry van Dyke surfaces in my mind: “Time is too slow for those who wait, too swift for those who fear, too long for those who grieve, too short for those who rejoice, but for those who love, time is eternity.” These insightful words beautifully capture the very essence of the intricate relationship we share with time.

Amidst this kaleidoscope of human experiences, it is love that emerges as the most powerful anchor, a constant among the ceaseless tide of time. Love possesses the ability to transcend the boundaries of time itself, infusing every fleeting moment with a significance that stretches beyond the limitations of the clock. It imbues our lives with a profound sense of meaning, fortifies our spirits with unwavering hope and optimism, and serves as a constant reminder that even as time marches on relentlessly, the bonds of love endure, steadfast and unwavering. So, Einas, remember to love. 

Love more than people. Love the clear certainty that you are alive. Though death and age are factors in life we cannot sway, having the ability to die means that you have the ability to live, and that is what we must do. As you delve into these words penned by your past counterpart, I hope that they resonate deeply within the core of your being. May you be filled with an abundance of gratitude for the countless moments that have woven the intricate tapestry of your existence, and may your heart brim with excitement for the captivating adventures that lie ahead on our path. Remember to seize every moment with unwavering purpose and a burning passion, and to cherish the love and memories that light the path before you. It is moments of love and connection that truly endure.

With boundless love and anticipation,

Yourself

Christine Curley Memorial Award 2024

Christine Curley Memorial Award 2024

The Christine Curley Memorial Award for Creative Writing has been established by Christine’s parents to be presented annually to the students who display interest and potential in creative writing.

During Christine’s high school years, she showed great promise as a poet, and the hope of her parents is that this award will encourage other students to pursue in their writing the spirit with Christine so beautifully demonstrated in her own.

A faculty committee has chosen

Tehreem fatima

Poettes’ Tale

I am not a poet
But a woman albeit
The earth is my page
Aged by existence
But its blank- nothing
Is untouched but the trees
Seized to write

The way of the world
Hurled me into a whole
Hole of conformation
Molded my cognation to believe
And perceive that the difference
Is an inference between women and girls

Dream and women don’t
Live in fantasies but
Face reality through silent
Understanding manning the being
Seeing but never freeing
The light in my throat
Matches the words I never wrote

To my daughter’s mother
Another letter to explain
That I am not a woman
But a poet peeling a persimmon
To reveal the golden core
Adored by girls around the world
Dare to dream it seems

That if to be a woman is to give
Up the most beautiful something
Than I’d rather have nothing
But my pen and paper
Taper but I am unfazed
And raised by the notion
Of never being a poet for
I am a poette.

interlinked

souls twirling in a dance
on chance- we met
our eyes the keys
unlocking the willow trees- perched

upon the hill- filled
a gap between us grows
apart from galaxies of light
gleaming citrine, mauve, azure- sure

shine upon skin- akin
flames burning blood
rushes through bodies not souls
in the stars- molten gold
hardens to keys

of maple
traveling far far away
to partake in a universal dance
on chance- upon continents
on opposite ends of the same string
interlinked.

“Courageous Echo” By Sana Bargeer / “Braids” By Azhar Alharbi

“Braids”

Azhar Alharbi

“Courageos Echo”

Sana Bargeer

Courageous Echo

In the face of silence,

courage makes its choice to speak.

Reflecting Worth

In the mirror’s truth,

our reflection of worth is our greatest art.

Clarity

Beneath the chaos, 

the stillness of purpose finds its way.

“In a Blink of an Eye” By Elena Hymes / “Those Watercolor Eyes” By Hans Gupta

“Those Watercolor Eyes”

Hans Gupta

“In a Blink of an Eye”

Elena Hymes

  I don’t like to blink, if I blink everything goes away. 

she said ¨In the blink of an eye it’s gone..̈ What if that’s true,

In one blink

In one second 

Everything is gone. 

I tried to stop blinking, to keep the moment, to pause time.

I keep my eyes open. Prying them open with two hands, making them burn hot like fire, my tears unwillingly crawl down my face. 

It’s not enough.

it’s never enough, I always blink and the moment is gone

her love is gone.

I reach and Claw at my eyes, wanting to grab what I once saw

I need to go back to the feeling, bring me back to the moments.

In one blink of an eye, I now see things differently. 

it’s true, she was right it’s all gone in the blink of an eye.

“Our Reality” By Inna Shargorotski / “No No Fun” By Jakob Womer

“No No Fun”

Jakob Womer

“Our Reality”

Inna Shargorotski

“We were friends back then, in a way that everyone is friends in kindergarten.” We were friends back then, in a way that everyone played with each other during recess time. But now, our reality seems too difficult for us to process it. Everyone is either on their own trying to succeed in their lives, while others hide in their own personal corners. Where time never stops, to return all the memories that were created by us. Where love disappears and never returns back to us. Where laughter and joy tends to take a break from us. This is our reality. The truth that we didn’t think would be revealed. If only we knew how to act and be distant from one another. If only we knew how to warn each other of our “perfect” world. This could’ve been so simple. This could’ve been our dream. This could’ve been our typical friendship. If only we wanted to. If only we cared to. If only we tried to. We just gave up on ourselves. On our friendship. On our future. We still can forgive each other and our lame excuses. We still can respect each other, even though we aren’t on the same page in life. Both of us have no clue what we want from each other. Both of us know we don’t miss each other. Maybe just our pasts. Of our silly kindergarten friendship. Of our little clueless hearts. “We were friends back then, in a way that everyone is friends in kindergarten.”

“Run-on” by Troy Walters / “Forgotten” by Elena Hymes

“Forgotten”

Elena Hymes

“Run-on”

Troy Walters

That cold fall air, nipping at my skin, took me back to days of pumpkin pie steaming on the windowsill. I remember you’d take me out here and we’d just talk and talk, the smoke from your cigars covering your face in a fog of misplaced memory and shooing away the gnats that loved to swarm the porch light. You would tell me the stories of sitting out here with Mom and stories of her stories of her life before I took it away from her the day I was born. You’d always let me sit in moms old rocking chair. I always thought I was taking your comfy chair from you, until that night I stayed up too late and saw you out there, alone, smoke covering your face, wistfully staring at moms chair, hoping she might take a seat and talk to you one last time.
I couldn’t comprehend how you were feeling back then. But now, as I sit, alone, in this rocking chair that creaks every time I move, I can’t help but stare at the empty wooden chair that used to hold my father, so grand, taller than the clouds of smoke that cover the wrinkles I can’t seem to remember the shape of, and I remember the incredible man who taught me everything I know and now rots, rots in that backyard where we would play, rots under the sun we would pitch tents to hide from, rots under that grave marker that i crafted with my own bare hands, rots in my head as the memory of your booming voice fades into nothing.
So I smoke, now, dad, to shoo away the gnats and blanket my eyes so I don’t have to look at the chair that holds you no longer.

“In Doubt” by Brooke Hebert / “A Gloomy Day” by Amina Malik

“A Gloomy Day”

Amina Malik

“In Doubt”

Brooke Hebert

the water looks cold              like ice       the combustion from it

like straight out of a freezer       and

i want to jump in            but i cant and i want to dive in but i 

i wont         afraid that my fingers will crumble like snow if i do     

so i 

stay       my feet dangling from the pier so close to the numb water

is what i want to say but all i could manage is 

the water looks             cold 

like snow and its almost frozen over maybe we shouldnt jump in 

maybe we shouldnt dive in

And my friend walks back to the opposite end of the pier 

mumbling about my uncertainty           why so indecisive?

why so uncertain mumbling through             i even ask myself

why i am so uncertain             why im so indecisive