 Eka, 10th - United States
Everywhere - all around me, within me - there’s a cold incentive. A relentless force that seems to believe nothing is impossible. A force I never asked for. I feel as though I am fighting against the laws of gravity. Higher and higher above, I try to grasp this nameless force, but it slips like water through my fingers. For as long as I can remember, I’ve carried this certainty about my future. Not unachievable dreams, no grand plans - just certainty. I’ve never been in need of guidance on where or how to start, I’d just dive in deep, head first, body slowly sinking after. Please do not be mistaken. I do not exceed at school by any means, I do not utilize my potential. I never ask the right questions or apply the theories we learn to real life. I am not failing school either, I’m smart but never the smartest. I am floating somewhere in the middle, like a fish in a pond, circling, circling. Never out. Never free. No one has truly understood me. Maybe that’s normal. Perhaps no on ever really understands anyone. But what I think hurts the most, isn’t that nobody gets me, it’s that no one even tries to. I suppose I am easily forgotten; in a crowded room, I’d never be the first glance. I am always the backup but never the first choice. I love everyone so much so that they could literally be a killer who’s on the loose and I’d still do anything for them. But somehow, this unconditionality of love doesn’t work both ways. People come to me for advice but for some god foreseen reason I can’t be the one who receives it. I am always a star, never the sun. Always a participant never first place. Always the funny friend, never the pretty one. Always an angel, never a God.  Ariella, 11th - New York, NY
Geraldine wakes before the sun. The small alarm clock on her nightstand glows 4:50 a.m, and the chill in her small apartment sinks into her bones like memory. She wraps her scarf around her hair, as she whispers a short prayer in Kreyol “Bondye, ba mwen fos pou jodi a. Pa kite mwen kraze.”(God, give me strength for today. Don’t let me fall apart.) She slips into her worn out beige sneakers and steps out into the biting morning. Half of Brooklyn is still asleep, the streetlights flicker dimly, yellow, and weary. Casting shadows across the cracked sidewalk. Geraldine will soon step into the house where the lights are never tired. Where the ceiling lights glow, bright and clean. On the subway, she listens to a voice note from her eldest son in Fond-Verrettes: “Maman, yo tire sou lari anko, Nou pa soti depi twa jou. Manje ap fini.” (Mom, they shot in the street again, We haven’t gone out in three days. Food is running low) She closes her eyes. Her hands tighten around the cold metal pole as the train shudders forward. She sees their facades, her two children, through the glass of her mind. Small hands. Hungry eyes. Left behind in a country swallowed by violence and fear. At 7:00 a.m, she unlocks the brownstone door on the Upper West Side. She is immediately swallowed by the bright light. Not sunlight, but the white glow of carefully curated warmth: lamps, scented candles, and overhead fixtures that blur every hard edge of reality. It’s a different world there. Little Charlotte is already fussing. “Shhh, ti cheri,”( shhh my darling) Geraldine whispers, lifting the small child into her arms, instantly the girl molds into Geraldine’s embrace. Every day at seven on the dot once she arrives Charlotte is inseparable from her. Nobody can pry the child away from her beloved nanny. She reaches out for her, calls for her, and seeks her eyes first when she wakes up from a nap. It's Geraldine who knows which cry means hunger and which means fear. Sometimes she catches the mother watching. A look of conflictedness and unease flash across her face like a shadow. Maybe she knows. Maybe she resents it. That her own daughter reaches for the arms of her nanny before her. But Geraldine doesn’t hold pride in it. Only sadness because the bond formed comes with a price, two years from now Geraldine will get let go by the family and the child will forget about her, and she’ll care for a new child , it's all part of the cycle. She changes diapers, folds laundry still warm from the dyer, and prepares the baby’s food as instructed. Each spoonful she feeds Charlotte reminds her of her own, thousands of miles away, eating plain rice from a shared tin plate. The baby coos, smiles and falls asleep in her arms. The smell of cocoa butter and jasmine oil comforts little Charlotte as she drifts off to sleep. These are scents from home Geraldine refuses to give up. She wonders how her children are sleeping without the sweet scent of her smell to lull them off to sleep. When Charlotte is teething, it is Geraldine who rocks her through the pain. When she is sick, it is Geraldine who stays late, whispering prayers while wiping her runny nose. And when Charlotte's parents return home, exhausted from meetings and luncheons, Geraldine steps back and becomes invisible again. By 6:00 pm, she’s putting on her coat. Charlotte cries as Geraldine gets ready to leave. Sometimes even clinging to her leg. The mother and father try to distract the child, but the wail continues as the door clicks shut behind her. On the subway, her reflection stares back from the darkened window, brown eyes lined with fatigue and sorrow, scarf slipping, heart full of two worlds. “Mwen pap bilye nou. Maman ap travay pou nou.” (I won’t forget you. Mama is working hard for you.) And tomorrow, she will do it again. Under the white lights. In that white house. Holding someone else’s baby while her children are oceans away, calling her name into the dark.  Raj Rani, 10th - Gurugram, India
Corpses plague me and Reaper lingers around each curve a shadow to me once beknownst, every glance struck me as white hurt. The Red Sea doesn’t part soon enough staff echoing on bed, puzzled, the fish who’ll never grasp a heart of life bereft. And the coral- they sway, the audacity streams curling around breath i’d once held a heart beating, never mine, never truly left. Corpses lull old ballads i once sang and wed with each letter in each song spelling the name of the newly dead. Crossed I those moonlit roads, houses that’ll bar me soon i cried all the way there, For an end’s coming for a fool. Walked beneath the ladder, called Upon myself the fall, The corpses glanced back In decaying eyes, a taunt. Oh nerve- forgive the lover, blind! Corpses, have you held my heart? It was ablaze in days gone, And burned and burned and burned and charred. My Lucy, I pray, you’ve spun my name once these past days in chambers of your mind. My Lucy, I search, for the worth of these words, when the pigeon’s view blurred and couldn’t cross those high tides.  Emily Y, 8th - California
Long ago, the Jade Emperor decided to hold a great race across the wide river. The first twelve animals in the kingdom to finish would forever have a year named after them. i. Because there was nothing for me. Because I’m haunted by the bitter taste of betrayal, the sting of being out-slyed. When the children read the legends, they’ll find the confident reason why “Never again will Cat and Rat race side by side.” ii. Bright red banners line the city, proclaiming “The Jade Emperor’s Zodiac Race.” We cover the whispering streets, yearning for a spot among the twelve. There are things in this world that can promise full stomachs for life: coins earned by a family each week, a last name etched in the emperor’s golden scroll, and a medal around your neck at the end of this race. Instead of watching below, fighting for the scraps nobody else wanted, Rat and I share a dream of one day eating first. iii. The long river glimmers ahead, glory peeking behind the layered mountains. Rat and I step forward, two of many that line the starting point. The emperor waves his flag, and everyone sets off. We run and run, past mountains of evergreen trees and fields of dewy grass. Three hours later, we reach the long, raging river. The waves roar like hungry lions, ready to devour those too little to cross. iv. Years ago, I was almost eaten by a rabid bear. In the water, my wet fur dragged me down As I faced rows of teeth, dirty with half-eaten fish. His ballistic eyes pinned me still as I submerged deeper into the rocks below. I tell Rat, don’t swim, the waters are starving. Just as our hope fades, the mighty ox strolls by like a thousand dumplings presented to a ravenous man. Some call tricking a gullible boat cheating, but we call it getting a ride. Steady and strong on the ox’s back, a full stomach will soon be my future. v. I smell victory. I feel victory. I—SPLASH! vi. I p l u n g e into the s h i v e r i n g river The cold water drenches my whiskers and paws. Steam fills my ears, Embarrassment fills my eyes, And hatred fills my heart. iv. I’ve always believed that it’s never too late to finish what’s started. But today, even though I sprinted and sprinted like never before, the race shattered in my hands like a once-broken vase. My paw floats just one centimeter from the line. BANG! The gates slam shut. The twelve victors are called: Rat, Ox, Tiger, Rabbit, Dragon, Snake, Horse, Goat, Monkey, Rooster, Dog, and Pig. When children read the legends, they’ll find the confident reason why “Never again will Cat and Rat race side by side.” |