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  I turned on the light from back of the bed. I removed one of the pillows from underneath her head. I took a big breath in and out. Her eyes were bold, but I could tell she was too frightened to look back. This was harder than I thought, although the fact that she couldn’t speak made it easier. This is the last I would see of my mother. I slowly raised the pillow and covered her face tightly. She began to squirm intensely. I held the pillow there for a few more seconds. She stopped. I removed the pillow from her face. She was finally gone. It was a relief that now my brother and I could claim our inheritance.

  A notebook fell off the bed. I picked it up and turned to the last page.

  To Jamin, I leave the house and all my worldly possessions. The money unfortunately has been gone for years.

  To Keith, I leave to you the memories of what you have done.

  Mother

  There All the Time

  DONNA HILL

  This poem was inspired when I caught my reflection in the mirror. I was shocked. For a moment I didn’t recognize myself. It was as if I imagined myself appearing different to the world. But there I was! A revelation of sorts. So I jotted down the strange feeling and it eventually turned into this poem.

  Ever believe in things or

  someone and one day

  you find out that none

  of it is true?

  An epiphany.

  That’s what It was.

  I’m not sure when but

  it crept upon me like

  the shadows that slowly

  spread during daylight savings time.

  You know they’re coming but

  you’re still surprised when

  it’s suddenly dark.

  Maybe the first inkling that

  something wasn’t quite right

  was when I caught

  a quick reflection of myself

  I stopped short.

  Peered closer.

  Wiped the slight film away

  with the balls of my fingers.

  For a moment I didn’t recognize the reflection. My reflection.

  Me. There all the time.

  Waiting to be seen.

  RUBIT HERNANDEZ

  YEARS AS MENTEE: 2

  GRADE: Junior

  HIGH SCHOOL: Hyde Leadership Charter School

  LIVES: Bronx, NY

  MENTEE’S ANECDOTE: Nicole has become a huge inspiration to me. Reading her writing motivates me to open up more with myself and my creativity. Every piece she writes is beautifully written, and I’m glad she shares them with me. I enjoy our meetings because it’s a time for me to take my mind off everything else and focus only on our writing. Nicole has not only been a wonderful mentor, but she’s also been an inspiration, a friend, and a great writing partner.

  NICOLE CHU

  YEARS AS MENTOR: 2

  OCCUPATION: Writer and Public School Teacher

  BORN: San Jose, CA

  LIVES: New York, NY

  MENTOR’S ANECDOTE: Rubit has grown as a writer and poet by being true to herself and trusting her own voice. Our coffee shop in East Harlem (UGC Eats!) feels like a haven for us to share our “highs and lows” of the week, indulge in our current creative muses, and inspire each other to tap into the stories we want to tell. My favorite activity so far this year—our in-person pen-pal letter exchange—has made our writing time so joyful. I learn from Rubit what it means to be both brilliant and resilient.

  Efflorescence

  RUBIT HERNANDEZ

  This was a poem I had written in my notes past midnight when I was just lying in bed.

  don’t ever compare yourself to anyone

  when you do

  it’s like comparing a rose to a nemesia

  one blooms in the spring

  and the other in the winter

  they’re both beautiful

  just not in the same way

  we all have our flaws

  but that’s not what’s important

  it’s about the self-destructive part of you

  like how you lay in bed at four a.m.

  feeling creatures’ hands

  gently, slowly running up your leg

  as you’re too distracted

  lost in your thoughts

  overthinking your life

  every mistake you made

  like tripping in front of your crush

  or not buying the bright yellow shirt

  and buying the black one instead

  or cutting your hair too short

  or breaking promises you shouldn’t have

  or accidentally harming yourself

  not physically

  but emotionally

  these are the moments

  when you have no one

  the ones where you just stare into the dark

  not knowing who you are

  trying to figure out what your purpose is

  it’s these times

  that make you resilient

  because after a long night of overthinking

  you wake up the next day with a smile

  knowing you’ve made it past another

  rocky, muddy, and messy path of thoughts

  this is what nobody sees

  but you

  you know what you’ve been through

  nobody can tell you anything

  you’re not like the rest

  they may see you as weak

  since you don’t bloom at the time they do

  or you don’t have as much recognition

  but you are exquisite

  not everyone sees it

  yet you shouldn’t care

  once you see your beauty

  you won’t only have it

  but you will become it

  your petals will finally open up

  and you will

  most importantly

  know your worth

  Ode to My Grandmother

  NICOLE CHU

  My poem is inspired by my grandmother Eugenia, who taught me “Girls do not chew gum” and “Ay, no me digas eso.”

  My favorite photograph

  taken in Tío Jose and Tía Zonia’s supermercado

  laminates the two of us in time

  I sit in the background on plastic crates in the freezer aisle

  adolescent smile untouched

  before braces reigned in my crooked canine

  straight bangs bluntly chopped

  above my eyes

  thanks to my mother’s fearless snipping

  I only saw in my grandmother

  poise and tenacidad

  born out of untethering eight children

  into this world

  My grandmother’s close-up reveals

  silvery gray hair

  perfectly coiffed after each perm

  translucent lavender Dior glasses that sharpened

  her taste for European-made fabrics and paperback romance novels

  full cheeks freckled

  from the Campoy sun

  opened mouth elongating “¡NO!”

  to the camera pointing at her

  she warns the photographer not to take the photo

  she hated being the center of attention

  and she hated when she wasn’t

  She is a Chinese Peruvian Jane Austen novel

  waiting for me to publish her

  so you can read between the lines

  Cantonese-Spanish subtext buried under each generation

  And what I don’t remember

  I will imagine her back into existence

  where she will dictate to me

  her own epilogue

  as

  a poem

  WAEZA JAGIRDAR

  YEARS AS MENTEE: 2

  GRADE: Senior

  HIGH SCHOOL: Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis High School for International Careers

  BORN: Bronx, NY

  LIVES: Bronx, NY

  PUBLICATIONS AND RECOGNITIONS: Drama Queen Reviews, National Honor Societ
y

  MENTEE’S ANECDOTE: When I first met Ashley, I really didn’t expect to go as far as I did. I always wanted to start writing, but I didn’t know how. Every single piece with Girls Write Now has helped me grow as a writer. I learned that the moments I love to write are when I get passionate about something and have no place to speak my mind. Instead, I just write it all out. I remember how mad I was about how a friend did me wrong, and I released all my anger out on paper. This idea was given by Ashley.

  ASHLEY SCHNEIDER

  YEARS AS MENTOR: 3

  OCCUPATION: Associate Teacher, Saint Ann’s School

  BORN: Philadelphia, PA

  LIVES: Brooklyn, NY

  PUBLICATIONS AND RECOGNITIONS: Published in Gravel literary magazine, Vogue.com, PasteMagazine.com

  MENTOR’S ANECDOTE: “I showed my friends and my teachers!” Waeza exclaimed after we edited her college essay. To watch Waeza’s writing grow to fully express her exceptional, driven, and empathetic person has truly been a treasure. Working on her college essay was the ultimate exercise in this, and I could tell we had nailed it when her face beamed with pride. This girl, the first one to ask about everyone else in the room and make sure they are okay, felt like her own self had been articulated. Who could ask for more than to be a part of that moment?

  Untitled

  WAEZA JAGIRDAR

  This piece relates to the theme Ctrl + B and it has to do with being bold. This piece is to inspire people to keep going forward.

  It is through rejection,

  that we learn failure is important to succeed.

  Although, we may not hear this enough,

  failing is permitted as long as you don’t give up.

  Every moment is temporary,

  plots can change and arrive at different endings.

  Greatness doesn’t come from winning all the time,

  it is through struggles and tenacity that we learn to be accepting and patient

  There were moments where I had doubted myself

  because I felt I wasn’t good enough to make it.

  I have failed countlessly,

  especially in math,

  it’s always been a struggle

  but I kept going.

  We identify ourselves through the hardships that we face.

  Although society prepares us to uphold a certain image, close to perfection,

  They seem to forget that there is no such thing as being perfect.

  It’s an ideology that doesn’t exist.

  Nevertheless, getting closer to where you want should be the main priority

  As they say “sky’s the limit.”

  Like Lil Wayne quotes,

  “Prepared for the worst, but still prayed for the best.”

  Therefore: We should give our all.

  Orientation

  ASHLEY SCHNEIDER

  This piece began in New Mexico this summer and changed shape as I thought about boldly stepping into a new place with Girls Write Now.

  this earth I know—

  roots of oak trees

  reach through mycelia, offering

  sustenance to weakened neighbors,

  air bends heavy with cedar,

  pine, humid summertime.

  The desert changed

  all that. Cracked

  soul hardened by lack of

  rain, pear-leaf cacti

  sagging in the sun.

  How can I pray to mountains holy in their forms alone?

  Gold at the back of

  dark blue shadows

  heralds the dawn;

  these landforms rise, grounded

  in sediment, shapes

  carved in my sides: from here

  I can be fearless as we

  face the sun.

  SARANE JAMES

  YEARS AS MENTEE: 4

  GRADE: Senior

  HIGH SCHOOL: The Bronx High School of Science

  BORN: Bronx, NY

  LIVES: Bronx, NY

  PUBLICATIONS AND RECOGNITIONS: Published in The Science Survey, Scholastic Art & Writing Awards: Gold Key, two Silver Keys

  MENTEE’S ANECDOTE: I wrote my college essay this year. You have 650 words to say something amazing about yourself, and I chose an ambitious topic—I learned from middle and high school that grades aren’t everything. How was I going to squish seven years of my life into a mere six or so paragraphs? Margo and I figured it out together. A lot of things I felt were important were cut, but we still left laughing and smiling, and I had an essay I was proud of. She taught me that you don’t need to say everything to get your point across.

  MARGO SHICKMANTER

  YEARS AS MENTOR: 4

  OCCUPATION: Editor, Penguin Random House

  BORN: Pittsfield, MA

  LIVES: New York, NY

  MENTOR’S ANECDOTE: This year I watched Sarane turn eighteen and get into college. The application process was intense, and I offered my thoughts when she asked for them. She took her time considering her options and came back to me to say that she had chosen a different way forward than what I suggested. In that moment, I couldn’t have been prouder or more convinced of her maturity and self-awareness. It was an absolute joy to see her make decisions about what her life will look like in the years to come and claim all the happiness and success that she deserves.

  Nothing to Fear

  SARANE JAMES

  In January I turned eighteen, bringing me closer to becoming a self-made woman who’s unbeholden to anyone. I don’t want to be the next Warren Buffett or Steve Jobs. I want to be the next me, and that requires a boldness that I’m learning to embrace every day.

  I used to think it was fear that held people back. Those people that had it all—the small businesses, the stock market investments, the two cars and a big house, the published books, the blog. I used to think they could do it all because they were fearless. They didn’t care about failure, or going broke, or what people would say about them if they made a misstep. And I, with all my anxiety, was struggling to be something I wasn’t as I tried to do just a tenth of what they were doing. I was trying to act fearless when, in reality, I was drowning in my own fears.

  If you’ve talked to my mother about me or overheard her speaking to me, you’ve probably heard her say that I never listen to her. I laugh every time she says that because it definitely isn’t true. I can be kinda hardheaded, stubborn, and opinionated sometimes, but I’m not a bad kid. Not by a long shot. It just happens that my mom often doles out sage advice that makes no sense to me at the time, only to become inexplicably true in the near future. It’s easy to tell when that is because she never fails to say “I told you so.”

  But there’s one thing she told me that made sense right away. To be fair, I’ve also heard it from just about every animated/children’s TV show ever. “Bravery isn’t about not being scared, it’s about being scared and taking action anyway.” It still makes me skeptical when she tells me I’m brave, because I feel like just about the opposite, but I’m learning that bravery is an active choice. I’m learning to just go for the things I want, even if that attempt seems likely to crash and burn.

  This year, I’m starting a blog. I’m starting an Etsy shop. I’m applying to internships. I opened a stock brokerage account. I’m switching to an online bank. I’m pushing myself outside of my comfort zone and refusing to take the safe route, because if there’s no risk, there’s also no reward. It often feels as if there is an endless supply of things to fear, or I’m just not the bold person that I really want to be. While both of these things may or may not be true, I know that I can do something about it. I can make the choice to be brave anyway.

  Tides

  MARGO SHICKMANTER

  My piece is a response to Sarane’s, a reckoning with anxiety and how it changes over time.

  As a child I used to stand on the shore, motioning the waves in and out. I was certain they could not do it without me, these ignorant, routine waves—their gray-green seaweed doldrums. In my fl
oral one-piece with ruffles at the hips and my purple jelly sandals, I tugged on the gravity of the day, moving tons of water with nothing more than the force of the light reflecting off my tiny palms. When my mother called me to the blanket for shade, popcorn, and lemonade, I selflessly declined. I could not abandon my sodden troops in their back-breaking efforts at sameness and progress. I was their hero, their queen, their traffic controller.

  Now I read in the newspaper how tsunamis hundreds of feet high devour countries. I imagine them champing at the bit in depths beyond my vision, revving themselves up in briny vats of rage. Sick of the humans, the plastic, the oil. Now when I go to the ocean I look for sharks. In my bikini, I read atop a towel, swathing myself in sun, changing color, getting cancer. I peer into the shallows thinking about jellyfish and that time a celebrity peed on someone who got stung. (Would I pee on someone? Would someone pee on me?) When I gather myself, I wade in, measuring the danger as the cold climbs my body. In the center of a wave, I leap and let the current hold me aloft, a saltwater ballerina. I suck in my breath and scan the shore.