I could not name a worse period in my life than middle school. When I finished middle school, I hoped for things to be different, especially the bullying part. When I got to high school, things did change eventually. Although I still considered high school to be a failed experiment in preparing adolescents for the adult world, I have met a few good peeps here and they are all right. I have also started to love myself more, I guess. Hey, at least I’m trying.
SPEAK
LUCY FRANK
I’ve titled this piece “Speak” in honor of Laurie Halse Anderson’s novel about a young woman who went silent after she was raped.
I thought I was numbed out. Thought, after months of one famous and powerful scumbag after another getting taken down (or not), that I had reached outrage overload. But a few days ago, a story appeared in School Library Journal, and then in The New York Times, about sexual harassment in the children’s literature world. Some prominent, powerful, esteemed, and beloved male writers have been accused of preying on aspiring young women writers at children’s-lit conferences.
What? Writers, too? Aren’t we the good guys, the sensitive ones, the progressive ones, the empathic ones? I write novels for middle-grade kids and teens. I have been a proud part of the children’s literature world since the ’90s. I spent the morning yesterday compulsively reading the hundreds of comments in response to the SLJ revelations, getting more and more bummed, thinking, Yeah, right, classic power imbalance. Same old story. Bummed, but still somewhat numb. Then I came across a quote from prizewinning author Laurie Halse Anderson about her “volcanic anger about rape culture and toxic masculinity.” It was not the “toxic masculinity” that made my blood roar and my eyes blur. It was the words “volcanic anger.”
When the Harvey Weinstein story broke last fall, I spent some time working on a poem I called “Coming Forward.” About how I did not. How it never dawned on me I could. In the almost fifty years since I was raped, I have come to know it was not my fault. Even so, I could not bear to put myself back there, in the fear and helplessness. The paralyzing shame. Could not bear to use a word that I did not realize still carries so much power over me. Even now, writing it, my blood pounds and I can hardly see.
I have been practicing these past few months, though. Telling other women, saying the word “rape” out loud to try to strip it of its shame. And it is astonishing, the number of women whose eyes have filled with tears, who have said, “Yes, it happened to me, too.”
My anger is volcanic. For all of us. Though, what a huge relief, thanks to the #MeToo movement and the countless women who have dared to come forward, dared to feel pure rage instead of that confusing mix of rage, humiliation, fear, and shame.
I have been looking for a way to tie this piece to this year’s theme, Generation F. But what is in my heart is last year’s: We are not helpless. Rise. Speak. Make them change.
JORDAN CHE
YEARS AS MENTEE: 1
GRADE: Sophomore
HIGH SCHOOL: Hunter College High School
BORN: Queens, NY
LIVES: Queens, NY
PUBLICATIONS AND RECOGNITIONS: Scholastic Art & Writing Awards: Silver Key and Honorable Mention
MENTEE’S ANECDOTE: Being paired with Maria was more than a stroke of luck. From the first day we met, I already found it easy to talk to her. Our pair sessions went swimmingly as we bonded over bubble tea, horror movies, and the creepy guy who cannot sit still at the Queens Crossing mall every Friday. Seven-minute intervals and Reddit writing prompts made our sessions productive as well as fun, and we would always leave with a new (yet unfinished) story in our notebooks. But on top of everything, her enthusiasm and endless support are the best parts of our weekly meetings.
MARIA WHELAN
YEARS AS MENTOR: 1
OCCUPATION: Assistant Literary Agent, InkWell Management
BORN: Dublin, Ireland
LIVES: Brooklyn, NY
MENTOR’S ANECDOTE: The first time I went to Flushing, Queens, was to meet my wonderful mentee, Jordan. It was there where I had my first taste of bubble tea. The location and drink immediately became staples of our weekly sessions, along with Jordan’s incredible creativity and compelling sense of humor. In the loud, brightly lit food court in Queens, Jordan never ceased to impress me with her vivid imagination, radiance, and sharp wit. While no meet-up was the same, these are the threads that make up the tightly knit tapestry of our friendship!
Mirror Image
JORDAN CHE
When you can’t even turn to the person in the mirror for answers, you end up looking within yourself, instead, in order to figure out what you believe is right despite everyone else saying otherwise.
Calla Reyes sits in front of the full-length mirror on the shaggy carpet, curling her toes as the person wearing her skin curls them back. She breathes in the sweet silence of an empty house on Valentine’s Day. With her parents out making new memories over a candlelit dinner and Melody in a mysterious stranger’s arms after swiping right for an Eros-filled fling, Calla has the pleasure of having the whole house to herself—at least for now. Running a hand through her knotted hair, she inches closer to the mirror until she and her impostor are noses apart. The person in the mirror isn’t me, she thinks to herself for the fifth time today. We share the same drifting eyes, chapped lips, and nervous smiles, but she isn’t me. It’s 5:50 p.m. She glances at the clock, tearing her eyes away from the impostor. Zenia said she would be here at six. Following an intent glare outside her door, Calla dashes to the bathroom as if her feet are on fire, despite the emptiness of the hallway.
Squeezing out a dollop of cleanser and scrubbing at her face until her impostor shares the same frothy white mask, she tries not to think about how she was in the exact same location just a week ago, except for the fact that she wasn’t the only one in the bathroom. She tries to dismiss the memory of her parents barging into the room, interrogating her about the mysterious crewneck sweater hidden poorly under her bed with a bold “Z” on the back. The bathroom walls suffocated her as they argued and screamed until Calla’s lungs shriveled up. Between the vigorous shakes of her head, she stole a glance in the mirror and came face-to-face with a total stranger whose pupils were dilated, afraid, and filled past the brim with tears that rolled down her dry face.
Calla closes her eyes and lets the water run down her face and disappear in a spiral into the sink, along with memories of her impostor that she had sworn to put aside, at least for today. She is not going to let the person in the mirror ruin what would soon to be the best Valentine’s of her life. She waits before swiping the cream-colored concealer wand, and ultimately decides to turn away from the mirror.
It is six o’clock. Calla slips on the crewneck sweater, hidden securely in the nooks and crannies of her underwear drawer. She had definitely learned her lesson. Running her fingers through her freshly brushed hair, she turns to the window’s reflection as a makeshift mirror instead. She had always been fond of how the dual view of her bedroom and the outside world came together at a certain angle in the window, distorting her own face and masking it with shades of the night sky. As she presses her nose against the cool glass, a quick tap on the windowsill shocks her out of her stupor. Looking into the window again, the face she sees isn’t her own, but it isn’t her impostor’s, either. She allows a grin to surface as she opens the window enough for a gloved hand to lift it open, and makes room for Zenia on her bed.
“Hey, you.” Zenia’s light voice, still partially muffled behind the glass, reaches Calla’s ears, already making her feel lightheaded. “Hey, yourself.” They sit on the bed and wordlessly embrace, sharing each other’s warmth without a single sound. Zenia murmurs, focused on Calla’s brushed hair and face masked with concealer, “You dressed up today.” “Yeah, I guess I did,” Calla stammers, caught off guard. Zenia smiles softly, moving closer. “You know you didn’t have to.” “I know.” Calla’s feelings of being scrutinized are short-lived as she moves closer as well, closing th
e gap between the two. “They’ll be home soon,” she mutters, whispering into Zenia’s neck. “There’s no way your parents can finish a large fettuccini alfredo that quickly. Knowing them, we have at least thirty minutes to ourselves. So might as well make the most out of it.” Zenia beams, radiating confidence and affection. “Already one step ahead of you.” Calla mischievously grins, and before Zenia can even question it, she is ambushed in a bear hug tight enough to break her ribs—not that Zenia is complaining, of course. And as the two lay together, limbs and hearts intertwined, the full-length mirror resting against the opposite wall is finally forgotten.
Refraction
MARIA WHELAN
No two generations are the same, but each is informed by the ones that have come before. In order to secure a brighter future, we must strive to create a society of inclusion and tolerance by sharing experiences with those around us.
Man feeding a tiger, man drinking a Slurpee, man on a motorcycle, man holding a gun—swipe left.
Man cradling a guitar—swipe right.
Man holding freshly baked bread—swipe right and it’s a match!
Calla slinks into my room and I notice she has that mischievous glint in her eye.
“What are you up to?” I ask her reflection in the mirror, as I am too caught up in trying to shove a silver hoop into my hot, pulsating lobe.
I can sense that she has something to say but is just dithering. When I turn around I notice that her eyes are studying my tacky snow globe, which imprisons a miniature Taj Mahal. She is deliberately avoiding my quizzical glance.
“Why are you so dressed up, Melody?” she asks, and now it is my turn to squirm.
I am still on the fence about dating apps. Growing up, I had to look no further than the schoolyard or library to get my kicks. Depressingly, now, in my mid-twenties, I look to my phone to find love.
“Got a date,” I say nonchalantly while clamping my spider eyelashes with a curler.
Calla brightens. “Who is he?”
She could take for granted it was the guy who had the pleasure of seeing me later. It was in that moment I realized I could not always presume the same for her. As of a week ago this was a new revelation for my parents, but I had an inkling. I was caught in the crossfire.
“Did you know about Calla and Zenia?” my parents demanded.
“I don’t understand why they are so shocked,” Calla whimpered, puffy-eyed, following their confrontation.
“Oh, just some guy from Tinder,” I say, then add, “It’s grim out there in the dating world. Take it from your wizened older sister, you’re lucky to have found someone you genuinely like and who likes you back.”
I notice her flinch for a second. It is all still so new and scary.
“Anyway . . . what have you planned?”
Calla puffs out her cheeks and shrugs.
“It’s Valentine’s Day—you better be doing something with Zenia! Mom and Dad mentioned that they are going to that fancy new French restaurant downtown, so they’ll be out late.”
Calla smiles, appreciatively.
“Now get out so I can put on this little black dress,” I say, closing the door with a wink.
MAGGIE CHEN
YEARS AS MENTEE: 1
GRADE: Senior
HIGH SCHOOL: High School for Health Professions and Human Services
BORN: Manhattan, NY
LIVES: Brooklyn, NY
MENTEE’S ANECDOTE: My meetings with my mentor, Hannah, are really enjoyable. Every week, I anticipate our sessions, as not only do I have someone to talk to about my life, but also she gives me the biggest support in starting my novel! So far, my favorite meeting was when Hannah took me to her own favorite place to eat and talk about my work: Molly’s Cupcakes. Because we go to different places, hang out together, and get to sit and talk about our progress, I’m really grateful to have been able to work with Hannah this year.
HANNAH NESBAT
YEARS AS MENTOR: 1
OCCUPATION: Marketing Coordinator, Penguin Random House
BORN: Belmont, CA
LIVES: Brooklyn, NY
MENTOR’S ANECDOTE: Where we meet: Brooklyn Roasting Company, one hour before closing, often their last customers of the day; Starbucks, for a late-afternoon coffee (me) or a Frappuccino (Maggie); Molly’s Cupcakes; the Chobani café. What we write: college essays, the first fifteen pages (!) of a novel (Maggie); feedback, free-write exercises (me). What we bond over: YA books and specifically swoony boys in YA books (a recent favorite: Hideo from Warcross).
Korean Pop Highlights Are Their Own Flaws
MAGGIE CHEN
As a recent Korean Pop fan, the column idea that popped into my head was writing about my new obsession. I also wanted to discuss how exactly K-pop came to be, as well as the bad side that is overshadowed by the trend’s popularity.
Korean Pop. Pop that is exclusive to South Korea. An expanding trend that I never had thought would come to America. When I had just discovered the movement, I was struck with the fact that most of my favorite idols had plastic surgery done. I remember how I analyzed the trending K-pop videos on YouTube and realizing how unnaturally perfect some of the stars were. For example, G-Dragon is one of the most talented singers and rappers that I’ve ever known, and it was revealed from his childhood photos that he had plastic surgery done on his nose. In old pictures, G-Dragon had a round face and a nose with wide nostrils. But in his famous music videos, he has a smaller nose that makes his face look more slender. Of course, many entertainment agencies such as SM Entertainment recognize his talent, but how he is viewed is based on looks. A K-pop star’s popularity depends on how pretty or handsome they are.
G-Dragon’s exquisite transformation was only a small example. According to an article in Wasabi Now by Crystal Tal, South Korean stars have had rhinoplasty, eyelid surgery, facial contouring, and even body contouring. Rhinoplasty is favored the most out of the categories. With the ability to change the face image entirely, most male and female idols alike can have their idealized vision of themselves. From the scraping of their jaw and chin, they can alter their facial proportions to those that are considered best for their careers.
Now, of course, there is a certain controversy over this. Plastic surgery can be both good and bad depending on one’s opinions. Sure, I totally understand the effects of admiring good-looking people; it is definitely more powerful to see a face that leaves you starstruck than one that leaves you with nothing. Also, the idols themselves can benefit from their altered looks. Society generally accepts those who are pleasing to the eye. Thus, it is natural for them to change their look to further their career. We are bound to look at those people who are unquestionably more beautiful than others.
There is also a bad side to all of this. South Korea’s use of plastic surgery can also be its weakness. To become accepted into their society, one is forced to choose whether they can do more to their natural-born face. Expectations will be held a lot higher in terms of being pretty or being handsome. Those who are not enough are left to pursue nothing just because they aren’t good-looking. You have to be aesthetically pleasing or be shunned for life.
In addition to career reliance, the actual health risks of plastic surgery are simply outrageous. According to the website Health line.com, risks such as scarring, organ damage, infections, and even death itself are part of plastic surgery. Simply changing one feature on a face can astonishingly become fatal. Plastic surgery may be a total game changer for the faces of South Korea, but one should really consider sacrificing one’s looks because of the chance of an ugly effect. According to a friend of mine, it is rumored that plastic surgery can severely damage your face as you age. Skin and proportions might become distorted, and the results might look far uglier than even your previous state before taking the surgery.
I would not trust my face with a complete stranger when the chances of health risks are far greater than they are without surgery. However, the fact that almost every entertainment agen
cy out there in South Korea pressures their idols to confront these dangers is actually terrifying. Society, of course, can give influence and grant success once you pander to their preferences, but on the other hand, having faith in yourself and believing you are talented is also a crucial factor in being a K-pop idol. Only an individual can decide to become an idol, but unless he finds his own way to succeed, that individual will be nothing more than a puppet—not just to the entertainment agencies but also to South Korea, and to the world.
The choice of doing plastic surgery is certainly controversial. In the end, plastic surgery is only a step closer to being accepted into society, but South Korea idols have to learn, in my opinion, that one does not have to rely on looks to be successful in life.
The Personalities Are Political
HANNAH NESBAT
Maggie writes about plastic surgery and K-pop stars—something she debates with her friends regularly. I love a passionately held pop-culture opinion, and wrote my column about why it’s important we keep treating them as serious.
Before the 2016 election, I used to Keep Up with one specific family I have never even met, the Kardashians, like it was my job. I would keep a live text chain with my friend as every episode would air on Sunday and follow each family member gleefully on social media. No development was too small to catch my notice. After November 2016, it’s all seemed a little less fun. Our weekly watch dates petered out. It was hard to bring ourselves to care when there were so many other things to care about. And reality TV had lost some of its escapist sheen, coming a little bit too close to reality.
And then: US Weekly was sold to American Media Inc., the publisher of the National Enquirer. They started putting Trump children on their covers, writing about them like fun celebs you should know. Women wore black on the Golden Globes red carpet and started a legal fund for victims of sexual harassment and assault. Oprah has been floated as a presidential candidate. Celebrity culture is as political as it ever has been—and I would argue it always has been.
Generation F Page 6
