Read our interview with teen, Sanskriti Deva under the interview tab!
Sanskriti Deva is an entrepreneur, researcher, inventor, and activist. She has invented numerous things such as a waste receptacle system that sorts out your items and created neural networks to help identify exoplanet candidates. Sanskriti is a active member of her community focusing on as equity policy. Coming from a low resource area she now aims to provide more resources to students through her initiative InventSTEM that provides material resources to them and equips them with the knowledge they need to carve their own path. Sanskriti also loves to write and to dance. She is working on a book that highlights the contributions women have made to science that haven’t been recognized by traditional history books. Her aspirations are to be on the forefront of technological development in the upcoming years. The Angel
By: Ben Harvey 02.20.20 In remembrance of you, Christian, a friend and inspiration to many. This story is not specific to any one town, person, or thing. It is rather specific to us as people. Us as friends. Us as family. Us as human beings. It is to us that this story applies. Because it was at this time that I realized what I realized again late Friday night- that we all need each other. It was November of my freshman year, and I was succumbing to a new reality at the time; a reality that was much more real, much more new- one that showed me the true colors of the world. I began to see the sky for what it was, a violent mesh of orange on blue, purple on gray, the fiery shade of dusk, a cycle of darkness and light, that could never be escaped from. And as my legs hung off the edge of the docks, the small ripples of the bay caressing my feet, I saw what this world was: horrifying. I saw that this world was so vibrant yet so jarring at the same exact time. But I, a naive boy, thought I was alone in seeing what they really were, that was, until a friend clad in black with their tresses cut short came along; they will be referred to as merely- the Angel. But something that must be known is that every time I ran to the docks, from the first time I ran there to the last, I played a certain song through my ear buds, and I sometimes would sing it. I haven’t listened to it much since my freshman year, or thought of it much either. I ought to have been thinking about it, truthfully I should have.But in the light of everything that has happened though, the song has once again appeared in my stream of consciousness, forcing me to remember this very night. Its last two verses went a little something like this: Reality will break your heart Survival will not be the hardest part It's keeping all your hopes alive All the rest of you has died So let it break your heart Hold onto hope if you got it Don't let it go for nobody Hold onto hope if you got it Don't let it go for nobody And they say that dreaming is free But I wouldn't care what it cost me I sang those words as loud as the wind that blew back my hair on that desolate fall night, as horrid as the sound of those miniscule waves, barely bigger than ripples atop puddles, but as confidently as the egret defending its nest. Little did I know, the Angel was watching me, silently, but somehow I knew they were there too. Something told me they were. I knew that, for whatever reason, the Angel and I were meant to be there together that night, and I knew, at the back of my mind, that our paths were somehow meant intertwine, so that we both may finally shine a light on each other’s darkness. Where that light came from… well you’re about to find out. Or maybe you already have. I truly do not know. All that I do know is that I seem to have forgotten what I learned from the Angel that night, and I am ashamed. The Angel first broke the silence, after my singing that is, by stating one of the most obvious lies I ever heard- that I sang beautifully. I chuckled for a short second, and then remarked that I remembered the Angel from our middle school. The Angel sighed, releasing an air of disgust and resentment. We talked about how terrible that place was, how it reminded us of such a confounded thinking place, a place full of nothing but struggle and hurt. We pondered about the aching pains which came out of that place, and talked of all the memories we wish we could suppress, but fail to in the end . For me, it was the deaths I’d seen of my family members whilst there, and the depression I felt after the fact. The realization of how brutal this world really could be without you even necessarily deserving it, how… uncompromising it can all be. But then, as if the deaths were not enough, no more than a few weeks earlier than when I was at those docks, a good friend of mine had cut things off. It was then that I was trying to see the point of it all, along with me being confused on who I was as well as where I was going. But so was the Angel. While my family members were dying of cancer that month, the Angel was in a mental facility on suicide watch. I listened in horror as the Angel told me how they’d arrived there; of how the Angel was confused about who they were, about how the Angel constantly had rocks and stones thrown at their wings for the mere simple fact that the Angel knew how to fly. That the Angel was beaten down and left to perish by those who they thought were friendly peers, turning out only to be scornful children who were blissfully unaware of all of the damage they inflicted; not only onto the Angel, but onto each other. After one too many beatdowns, the Angel wanted to fly back to heaven. Thankfully, the Angel’s father managed to cut her down just in time, so that the Angel may breathe. Looking back at when the Angel was beside me, recounting the details, the Angel did not know that her breathing would enlighten me, and widen my eyes open. To show me an answer, a path, a compass to my vessel for which I could maneuver and live happily. A gift that I could only dream of repaying. And so, as the Angel and I sat side by side, talking amongst all the colors of the night- the Angel did teach me something. Something that I hope resonates, and that I think does resonate with everyone right now. A mere compass to life that she placed right in the palm of my hand, but I’ve been too stupid to not show it to others. So here it is, my decree to you: We all struggle. We all have scars from the knife of the world that slashes upon us. We all have our own rivers to drown in, and our own pain to suffocate ourselves with . Life is both our anchor and our sail, but we are each other's sailors. We can work together to lift each others anchors and hoist each others sails, so that we may press on. And we can guide each other’s ships to a place where we may be able to live in peace, and laugh with joy to the benefactors of our past, present, and future… even if they hold a great storm in their midsts. We can provide ourselves as the light to break through, and the bandage to the wounds that we all suffer. We can heal ourselves most of the time, but there will come many a day when we need another to lift us up. We may be afraid to cry for help out of fear of showing weakness, even though it shows absolutely none. But either way: be there for one another, help adjust each other’s sail, and lift another’s anchor. For I know, and the Angel knows, that that is something we all need desperately… so that we may do right in the wrongs that the world’s nature puts upon us. So that we can trudge on with a lighter step, a lighter breath, a brighter smile. That is what I learned at the docks that night, and that is what I so foolishly forget sometimes; what we all seem to let slip. The Angel, quite honestly, made clear to me what is good in life, and that is the fact that our tenderness to each other is valuable, that the kind words and conversations that can transverse can make anything and everything the slightest bit better. From there, the Angel lived on, and so did I. From talking about our demons and our struggles, through helping to navigate each others sails… we managed to get a little bit closer to our paradise. To a point where life is merely not a question of whether it is worth living, but to the definition that makes our waking up every morning the slightest bit more bearable. Because I now know that without each other, without the comfort of those around me, and without the comfort that the Angel provided me that night I may as well not be here right now. So come back to this whenever need be, and to the Pailleret’s, I mourn and I pray for you. This is in dedication to you, and him.
A Day at Dachau By: B. F. Harvey This past summer, I was on tour in Eastern Europe, the continent of darkness, as referred to by the Greeks. And there were many days spent exploring, reinventing, and infinitely dreaming. Dreaming in the way that we were in the dream, seeing a place where the mountains were truly green, the air fresh, and all was a fantasy. But there was one day when I was in a nightmare. Or rather, more specifically, I was living others nightmares. This was a day at Dachau. … I started off by separating from the friend group I was with. The barred gate only said three words to me, and of which I could not understand through its thick accent. It said to me what sounded like, “Abreit Macht Frei.” I then remembered that those were the same words spoken from the gate at Auschwitz, to those walking in, and whispering in their ears, “Work sets you free.” I looked around and felt the miniscule rocks crunch beneath my feet, covered in sand, looking to be ancient. Mere rectangles paired in rows, acting as tombs of what was left of the barracks that held those sweet sweet souls, put within Death's grasp. I strutted down the middle, guarded by a fence of poplar trees, standing tall and lush, providing shade on one of the brightest of days thus far. They were a dark green, but had a light texture to them, seemingly united between them, their roots coming from the same seed, still fearful of the soil which birthed them. Or maybe they weren’t afraid at all, as they saw one of the truest and most honest parts of all of nature. Brutality. I saw all the religious sites, the orthodoxies of the Christian churches, Russian, Catholic, Protestant. Of course, I viewed the Jewish synagogue as well. All of them quiet and humbling, many on their knees in tears, as I stood looking down upon them, knowing that they were to be in their own minds. I couldn’t intrude upon that, and I knew it. For that is a bond that I felt, and I knew must be kept sacred. For everyone. Then came the part I was awaiting, across the bridge over the creek, behind the flowered trellis, among the pebbles- a building of showers and furnaces. What was so tiny, so insignificant with nothing seemingly special to its name, on the inside was a place that wiped out thousands through ash and gas. The walls stainless, the floor clean, everything was so simple- but within was the souls of normal people that remained there. I walked out and viewed the garden near this place, with its many monuments to those people who lived in their serene towns out in the country and cities. Shoemakers and barbers, apart of the simple people of our world- turned to ash for who they were and what they believed in. But there was a path outside the furnaces, one that was circular, a little arboretum of the sort. Bubbling with life, underneath the shadow of trees, and in its center was a star. A star that either remained significant to these simple people, or was lost amongst the breaking of their lives. The terror put upon their families. The screams and scars they suffered. I saw the graves and stories, the quotes of philosophers and men with knowledge, of those who were there. It was moving, all of it was. Because I saw that life, those delicate flowers, and knew that they too may have seen the tragedy. The simple but desolate word preached to the people, causing the endeavor of the most vile act in human history. Hatred is the word that came to mind that day. For hate is brewed in the same place that love is… our hearts. So as a result of that hate, many hearts were disintegrated, and love turned to ash. Gone forever, and separated from the simple world that was. And the world, you see, is not a complex place. It is of many varieties, with opposites for each pairing. Peace and war. Love and hate. Kindness and cruelty. Divinity and corruption. All existent with the Holocaust, and within that very place. Dachau. The world has always been this simple, but we, the darkest part of man, are what make it oh so complex. And shortly thereafter, leaving the circle, and paying homage to those before- I heard the church bells rings. It was then that I knew it was my time to leave, to say goodbye, and to say my final sorry; for not everyone in this world took something away after this time, after all that loss. For people still do not comprehend the fact that they, these phenomenal people, these “rats”, were just like any other regular person. And we still fight, we still sin, defaming each other- all because we feel that the other is not worthy to be our equal. When that is truly the greatest sin of all, to not understand that we all feel the same things but have only different lives. But I should mention that I am not without my sins myself. Of course it is nothing serious, it is only that on my way out I took apart of these “rats” with me. I stole two of the ancient pebbles covered in blue paint from that molded and dusty ground, and placed them in my pocket. Both now rest in front of my mirror, so that I may remember one thing: they were me, and I was them. Both simple people, living in a simple world- made to be complex by the very thing that makes us similar. Our emotions, our thoughts… our humanity. Lucy Ivey is a fifteen year old high school student and activist. She is the founder and executive director of Teens Speak Up, an outlet for teens worldwide to engage in dialogue about social justice issues they are passionate about. Lucy also is the social media director at The Cure Campaign, which is an initiative to pass federal legislation to enlarge the national cancer research budget. She also spends a lot of time advocating for the menstrual equity movement. In her free time you’ll find her reading, writing, singing, acting, or hanging out with her friends and family. She aspires to be an actress who performs in theater productions for social change. Check Lucy out! @ilovelucyivey on IG! And Teens Speak Up www.Teensspeakup.com :)
Issue 2 of fhe CTJ released today! https://issuu.com/clicheteenjournal/docs/ctj_issue_2_jan_2020 enjoy!
|