In the summer of 2017, a horrific earthquake hit the Greek island of Lesvos. In the summer of 2017, my family’s village, Vrisia, was reduced to a terrifying pile of fractured, falling buildings and rubble. My memories of Vrisia are damaged and seemingly random, like the items salvaged from the catastrophe-torn buildings. I remember the hedgehog we found on the side of the road that we squirreled away to our garden, my six-year-old hands wrapping tightly around its small, odd-looking body. The hedgehog’s spiky parts weren’t pointy enough to prevent me from hugging him close to my chest. When he escaped from our garden, I nearly cried. I remember the local museum and the preserved shell of a Pinta Island turtle inside. The turtle’s ancient shell seemed impossibly large. The majestic relic of the extinct breed of Galapagos island turtles seemed too foreign to comprehend. My only thought then was that I might strap it to my back and become a turtle myself. I can vaguely recall a Playmobil toy set of Antarctica. There were plastic glaciers that came with a basin you could fill with water. My sister and I played with it for hours. I’d attach the polar bear and penguins to the glaciers and she’d attempt to create a waterfall with the cups of water we were supposed to use to hydrate ourselves. By the end of our playing, we had thoroughly drenched each other. I remember our house. The porch and the tree-like vines that crept above it in a canopy, the unassuming blue door wedged between two other buildings that led down to our home, the room we would sleep in, the color of its walls—all of these things feature prominently in my attempts to reconstruct our Vrisia through memory. Five years and one earthquake later, we’ve returned. The house is still damaged even though my grandmother has been rebuilding these past years. She and my aunts live in Athens, an hour’s flight or an overnight boat ride away from Lesvos. My dad took us on a tour of the village yesterday. It’s strange to stare at a place almost totally changed and have your mind confront you with your younger self’s muddled, distorted, and fragmented memories. “This is the mini-market we would send you to buy groceries from,” he says, pointing at a few bricks surrounded by weeds. A memory flickers in its wake—seven-year-old me walking to the market with her twin sister, her younger sister scuttling behind on her four-year-old feet. The rush of happiness felt at the independence. The old grandmas sitting outside that greet us as we pass. “This is the house of a few of our old friends.” He gazes solemnly at a doorframe standing on its own, surrounded by dead grass and covered in dust. I can imagine a younger version of myself rushing past it on her way to the town square. “Here is the church.” The door bears a bright red spray-painted cross, a marker indicating that the building has been destroyed so much that the best course of action is to tear it down. Each place has a spray-painted cross in green, yellow, or red. Green is the most infrequent of the colors, meaning that a building has suffered little or no damage and is safe to inhabit. When a cross is yellow, there is a severe need for repairs. But the church, one of the primary sources of hope and inspiration in this village—destroyed. We continued to walk. One house resembling a Jenga tower before its collapse had us staring in awe. The front wall was missing, and you could see the slanted, falling floor and all the broken furniture covered in dust and debris. A car honked behind us, and we hurried out of the road. The man drove by, warning us to stay away from the houses—most of them could collapse at any moment. The situation is surreal. I feel like a piece of my identity is crumbling under my shaking fingers and before my petrified eyes. The repairs on our house are done, but we overlook a view of rubble. A bustling village that once housed nearly two-thousand now might be occupied by fewer than two-hundred. There are no open restaurants, most of the houses still need to be torn down or require severe repairs, the local school is damaged, so children are being taught in tiny container houses, and the earthquake destroyed the village’s two factories. Around the world, natural disasters are increasing. Scientists may not have found solid connections between climate change and an increase in earthquakes, but they have found that climate change causes an increased amount of other natural disasters. Central and Northern Europe recently suffered from intense flooding. California suffers from an ongoing drought. People are dying. The effects of humanity’s carelessness are manifesting. After witnessing the destruction nature can cause firsthand, I have only been made more aware of the gravity of our situation. Right now, we can save ourselves. It’s up to the youth to try to heal the Earth before it suffers irreparable damage. It’s up to us to stop our homes from turning into rubble.
Personal Narrative
The Thrilling Race, by Mason Li
I woke up on a hot sunny day, looking up at the ceiling. ”It’s time,” I said to myself, “triathlon time.” I got out of my bed thinking, “triathlon.” I got into the car still thinking, as I s….l….o…w….l…y fell asleep. As I woke up to the sound of the car stopping: ”Are we there yet?” ”Close. Actually… we are there,” Mommy replied. My stomach started aching at those words as I slowly got out of the car, rubbing my eyes as I brought my bike and bag with me. I set up my bike, helmet, shoes, and racing belt. ”Twenty minutes left until the race starts!” I heard the director say. My heart beat faster and faster with every second. After twenty minutes of thinking and wondering, I put my cap and goggles on. My stomach was still aching with pain and nervousness, but my heart was shining with courage. Goooooo! The sound of a horn. And I was off. The freezing water that I was swimming in made me swim faster than I ever could as I accelerated past people. I got out of the water, taking off my cap and goggles as I ran. I put on my helmet. Then I mounted my bike and I started biking. I zoomed downhill and worked hard on the uphill. For a few minutes, I thought I was going the wrong way until I saw a couple older kids zoom past me. As I accelerated my speed to try catching up with them, I saw another pair of older kids ahead. I felt like I had biked past where the little kids should stop until I saw the dismount stop. Because I had too much momentum when I was about to dismount, I fell, but I didn’t feel any pain in the spot I fell, surprisingly. Helping hands shot into view, but I just rolled over and started running towards the transition area until I heard people calling that I forgot my bike. So I ran back to get my bike. Then I put down my bike and helmet and put on my racing belt as I ran. Running and running, hearing cheers from the crowd, I ran through the trail. Running ahead of people, I felt so energetic as I ran. Then I saw the finish line. Excitement awaited me there as I charged to the finish line! ”LET’S GO!” I yelled. Then I felt the pain in my leg, so I went to the medical staff to heal my leg up, but that only took a few minutes. I won first place. When they announced my name, I stepped up to the first place spot on the podium, smiling.
The Sky’s the Limit, a personal narrative by Jaslyn Kwan, 12
Jaslyn Kwan, 12 (Palo Alto, CA) The Sky’s the Limit Jaslyn Kwan, 12 Goodbye San Francisco, hello Tampa! Ever since COVID-19 started, I had been stuck at home along with everyone else. Being able to finally travel to places other than the local grocery store gave me a feeling of freedom. I was heading off to compete in the United States (US) Finals for the prestigious ballet competition, Youth America Grand Prix (YAGP). Excited, I made a long packing list as soon as I got the invitation and started gathering items daily – casual tops and leggings, toothbrush, hair accessories, shoes, makeup, a dress for the award ceremony, etc. Not until the day of departure did I realize that I still hadn’t packed everything! I ended up rushing to finish ten minutes before we left for the airport. I was throwing everything into my bright yellow suitcase, triple-checking my long checklist, wondering why I didn’t do this earlier, and before we knew it, we were off. When we boarded onto the plane, it dawned on me how I would be staring at the back of a seat during the whole flight, unable to move left or right, the whole time getting squished. Gazing at my phone for what seemed like hours, bored out of my mind, I came to wonder why time crawled so slowly. After a few dreadful hours, I finally got comfortable in my seat. Looking out the window, the sky was filled with fluffy clouds – they looked as if they were meant to be danced on. The golden sun was about to set, colorful brush strokes painted across the sky – at last, everything was perfect. I felt so refreshed when I stood up for the first time in 5 hours. Thrilled to see my friends, I jumped into a taxi as fast as I could – hotel, here I come! After meeting up with my friends in the hotel lobby, my mom and I went to the 6th floor. The second we stepped foot into our room, we looked around only to see that the ground was dirty, the room was smaller than expected, and a COCKROACH was on my bed! Having a phobia of bugs, I screamed so loud that I didn’t even hear my mom shushing me. I woke up from my first night only to feel an annoying itch on my thumb. That’s when I saw 3 huge bright red bug bites on the bottom of my thumb! I hated this hotel more than ever and just wanted to get out as fast as possible. Tiptoeing around the dirty floor, I got ready for my dance, and fled the room for a warm-up class. At the end, I came to realize that my mom had already packed up all our belongings and moved to another hotel! When I saw our new room for the first time, I couldn’t believe my eyes. Everything about it was pristine: the furniture was clean as a whistle, the carpet nicely vacuumed, the mattress as white as snow, and no dust anywhere. I felt like the most fortunate girl in the world. The day of competitions and master classes finally arrived. Jaslyn at the YAGP Finals After a light breakfast, focused and determined, I started intensely stretching and conditioning for the upcoming events. In the class, I glanced around and saw so many gifted girls from all around the US in the room. I have to work even harder than these girls to make an impression, I thought. Squeezing my muscles, I did the first plié (bending my knees) as the professional photographer came up to me, attempting to find the right angle for a photo. Looking straight and smiling, I tried my best to hold in my excitement. I was also hoping that the one judge in the room could see me and notice how hard I was working. After a long but exhilarating class, I was pumped to go on stage – the big moment. Backstage, there were several heavy black curtains hung from the ceiling, a little table with a lonely lamp, and a tall slender woman in all black – black shirt, pants, microphone, and clipboard. I figured she was the stage manager. I gave her my number for my dance, and off I went for Open Stage, a time to practice on the real stage. Marking my grande jeté (a split jump), I was surrounded by all these talented girls rehearsing quadruple pirouettes, high arabesques, and such crazy jumps. I couldn’t help but think, “What if I do bad? What if I fall?” I didn’t know what to expect – anything could happen. Even though you may not get the best placement, it only matters that you tried your best, I thought, trying to reassure myself. Jaslyn performing Soon enough, it was time to perform. Dressed in my rhinestone-embellished all white tutu with a cream scarf covering my arms, I laced my pointe shoes and immersed myself into a shadow – the character of my variation, La Bayadere. As I danced, I felt like I was flying on the clouds I saw earlier on the plane. It was like nothing could stop me – not even a little stumble. Gliding down the last diagonal of relevés (rising onto pointe), I was so excited and relieved to hit my last pose. Bowing to the audience’s applause felt like a weight had just been lifted off my shoulders. Then came the most intense part of this experience; it was time to see if I made it into the final round of competitions. I sat on the bed at 10pm into the night, exhausted, staring at my mom’s computer screen, butterflies flying in my stomach. The anticipation was killing me. All sorts of emotions kicked in as the final scores were about to come out. Soon, however, I couldn’t wait any longer and dozed off on my mom’s shoulder. That night, I dreamt about
