I make a move. His bishop falls down. Well, there goes his queen and her shiny crown. My knight soars through the air, stealing the square of his pawn without any care. My pawns are in a line. Minutes pass by. My position is fine. I’m playing my best, my position is great, and then . . . checkmate! Summer Loh, 8New York, NY
September 2021
A Strand of Hair
i had my first strand of white hair at thirteen it was an ordinary day turned into an un-ordinary day mom was combing my hair i was daydreaming, blissfully unaware when mom told me her finding my heart screamed and screamed how could this be possible? it simply could not be! i shook my head frantically denial, denial the light must have played tricks on her i could not believe it for the world my kind sister showed me proof a photo on a mobile phone, a sympathetic “oof” and that was when i thought: i will grow old someday ———- an hour later, in school, i was feeling blue i cast glances of envy at the classmates around me gossiping and nodding smiling and laughing they were perfectly ordinary they were perfectly happy they did not have their first strand of white hair at thirteen my teachers walked into the classroom heads of hair like flowers in full bloom radiating from head to toe the very definition of “glow” they were, compared to me, years and years older not a strand of white hair on their shoulders one thing’s for sure they did not have their first strand of white hair at thirteen ———- looking in the mirror i thought i’d see that strand of white hair clearer i wanted to launch a vicious attack but it was lost in a sea of black a sea of black . . . like everyone else into the crowd, it melts but i was never normal i was born different inside reassured i stepped away from the mirror it’s okay to be different and have your first strand of white hair at thirteen that consoling reassurance vanished with a puff i thought i could be strong, but it proved tough when an article appeared on the news talking about that writer’s old-age blues fading memory . . . fading body . . . old soul full of spite . . . bare head full of white . . . was this a sign of the end? did i need to say goodbye to my friends? was i going to grow old? was i going to grow as old as mold? i checked my skin for wrinkles i checked my skin for a single crinkle just in case just in case it’s not okay to have your first strand of white hair at thirteen ———- i came across an article about not wasting time how we can be more productive and earn another dime the writer said we should always remember we won’t be living forever we should focus on the life we are leading instead of wallow in self-pity that got me thinking maybe getting white hair isn’t such a big thing why should i wallow in self-pity and be a bore when i could be doing so much more? they say that the day you know you will die is the day you start living for me the day i knew i had white hair was the day i started living it doesn’t matter if you have your first strand of white hair at thirteen Sim Ling Thee, 13Singapore
How to Clean the Hallway
Scrub the wall to form froth, then coat it with water like the coastline after a wave. Soapy water will slide down to the floorboards. Sit down at the edge of the water, hold your shawl with one hand, and dry the floor. Be careful not to get water in between the tiles. Pull out the brush from the cleaning cart, its drawers tiered like bleachers. By the window, you can see the gardeners trimming the trees below, one of them leaving for a break. The lake to the side reflects the birds flying around in chains, as if trying to clasp the sides of the sky. After cleaning the walls, make sure to put new soap in the tray below. Go inside the corner room to finish today’s breakfast. Soheon Rhee, 12Taguig City, the Philippines