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"Deflowering" by Julianne Wey

He languidly twirls the lovely flower in his long, able fingers, stroking up and down, up and down. She shudders, stem stretching and arching, reaching, always reaching. Her face turns towards him, cheeks flushed, and the eyelids fold back to reveal the black eyes, fully dilated, softened by the uncertainty of vulnerability. Her leaves touch him tentatively, unsure, always unsure. His cheek rises self-assuredly and his lids drape lazily over his dark eyes. She’s giving him her okay.

He moves his hands up the delicate stem and cups her neck with deceptive gentleness. He moves his thumb in a smooth circle, once, twice. Slowly, playing the part of a tender, soft lover, he brushes the tips of his fingers over the raised cheekbones, drags them sensuously down her devastatingly beautiful, innocent face. One hand lingers below her angled chin, while the other reaches up to palm her forehead and pushes her hair back. The beads of sweat gather on his hand and cling to the calloused skin, digging in, dewdrops searching for morning shelter. He leans forward, barely brushing her lips with his, and she lets her instincts dominate as she arches up, bending her fragile stem back, and presses into him more—always looking for more. She gives him passage to plunder and delve, explore and conquer. He smiles now, in knowing triumph.

She’s just another one.

Taking his time, he lets his hands ghost over her skin, drawing goose bumps out. Heartbeats grow steadily louder behind her ribcage, puffs of air pulled out of her mouth like a hidden key on a string.

She regrets it, but it’s too late.

But he can pluck her petals. Calmly, effortlessly, he pulls at them one at a time, finally snapping her pliant stalk in two. His face creases ever so slightly and he reaches deeper; the soft keening sound rises into the air, condensing and floating as a fog around his head. He doesn’t stop. His picking continues and gradually, her sharp jabs of noise soften into a languorous stream of sound, reveling in the thrill that he gives her.

She’s broken, bare, finished and uprooted.

How familiar this is, taking them one at a time, lushly running his fingers over their smooth figures and picking off the residual petals one by one, watching them wilt. The exhilaration no longer present, as it was when he was a mere boy, excited and eager; he’s calm now, smooth and practiced, enjoying every touch, every sigh, every shudder.

It’s just another one.

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The Bottom of the Well

WE LIVE IN A JAR AND THINK THE LID IS THE SKY

Art by SIMON LEE

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"Why Gay is Not Okay" by Two Pens

"Why Gay is Okay" by Lauren Lin

While many arguments against gay marriage can be called homophobic, overly religious and (some) just plain ignorant, we hope to present a reasonable, polite argument for the unpopular side. We don’t intend to offend (unlike gay rights activist Dan Savage, who said “The Bible is full of shit” and then rants on the harms of hate) and only hope to present a reasonable argument for the side that is so often neglected. You can’t have a debate with only one side, after all.

Taboos are there for a reason. The argument “you should love who you want to love” is dangerous. If one loves his sibling in a romantic way, should they be allowed to marry? If we condone homosexuality, then what is next, incest? Likewise, the argument “born this way” holds some obvious flaws. While there is a “gay gene,” we believe that the majority of gays do not hold this gene. Often, it is the environment that shapes their choices. Also, if every gay was “born that way,” then why have the numbers of homosexuals risen in recent years? One could argue that more and more are “coming outs” because of loosening social restraints, but then one could also argue that homosexuality is on the rise because popular culture has embraced it (and pop culture shapes our culture). Hollywood, after all, has famously had a “gay agenda.” Hugh Ryan of The New York Times (not exactly your typical conservative newspaper) writes: “...everyone knows that West Hollywood is a gay-friendly neighborhood, with rainbow flags flying from restaurants and bars.” Our point is: Hollywood is partially responsible for the rise in homosexuality because Hollywood can change culture.

However, despite our stance against homosexuality, we do believe that gays should be allowed to marry. The constitution states that the pursuit of happiness is an inalienable human right. Marriage is often the happiest day of someone’s life, and it is definitely a pursuit of happiness. As a secular society, the United States should not be so greatly influenced by religious doctrine. Rather, it should stick to its constitution (which, we note, was written with some theocratic influence) and allow gays to marry. We’d much rather live in a world where everyone’s individual rights are respected, even if it means going against something we believe in.

It is important to protect everyone’s rights, and that is why it is important to protect gay rights.

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"Can You Teach a Dog to Use a Treadmill?" by Samuel Liu

Graphic by Yunqing Chen

Now, before you call the animal police on us, know this: my dog is fat. She exercises, but obviously not enough. In the sixth grade I decided to teach my dog to walk a treadmill with the help of two friends. Using chopped up celery and peanut butter as an incentive, we led her to the treadmill and attached her leash to the treadmill handlebar. We pressed start, at the lowest speed. She learned how to use it quickly, and to our surprise, she didn’t panic when the ground moved. I thought that this would solve the exercise problem, but it didn’t help. My dog’s dumb (see Fence incident), and I’m afraid that she’ll injure herself on the treadmill; I can’t supervise her for 40 minutes while she walks at three miles an hour.

So, my next task was to get a chicken to walk a treadmill. Now before you judge me and ask incredulously, “WHY the heck would you be bored enough to do that?”, hear my defense in three parts: (1) I needed to write 500 words for this column (shameless I know), (2) I like chickens, especially eating them, and (3) I finished all three seasons of community and was literally rotting in boredom (APUSH summer homework? Nah).

My chicken was pretty disobedient so I tried to fashion a leash around its neck. Not too hard, as long as you don’t run too fast. Before I was able to get into the house, though, I was accosted by my mom who told me to put a diaper on. I took one of my little brother’s diapers and attempted to tape it to the chicken, but it was too large and kept falling off. I decided to not buy a chicken diaper (yes, they do exist) and just give up.

I guess the lesson learned, the moral of the story, the point of closure, the final epiphany, the brainblast (fine, I’ll stop) is that dogs are smart and chickens are dumb--that’s why it’s culturally acceptable to eat chickens and not dogs (unless you go to China but that’s another story). But I do wonder, can you house train a chicken?

I guess I’ll just have to find out.

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"Waiting". By THOMAS LI

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"Putting the Bad in Badminton" by Lauren Lin

Photo courtesy of bwfbadminton.org

"TENNIS PLAYERS ARE OBVIOUSLY MORE IMPORTANT, AS WE NEVER HAVE TO SET UP THANKS TO THE NUMEROUS COURTS AVAILABLE. (TENNIS: 2, BADMINTON:0)"

In November, freshmen JV badminton players and tennis haters Candice Zheng and Vanessa Wang challenged me to a duel of the sports-- tennis vs. badminton. We decided to take turns playing the opposing sport, and using our experience, we would settle the eternal argument.

“Badminton is way better than tennis! It requires technique and footwork that tennis players don’t use, and also, badminton is extremely popular,” Candice said.

I beg to differ, because tennis also includes footwork and technique which only rigorous training can instill. Although Candice and Vanessa have not upheld their side of the bargain, I have always been confident that tennis will be the victor.

Badminton is a racket sport played by two opposing sides, who take positions on opposite sides of a net. Players score points by hitting a shuttlecock (also known as a shuttle, bird, or birdy) so that it passes over the net and lands in their opponents' side.

In my case, badminton is the process in which I swing wildly at the birdy in hopes that perhaps it might go over the net, and if I’m really lucky, it may even land within the boundaries.

My mentor of the day, badminton mixed doubles player and my best friend, Vanessa Wang, complied to taking the hopeless responsibility of teaching me badminton.

It seems badminton is not only boring, but hazardous to one’s health. Players are responsible for setting up nets, which includes pushing heavy poles in place. When Vanessa wheeled the heavy post into place, I feared for her safety because it seemed as if it would topple over and crush her small frame. Tennis players are obviously more important, as we never have to set up thanks to the numerous courts available. (Tennis: 2, Badminton: 0)

However, it was raining outside, and the big gym was a nice refuge from the elements. Unfortunately, with the shelter came an unbearable stuffiness which my nose just couldn't take, which playing outdoors never caused. (Tennis: 3, Badminton: 1)

When all the courts were finally set up, the badminton-ing began! I thought that I would fail beyond reason, but using a hybrid of tennis and badminton forms, I managed to maintain short rallies and actually execute a few smashes.

“Yay! We’re ruining your tennis form. Your coach is going to be so pleased with us,” Vanessa said.

Unfortunately, badminton demands more usage of the wrist than tennis, while using only one hand. Unaccustomed to the extra movement, my wrist quickly got sore. (Tennis: 4, Badminton: 1)

Also, because the courts were set up so closely together, the birdy kept flying onto the other courts, and waiting for the players end a rally to retrieve the birdy was an awkward affair, similar to crossing the road when one is unsure of whether an oncoming car will stop. The difference was that while a pedestrian is granted right-of-way, someone seeking a run-away birdy could be stuck waiting on the side of the court for an opening to rush in and snatch the trouble-making shuttlecock. (Tennis: 5, Badminton: 1)

Because of the lack of room, I was whacked on the head when Grace Ma, a freshman JV badminton player, was practicing her swing. The racket hit me across the back of my head, and immediately, I crouched down and cradled my head in a classic stop, drop, and cover form, as if awaiting an earthquake. (Tennis: 6, Badminton: 1) Since badminton battle scars are not the most fashionable accessories, I was quite dismayed. Fortunately, I was reassured that my wound was not too gruesome.

“Oh, it’s all black and blue. It’s over, you’re finished,” coach Alex Chan, one of the three badminton coaches said. However, I will grant badminton a point for sarcastic wit, leaving the final score at Tennis: 6, Badminton: 2.

One thirty minute rally session later, open gym finished, and I left bearing a new bruise and a renewed appreciation for my beloved sport, tennis.

[thefalconsphere-blog]

"America's Sputnik Moment" by Eric Taw

Graphic by JESSICA QIAN

Are America’s children falling behind in their education compared to international students? The answer is yes, and quite drastically. As a sober President Obama called it, America has arrived at its “Sputnik moment,” a reference to the famous Soviet satellite.

In the reading section of the PISA (Program for International Student Assessment), America achieved a score of 500. Of the countries surveyed, the international average was 493, making America dead average. Eight countries scored higher than America, while 51 countries scored about the same or lower than America. Countries that scored higher than America include South Korea, Canada, Japan, Finland, China and Singapore. 

When asked, experts give a simple but incorrect explanation: students in leading countries, especially those in China, are simply more focused and work harder and longer than American students.

I, however, have a different opinion. We must look past the fact that students in Shanghai and Hong Kong study longer and harder and look at why they study so well. I believe there are three key differences between American and Chinese school that give China an advantage.

1.       Chinese students must pass an exam to enter high school

2.       Chinese schools require tuition

3.       Chinese parents strongly emphasize the importance of a good education

 In America, anybody can go to a good public school regardless of their previous achievements, as long as they pass. If you live in the school district and pay taxes, you are admitted. In China, students are required to take a high school entrance exam. The higher the score, the better the high school they get into. This effectively filters out students who don’t take their education seriously and allows the serious students to acquire the best education possible.

By requiring school tuition, schools force parents to care about where they are spending money. A great portion of China is still in deep poverty. Farmers work in the fields for many hours with the hope that their children will not suffer like they do. Those lucky enough to afford higher education are often under immense financial stress. Because school tuition places a huge burden on the parents, they care about putting their money to effective use, and if it means sitting by their child’s side drilling trigonometry in their heads, they will gladly do it.

Chinese parents indoctrinate their children with the obsession (yes, in certain cases, one may call it an obsession) of a strong education. For instance, my parents grew up in Taiwan. Both of their families were relatively poor, and they came to America looking for economic opportunities. My parents found connections that led them to the culinary industry. They trained hard to become cooks, often working 12 hours a day and coming home calloused and in pain. This experience gave them fear that their own children may grow up to suffer like they did, so throughout my life, they taught that education is the most important aspect of my life, second only to my health.

Yes, I will admit. I have been indoctrinated as well, to some extent.

Such indoctrination creates truly dedicated students. Studies show that the average Chinese student spends double the amount of time on homework than the average American student. To put it bluntly, the average American spends more time in front of the TV than in front of a book. Asian parents are notorious for their fierce parenting practices, but in an interview with Amy Chua, better known as Tiger Mom, she explains that “by disciplining me, my parents inculcate self-discipline.”

Therefore, parents are the roots of the reason why America is falling behind in education.

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"Where America Trumps China" by Samuel Liu

“China is eating our lunch!” thundered the business magnate and TV personality Donald Trump. “We are really building China … everything we make is made in China!”

It seems that almost every pundit and politician has railed on the topic of Chinese economic superiority. China is scheduled to become the world’s number one superpower in three years, maybe even two, newspapers blare. This apprehension has reverberated in many an American’s mind: are we no longer the world’s number one power? As this distinction becomes less and less clear, the answer is increasingly yes. However, America’s core values gives it advantages that China can never match.

“In China, the culture is to work within the system,” said my mother, who was born and raised in mainland China and attended a top Chinese university. “The opportunity to invent, or dream, is more of an American thing.”

The First Amendment allows dreamers such as Bill Gates, Jeremy Lin, and Steve Jobs to thrive and change the world. Without a culture encouraging a free flow of ideas, I would likely not be submitting this essay via email, or even writing it on a Macintosh. The freedom of expression is the most important aspect of American culture, and perhaps the most powerful.

 The recent global phenomenon Jeremy Lin exemplifies the American dream. Lin, an Asian-American professional basketball player, recently blossomed into basketball’s biggest story. Hailing from Palo Alto High School, Lin studied engineering at Harvard and played on the school team. He was undrafted; teams could not look past his race or his school, both supposedly non-athletic. But now, Lin is the toast of the basketball world and the embodiment of the long-shot.

China’s current basketball system will never produce a Jeremy Lin. If you want to be a basketball player in China, you have to show great athletic prowess and perform well in a tangible way; there are no surprises. Yao Ming and Yi Jian Lian (both seven-footers from China) were produced via this rigid system.

There is no way someone from the Chinese equivalent of Harvard would play professional basketball because China values one’s ability over one’s passion. To have a chance at professional basketball, the player would have been groomed from age ten. Players who don’t make it are often cast aside with no education and few marketable skills; for many, to dream is simply too risky as there is only one, super-efficient path to take and few options.

How does this relate to our Constitution? It’s simple. China’s culture of restriction (and efficiency) does not allow outliers; in society, everyone must be in complete order like a part of a machine. In America, where our freedom of expression is our right and pride, creativity and passion is encouraged, if not put on a pedestal.

Bill Gates, the ultimate outlier, dropped out of Harvard to begin a business in a garage. "I'm a bad influence,” Gates said at a Harvard graduation speech. “That's why I was invited to speak at your graduation. If I had spoken at your orientation, fewer of you might be here today." A legendary innovator like Gates was able to thrive because he was not confined into a singular path. Rather, he became an innovator, a nonconformist. Obviously, Gates has had a huge impact on the world, ranging from “a computer on every desk” to fighting malaria in Africa.

“There is only one path in China,” my mom said. “I knew it since I was five. Elementary school, secondary school, top college, and either engineer, doctor, or lawyer. Anything less is frowned upon. Drop out of school? No way. I think that Americans have this free mindset, they’re more likely to explore.”

Gates, whose visions and innovations have transformed us into the 21st century, took an unconventional path. His niche, his calling card, was creativity, and he can thank the First Amendment for his billions. It was America, after all, that dared him to dream.

A nonconformist, or an innovator, is the antithesis to the Chinese culture of order, and not surprisingly, modern China lacks noteworthy inventors and innovators. When used as a verb, “to dream” can be directly translated (in Chinese) to “keep dreaming.” Not only is the phrase “to dream” used derogatorily in Chinese, it is also spoken in a sarcastic manner, as if the speaker thinks that dreaming is a waste. Truly, there is stark contrast between China’s efficiency and America’s ideology.

When Thomas Jefferson (who hated newspapers for their frequent inaccuracies) said, “Were it left to me to decide whether we should have a government without newspapers, or newspapers without a government, I should not hesitate a moment to prefer the latter,” he may not have envisioned the far-reaching consequences of freedom of speech and expression, such as the culture of creativity. But he definitely recognized that the freedom to criticize the government was, is, and will be invaluable to America. The Watergate investigation is a perfect example; journalists brought down corruption at its highest level. However, I doubt that Jefferson would agree with the way media has evolved. Nowadays, it seems that almost every newspaper is somewhat liberal, but I would rather have a biased press than no press.

Truly, the First Amendment is not only the watchdog of America, it is the very catalyst behind our American genius. As someone who writes for a school newspaper and someday dreams of becoming a journalist, I cannot imagine a life without the freedom of expression, neither would I welcome it. China’s economy may soon surpass our own, but we must not underestimate our freedom, which remains our greatest, most dynamic strength.

As former president Ronald Reagan once said, “The march of freedom and democracy . . . will leave Marxism-Leninism on the ash heap of history as it has left other tyrannies which stifle the freedom and muzzle the self-expression of the people.”

I needed 1000 words, the man needed a sentence. Amen, Mr. Reagan, Amen.

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"Summer Memories: Yo Yo Ma, Haircut Abduction and Judgemental Dogs" by Gloria Liou

"TANGLEWOOD'S LIST OF PERFORMERS CAN MAKE YOUR NOSE BLEED... YO YO MA REMINDED ME OF MY DAD AND JOSHUA BELL, OF COURSE, WAS SUPER-HOT."

Tanglewood’s list of performers can make your nose bleed. I met Yo Yo Ma and the Silk Road Ensemble, Joshua Bell, Anne-Sophie Mutter, Emanuel Ax, James Taylor, and Taylor Swift (why she was there, I don’t know). Yo Yo Ma reminded me of my dad and Joshua Bell was, of course, super-hot. Listening to them and being able to interact with these greats was surreal. Here I was, a mere high school-er, standing among the greatest musical minds in the world. I tried to savor every moment.

 One of my chamber coaches brought a very interesting companion with him each day to rehearsal. Our morning chamber orchestra sessions were observed by a small, cute dog named Pixie. Although her name gives off an angelic, kind vibe, she was extremely judgemental. During orchestra, we would make fools of ourselves in effort to attract her attention. Pixie would look to see who was calling, and decide whether she would take the effort to embrace this attention. After a few days, I noticed that she only responded to certain individuals each day. By the time camp was over, my suspicions were confirmed. Pixie only responded to whoever sat concertmaster or principal cellist, and since our seating rotated everyday, she attended and played with a new master each day. Picky Pixie. What a dog.

 Although I could go on and on about the people I met and the music we played, my most exciting experience was not related to the program. During one of the chamber rehearsals, I had refused to tie my hair up for three reasons: (1) I think it looks better down, (2) strands of hair kept falling over my eyes and violin and (3) most importantly, there was a very hot guy in my quartet. I occasionally had to stop to brush my hair out of my face, and by the time rehearsal was over, I could tell the first violinist (my friend Petros) was not amused since our concert was only a few days away. “You need a haircut, and you’re getting one,” were the last words I heard as I left rehearsal.

 Later that night after dinner, my dorm mate, Jess, and the first violinist approached me. “Wow, her hair is too long,” Jess commented as she handed Petros a shining object. To my surprise, my friends had somehow managed to get a hold of a pair of scissors and were taking matters into their own hands.

Although I refused at first and struggled to get out of their grasp, I realized my hair really was starting to get too long, so I nervously gave in to the hands of the mob forming around me. Petros did most of the work, but my other friends from the program would occasionally chip in and cut off parts they thought were uneven or needed more styling. So basically I had ten hair stylists who had no experience working with my hair. By the end, over half a foot of hair was in the trash can, even though they had promised to cut only an inch or two. I actually kind of like it short, it’s easier to wash, anyway.

 So I’m back now with short, uneven hair, 42 mosquito bites, a huge violin hickey, new friends from all over the globe and an unnatural obsession for string quartets. The rotting dorms, the obsessive musicians, and the truly disgusting food are now my home, and the memories will last forever. I’m hoping to fly to London over Thanksgiving to visit Jess, to Mexico over Christmas to visit Petros, and to Houston over February Break to visit the hot guy in my quartet.

[thefalconsphere-blog]

"Revitalized" by Colin Dowdell

From troubling times in the 1960’s to modern day international prosperity, Korea has undergone an incredible economic transformation. Akin to Germany's “Miracle on the Rhine,” a statement used to describe its post-World War II economic rebirth, Korea's massive economic growth through big business, otherwise known as conglomerate growth (chaebols in Korean), is called the “Miracle on the Han River. Chaebols are the obtained assets of large Japanese businesses subsequent to Japanese occupation of Korea around the time of World War II. These conglomerates, or corporations consisting of several companies involved in diverse business ventures, continue to prosper as some of the largest international businesses today (e.g., Hyundai, Samsung, LG, and Daewoo). In addition, stemming from South Korea's partnership with America during Korea's developmentalism phase, Obama, in 2009 at the G-20 London Summit, stated that Korea was “[one of America's] closest allies and greatest friends.” Through conflict and crisis, chabeols have become the unsung heroes, the backbone, and the deus ex machina of the Korean economy. 

Now why is this important?

Korea is currently the 15th largest economy in the world (by nominal GDP), has some of the most lucrative enterprises in the world, and has had one of the biggest economic booms since the 1950s. Its high school students endlessly (or sleeplessly) mutter what is known as the Korean student dogma—”Four hours [sleep] pass, five hours [sleep] fail.” But under the facade of glamorous K-Pop and addicting Starcraft tournaments, there is a strict foundation to the Korean dream.

These companies exemplify this Korean dream—firm foundations in numerous sectors of the economy, big players in global trade, and owners of lavish beach houses on the shores of Busan. Because of their role in the economy after the 1960s, Hyundai, Samsung, LG, and the rest of these globally diversified companies have developed many connections with the government, and also, within themselves. Interestingly enough, apart from the heirs of these big businesses, there are virtually no trust-fund kids. The strict education, high competition, and long workdays have formed this one-shot society that correlates to Korea’s ranking first and second on science and math (relatively) but also its distinction as the country with the highest suicide rate for individuals under 40. However, the idyllic family-owned business idea pervaded in Korea contributing to a closely-meshed intermarriage network, confirmed by Ch’amyo˘yo˘ndae, a study conducted in 2004. To this day, the heirs of these companies play important economic, social, and political roles. In fact, the current president of South Korea, Lee Myung-Bak, was the former CEO of Hyundai Engineering and Construction.

An epitome of these massive conglomerate’s rapid development is Hyundai. Started by Chung Ju Yung, a poor teenager who developed business relations with the U.S. military and Syngman Rhee following World War Two, Hyundai was recognized by Park Chung-Hee, the authoritarian leader during the 1960s, after his construction of a bridge over the Han River was successful. Over the years, Chung and Hee developed a close relationship. When Hee decided to build ships, he chose Chung to manage this new business. Chung’s first (seemingly impossible) project involved building 260,000-ton oil tankers, the largest ever made in South Korea. After this success, Hyundai branched into electronics, financial services, automobiles, shipbuilding, and other ventures. Before Hee took power, Hyundai looked past the bankruptcy of post-crisis South Korea and invested in North Korea. Today, Hyundai is known primarily for its car exports and manufacturing.

Samsung, created by Hee Byung Chull, is part of the reason Asia’s fourth largest economy is still expanding.  Throughout history, Samsung’s wealth paralleled the Korean economy. During the Japanese invasion of Manchuria, Samsung became bankrupt and during the end of the war in 1945, Samsung flourished. While Samsung is now an international powerhouse (pun intended—it partially supplies the Mexican state of Chihuahua), few people are aware that Samsung began in the 1950s as a poor wool mill.

LG, also known as Lucky Goldstar, was created in 1947 by Koo In Hwoi. While its first few products were cosmetics, LG is now known for electronics. In the last annual Korean Fair Trade Commission (KFTC) meeting, LG was rated third behind Hyundai and Samsung. To assure stability in times of crisis, LG has moved from a sole family-owned chaebol to a holding company structure, typical of business America, where a new company is created to buy and possess the shares of the different sectors of the company (e.g., Engineering, Finance, etc.). While the original Koo family still owns 53% of LG Corporation, the holding company is viewed as a solution to the problematic plethora of multiple crossovers in the company. Because of LG's switch, initiated by the chairman of LG Corporations, Koo Bon-moo, the company's sales have quadrupled and market capitalization has increased by 10 times.

It need not be said that these conglomerates play an important role. During the 1950s, South Korea was an underdeveloped, agrarian nation whose people were wracked with destitution and hunger. Today, people can live their whole life under any one of these companies. Take Hyundai, for instance. While the Hyundai logo is sprayed on just about every piece of metal in Korea, there are world-renowned Hyundai colleges (Ulsan University), Hyundai communities, and Hyundai sponsorships for everything green, artistic, and traditional in Korea.

Economy is perhaps biology in Korea.

[thefalconsphere-blog]

"TheFalconSphere Explained" by Nikhil Goel and Samuel Liu

We’re members of the Saratoga Falcon (the local school newspaper), and something we’ve been asked is: “Why another newspaper?” And then followed by “It must be for college-apps.”

Well, to answer the first question, TheFalconSphere is not just “another newspaper.” Yes, we have many elements of a normal newspaper, ranging from timeliness, opinion section, features, Associated Press style, and overuse of google docs, but we are not just “another newspaper.” TheFalconSphere is an online newspaper/blog-o-sphere that focuses on showcasing our writers’ talents rather than simply distributing information. So we’re not really a “competitor” to the Saratoga Falcon because we work in two different areas. In fact, one of our goals is to bring more readership to The Saratoga Falcon, which we link to from the homepage.

While we admit that the creation of TheFalconSphere was in some part motivated by college-apps (really, it’s difficult to have pure motives for anything), we created TheFalconSphere because we noticed that many students outside of the Saratoga Falcon were great writers. However, unlike us, these students had no forum, no medium to write. We wanted to bring the newspaper experience to those that lacked the opportunity. And by doing everything online, we will be able to expand to schools far beyond Saratoga, where we hope to find more talented and enthusiastic writers.

TheFalconSphere donates all proceeds to Kiva, an organization that lends money to entrepreneurs in third-world countries. We’re not going to lie; we don’t expect to make much money. We doubt that Ad money will even cover the cost of hosting this website.

However, we hope that we’re doing something that can't be measured with just numbers. The very experience of being on a publication staff is invaluable, and we hope to bring this experience to more and more people.

[thefalconsphere-blog]

"Dude, Check Her Out" by Julianne Wey

Graphic by Samuel Liu

She’s beautiful. The woman behind the counter. She’s the kind of lovely that makes you want to never have to blink. Her lips aren’t turned down in that haughty way so many girls adopt—she’s tranquil and peaceful, like the surface of Lake Tahoe. Her eyes are millions of miles deep. Whoever said that colored eyes were more captivating than ‘regular old’ brown ones was wrong, blaringly wrong. Those cider, gold-flecked eyes suck you in and hold you captive, never letting you go. Yet a simple transforming smile releases you benignly from her hold.

She’s behind the cash register five hours a day, four days a week at the local grocery store. Granted, it’s a good grocery store—Trader Joe’s-level—but the locals couldn’t help but wonder why she was working simply as a cashier. She’d dropped into town out of nowhere, appearing at her new work stint and literally stopping the tracks of every customer who glanced up and saw that girl manning the position. And every man, woman, child left the store appalled and pondering the reason for her arrival, the reason for her holding such a measly job.

Her name was Gladys. At least, rumor has it that that was her Christian name. Her name is Michelle now. No last name, just a first name. People talked wildly for the first few months, spreading grapevines like conflagrations, uncontrollable with their seemingly unquenchable thirst for knowledge about this enigmatic woman. They said that she was a young widow whose husband had been brutally killed in a battle in Afghanistan. They said that she was actually a royal heiress from Great Britain (disguising her telltale accent, of course) and had run away from home in a desperate attempt to escape stiff, powdered teas and ridiculous, puppet responsibilities. They said that she had been knocked up by a dark-faced, unnamed man back in her hometown and that she’d taken shelter here. For all the flying rumors and never-ending flow of gossip revolving around Michelle, she very well might have Natasha Romanov.

Eventually, the flow stemmed and the gash of inquiry was stitched up. The townspeople went about their business as always, and the rumors were accepted as true. Her mysterious beauty remained etched in their minds, and they plastered their nebulous labels over her unforgettable face.

But of course, she had a story. Her story was the truth, not the townspeople’s truth—her truth.

Michelle had not been born Gladys, as the middle-aged-bordering-on-elderly ladies had claimed; in fact, her true name was Chanel. Born to a French mother and a Russian father who’d taught her their native languages since babyhood, Chanel Andronikov was gifted in nearly every way. She was quite literally a God-given child. She was taught cello at the age of four, piano at the age of five and learned guitar on her own before she hit her teen years. In addition, she studied jazz and began performing gigs at coffee shops by the age of fourteen. She’d been scouted by modeling agents at sixteen, but respectfully declined—she loved food with a burning passion and she could never bring herself to diet, not that she needed to. And anyway, she wasn’t really the type of person you could tie down with a contract and some nice clothes. Despite being blessed in every way possible, Chanel had no idea what she wanted to do with her life. She was plagued with laziness and indecision. But maybe that was too harsh. She had an idea, but she couldn’t find a way to make it bloom. She wanted to be a writer. She wanted to be J.K. Rowling. Hell, she wanted to be Charlotte Brontë, for all that mattered.

So, how did she go from genius to cashier?

The townsfolk, especially the teenage boys, loved making up stories for her. Okay, she was physically abused by her father–he’s a chauvinist, an outdated man with alcohol problems. Nope. So maybe she was gang raped in her teens. But no, she was not. Cheated on by a beloved boyfriend, stabbed in the back by a close friend–maybe both at the same time? No.

Her problem was that her parents gave her too much freedom. She wished they’d forced her down the path of engineering, or education, or politics, or something that didn’t guarantee almost absolute failure. She wished they’d given her stability so that she wouldn’t be left wandering, dithering for this path or no, wait, this one? And then, of course, she couldn’t be bothered to make a tough decision so she just sat down at the fork in the road.

She knew she could almost definitely get into a prestigious university so she slacked off in high school. Sure, she got As—but not enough A+s. She couldn’t be bothered to work harder than that. She told herself year after year that she would step it up the next year, lock herself down and discipline herself, yet she never got around to that. She told herself she would score an internship at Stanford with some esteemed literature professor, or maybe even a history professor—anyone in the humanities department. She didn’t. She couldn’t be bothered to compose hundreds of personally-written e-mails. She knew that she could almost definitely get a perfect score on the SATs, so when it came to hardcore preparations, she cheated. She flipped to the back of the book and memorized the black print letters, jotting them down as she went. It was a no-big kind of thing for her. It wasn’t like she was cheating on a real exam; she just knew she could do it, so why bother with all this studying?

Her assignments were all half-ass attempts and always toward the second half of the school year. She moaned and groaned and said she would do it later, and sure, she was certainly immensely talented at procrastinating (as well as everything else), but she wasn’t aware that if she continued like that, procrastinating would become her only skill. She didn’t seem to realize that everyone was behind her in this, everyone wanted her to succeed. She was so painfully lovely in every way possible that no one could despise her for being so goddamned talented. But people became resentful of her lack of effort. Here she was, blessed with a kiss from God, hand-picked by Him, and yet she had the gall to push everything away. It was a waste. And she continued to waste. She wasted and wasted until she became the waste.

What made it worse was that it was so clear that she knew she was smart and she knew she could do it, and yet she didn’t. It wasn’t as if she was some rebellious teenager who went out partying and hooked up with thousands of guys, even though anything with male body parts was practically drooling at her feet anywhere she went. She wasn’t someone who could have a startling, life-changing epiphany and then push her way to turning her life around and becoming a better person. She was just lazy.

Chanel Andronikov. The epitome of success. That’s what she could’ve been. With her charm and charisma and her intellectual brilliance, she could’ve done anything. Everyone keeled over in awe wherever she went, either by her aesthetic pleasure or her shockingly keen intelligence that seemed to cater perceptively to any individual with whom she communicated.

Chanel Andronikov. The epitome of disappointment. The one who fit all three of Shakespeare’s ‘greatness’ theorems–born great, achieved greatness, had greatness thrusted upon her.

If there was such a thing as ‘too perfect’, then that fit Chanel completely. She was just that—too perfect. It was her own downfall because she shrugged it on and became too comfortable with that fur coat of luxurious blessing.

She didn’t get a perfect score and she didn’t get into a prestigious university. She didn’t run pell-mell into a successful, billion-dollar career like everyone expected. She didn’t move to Manhattan and rule the city with an elegant fist. She didn’t become a renowned author, traveling the world and taking exotic lovers who left her piles of foreign money.

She did nothing. And you can’t imagine the crippling, fracturing disappointment she caused everyone around her.

She knew her potential. Everyone did.

She just didn’t fulfill it.

So here she is now, in the tiny town of Arcata, where nobody knows her story and thus everyone creates extravagant tragedies for her sake—to justify her—unaware of the fact that she single-handedly ruined her future.

And when she finishes her shift, she walks home on her own, digs out her key and lets herself into the small, dingy apartment where she lives by herself. She’s numb from her own loneliness, her own failure. She sits at the rickety table she’d managed to dig up at a local garage sale and eats her dinner by herself—usually some canned food because she can’t be bothered to cook real food. She’s just alone. Festering in her own failure. Well, she should be. But she can’t bother to do even that.

(And maybe she’s just like this story. Awesome potential, intriguing beginning--horribly disappointing ending.)

Chanel Andronikov, who once had fame and fortune kissing her feet, begging for her company, confined to her self-created world of failure.

[thefalconsphere-blog]

"Blown Away". By GLORIA BRECK

[thefalconsphere-blog]

"Success Appeal" by Katrina Vokt

Graphic by JESSICA QIAN

“So, what does success mean to you?”

I shifted uncomfortably in my chair, searching around the room, racking my brain for the answer. What does success mean to me? In all honesty, I had never given much thought to this before, and now here I was, being asked this vital question in the middle of an interview. I had to think quickly.

“Well, umm, success, to me…means being successful in anything I do.”

Oh God, that was stupid. So, naturally, I tried to save myself.

“…and to be successful means to be proud of what I do, no matter what it is. Not just to impress my parents or my peers but to make myself proud”

I gave an (unintentional) cheesy smile.

As you can see, I suck at interviews. Sometimes I get very sweaty. Sometimes I cry. This interview was no different. By the time it was over, I felt like I had just been interrogated. But when I went home later that day, I couldn’t get that question out of my mind: What is success?

Finding the meaning to success is a tricky task; it’s along the lines of finding the meaning of life. If you asked me that question right now, I would say success is getting into Stanford or Harvard. Ask me again in 30 years, I might say being financially stable and being happy with life. Our view of success naturally changes with time, but is there a way to define an idea of success that is both all-inclusive and timeless?

Malcolm Gladwell and John Wooden think so.

Malcolm Gladwell is a well established journalist (he has written for the New Yorker, Washington Post, grantland.com etc.), a bestselling author and a speaker. John Wooden was an American basketball player and coach who led UCLA to ten NCAA national championships in a 12-year period. Both men, from two completely separate professions, found success in their own way. With their successful credentials, I figured we could learn a thing or two from them about success. So here’s what these two successful people think it means to be successful:

In his novel “Outliers”, Gladwell considers successful people those that stand out from the average person in terms of success, ‘outliers’ if he may. These kinds of people include Bill Gates, Steve Jobs, The Beatles and star hockey players. Let’s face it, who doesn’t want to attain that level of success? To attain that status of success, Gladwell theorizes, involves not only a substantial amount of hard work (10,000 hours of hard work to be exact) and motivation, but also a fat dose of luck. The ones that stand out are the ones who are given amazing opportunity, or happen to be in the right place at the right time.

So that’s what it takes to be REALLY successful, like, international superstar status. But not everyone is going to be an outlier, so his meaning of success does not apply to the common man. That’s why we will now look at John Wooden’s view of success, which is a more practical, realistic approach. To Wooden, success is a “peace of mind which is a direct result of self-satisfaction in knowing you made the effort to become the best of which you are capable.” Was that not beautifully stated?

I wish I had known about John Wooden before going into that interview, because his definition is exactly what I was thinking success should be (except he said it far more eloquently). I have definitely improved my interview skills since that fateful day, but I would have felt a little bit more prepared if I had just listened to John Wooden: “failing to prepare is preparing to fail”.

[thefalconsphere-blog]

"Dragon - Baby Saphira". By THOMAS LI

[thefalconsphere-blog]

"High School Relationships" by Gloria Liou

_______ is in a relationship with _______. 25 likes. 10 comments.

But no matter who the two lovebirds are, or how the relationship came to be, 99% of the time they will eventually break up. It may be a week, a month, or maybe even a year; something will go wrong. Perhaps feelings just fade or one person moves away. Or maybe someone decides to focus on schoolwork instead, or the pair has too many fights to last. And sometimes, it is because one person cheats on the other, or because their families don’t support the relationship.

There are so many forces working against a lasting high school relationship. In high school, you are still a minor, which means that your parents essentially have control over who you see and what you do. Parents can easily convince their child not to be with somebody, by claiming that his or her girl/boy friend is not smart enough, pretty enough, or loyal enough. Or they could pack their child’s schedule so tightly that it would be impossible to have a healthy relationship. Eventually, the relationship will fall apart. After all, nobody has loved you longer than your parents have. And after living in the same house, hearing the same words repeated over and over again, you are bound to obey.

High school is the time to explore the opportunities of life and get to know as many kinds of people as possible. Sticking with one person and spending all your time with them may give you a sense of identity and security, but what happens when it is taken away? How will you define yourself? Before trying to find out how you fit with someone else, you must first discover yourself, and high school is the time to do just that. How do you know that your girl/boy friend is “the one” when you have no idea what other people are like, or how it feels to be in a relationship with someone else?

You will never know what else is out there if you just stay in your safe little bubble. I’m not saying that you should never date in high school. I’m just suggesting for you to keep your options open and focus on finding yourself, not a girl/boy friend. Date different types of people. Or just #YOLO and date everybody. Why not?

So don’t be sad when your crush finds someone else, or your girl/boy friend breaks up with you. Your crush’s relationship probably won’t last, and you might end up getting back together with your ex. But don’t be too happy either when someone says that they “love you forever” or that they would do “anything to be with you.” Would they walk through fire for you? Probably not. Save your tears for something more important, like when you get rejected from Harvard (#saratoga logic) or your pet rooster runs away.

High school relationships are fun. They make you feel special through the stress and turmoil of school. They inspire you. They wipe the darkness out of your life and make everything seem perfect. But don’t worry when they are gone. There will always be more people waiting for you out there, and more movie nights and beach trips in store.

And maybe, just maybe, in these 4 years, you will find the one that you’re meant to be with. And if it’s meant to be, it will happen.

[thefalconsphere-blog]

"Glub Glub". By GLORIA BRECK