Author: thelighthousetve

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Arts and Culture, News, Stories, Student Life

Love – A Creative Writing Collection of the Moments we Love in Life!

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Sunset by Sienna Griffey

Songbird is visiting me today.

I couldn’t be more excited.

I close up things in the library (putting away any lingering books, cleaning up the front desk, and doing a quick sweep of the floor), then I brush off my hands and head up the secret staircase to my living quarters atop the library. 

There wasn’t much to tidy up here, as I had already cleaned it this morning, so I just opened up my current read—one of the ones Songbird had recommended to me—sat before my window, and waited.

We loved to recommend books to each other, it was one of our oldest traditions. While I was slow to get to their suggestions, they never disappointed. They always found the best stories, and always knew which ones I would love.

After some time had passed, I paused my reading to open the window, something I had forgotten to do. Otherwise, they wouldn’t be able to get in. A cold autumn breeze swept into the room as I swung the window panes open. A shiver ran over me, but I was smiling, inhaling the crisp scent of evergreens and the tinge of brine from the nearby ocean.

This time of year also made me think of them: all warm reds and browns and golds, early sunsets, and honey-like sunlight—with cool and crisp breezes as invigorating and refreshing as their spirit.

Looking outside, I could see the clouds painted orange and pink, the sun beginning to fade on the horizon, coating the world in fiery orange and gold. 

This was the time of day that reminded me most of them. Not just energetically, but we always called and met up at this time. Our schedules worked out best for this, for me to conjure a communication spell for us to be on calls well into the night, the moon high in the sky by the time we finished. Then, on the rare occasions I was able to visit their river town, my wagon always got me there late afternoon or dusk. In my mind, this was their time of day.

With the natural light fading more and more, I decided to light some candles. Slowly making my way around my room, I set alight each candle I came across around the space.

Fire, which burned bright and lively, like Songbird’s creativity and humor. Fire, the element of the Sun, whose warmth was that of their words of comfort and care when my worries and fears arose. Fire, which lit up my room like Songbird lit up my day whenever we called.

The candles were all burning when the sky developed to deep oranges and purples. The Moon was showing herself more, now, sharing the sky with the Sun for a few moments. I smiled.

Sun and Moon, the ancient opposites. Yet, they danced in tandem, stories of old depicting them as siblings or lovers, but always connected—always tied to each other in some way.

And in that moment, looking up at the two celestial bodies, flashes of our history flitted before my eyes, in my mind, and in my heart.

The very first time we met, we were young and both in a class of storytellers, you always making me laugh during those meetings, you reaching out first, our first message to each other outside of the group, two years of learning and talking excitedly through just our words on paper about our favorite books and shows and movies. 

Our first confrontation, where I was so afraid of losing you but knowing we had to have that conversation or we could not move forward, things being even better than before after that, our first call after years of only messaging, feeling shy and nervous but oh so excited to talk with you—and before I knew it, a whole new door of our friendship was opened. 

To where we went beyond knowing our favorite books and shows, to learning about our siblings and them learning about us. To learn of our other friends, crushes, analyzed our social groups and each other. Listened and comforted and offered words of encouragement through heartaches and heartbreaks. Laughed over butterfly clips breaking and candy being left in the wash, fell in love with each other’s characters, and cried over our fears and insecurities.

An ebb and flow, light and dark and everything in between. Never a friendship that was all-consuming or obsessive, but instead soft and sweet and gentle and loving and beautiful.

I smiled to myself, tears welling in my eyes as the last of the Sun’s rays faded from the sky, feeling so full of Songbird’s warmth and joy, so full of gratitude for them being in my life, so full of hope and excitement for whatever our futures held and knowing that, no matter what, we’d always have each other through it all.

It was then that a songbird flew up and landed on my windowsill. It looked to me, chirped once, then twice, before dissolving into golden sparkles. The sparkles blew into the room on a breeze and Songbird materialized in a sunburst of light in the middle of my room.

“Hi!” Songbird, you, grinned, your aura golden like the sun on grassy plains.

“Hi!” I crushed you in a hug, and it was the reunion of the day and night.

Thank you, Songbird, for being the best friend the Moon could ask for. 

Strangers by Harper Smith

When I was eleven, my neighbor wrote me a poem. 

It was early afternoon, and it also happened to be my birthday. My mother and I were on our way down the driveway to our car, while the neighbor was watering her flowers across the street. I don’t remember where we were going, but it must’ve been somewhere very important, because I was decked out in my finest attire and skipping around like I owned the place, because of, you know, birthday girl privileges. We waved; she and my mom chatted a bit. I remember shouting across the street that it was my birthday, and then we said bye and got in the car and left. It was a small moment, a simple one, and one I most certainly would have forgotten if not for the fact that when I came home, my dad handed me a small piece of paper. 

Something I learned after that day is that my neighbor, the sweet old woman across the street always hunched over her garden, is actually a renowned local poet and creative. I’m serious, you can look her up, her name is Nina Serrano, and she’s one of the only people I know who has her own Wikipedia page. She’s an amazing writer and activist who’s published books, poetry collections, worked on films, and co-run a podcast, but I didn’t know any of that at the time. At the time, I was a child standing in my kitchen, clutching a piece of paper that read Poem for an eleventh birthday, and not realizing that this one small act of kindness would be the thing that carried me through many of my hardest moments. 

‘Strangers’ is the name of my favorite song, and it is also the title I was instantly called to when I found out about this month’s collection. It may seem like an odd title for a story about love, and maybe it is–after all, I’m sure I’ll find the rest of my peers’ pages detailed with heartwarming stories about grandmothers and pets and girlfriends, connections and friendships, rather than random people met on the street. Which, obviously, is fair. Love is generally categorized by closeness and intimacy, something that’s impossible to achieve with someone you barely know–like, say, an across-the-street neighbor that you’ve spoken to once in five years. But what if it wasn’t? What if the closest connections are actually the ones you make in an instant?

Love is in the little things. It’s how they know your coffee order without having to ask, how they’ll wrap their coat around you when they see you shiver out of the corner of their eye. It’s your best friend’s nickname for you, it’s your mom making your bed for you every day of finals week, it’s your little brother letting you spoil the plot of shows that he hasn’t even seen long past his bedtime. It’s platonic and romantic, singular and plural, it’s intimate and expansive. It’s being seen by the people who love you most, and loving the people you know well. So yes, it’s those things, a hand in yours, a secret shared, but it’s also the even littler things. Like the weary nod of solidarity between early-morning commuters on the subway, the face of the store grocer when you make her laugh as she loads your bags, the kind smile of the boy who bent down and handed you the pen you dropped. Let me ask you, have you ever been in a room where somebody is butchering something so badly that you were united in long-suffering eye contact with somebody you’ve never spoken to before in your life? That is it. That is love. Thanks to Jimmy C’s terrible choir performance in the ninth grade, you and a person you know nothing about were, for one moment, connected by something powerful: mutual understanding. 

In the world we live in today, it is so easy to forget that we are all the same, really. Well, okay, not really–I have blue eyes and you have brown, I can play guitar and you know piano, not to mention all the details and imprints of our psyches that will never resemble another’s in a thousand years, but you get what I mean. There’s so many labels and categories and different types of people you can be that it makes it seem like moments like the ones I described are meaningless in the flood of it all. But I don’t think it’s meaningless at all. In fact, I’d argue it means quite a lot. We all cry. We all feel alone. We all lie awake in our beds at night wishing someone would see us for who we really are, truly, and ignoring all the people who are right in front of us waiting to be seen as well. In the same vein, we all also smile. We all love someone deeply, with the depths of our hearts, and I’m willing to bet there’s not a person reading this who hasn’t laughed so hard they’ve cried at a funny cat video even once in their lives. Try me. We are all human, perfectly, imperfectly human. We blink and breathe and stare at the stars, and we are all so alike and so different at the same time, but when it comes down to it, we are one. 

It’s so easy to feel so hopeless. It’s so easy to convince yourself that nothing really matters, that your existence has no mark on anything at all, that maybe it would even be better if you vanished completely. But it does matter. You matter. If you were not here, the girl who you gave your extra piece of gum to on the train when you were twelve wouldn’t have that memory to cling to when things get hard. The people that watched you trip into a geyser at Yellowstone wouldn’t have a story to pull out at every family dinner over the years (even if that was your most embarrassing moment. I get it, trust me.) You have made a million marks on a million people that don’t even know your name, and they’ve done the same to you. Take a second and think about all the people you’ve met in your life. Take a second and remember those people who you will never see again, but who brushed up against you for one second in time and in that way, added the smallest stroke of paint to the canvas of your life. Let yourself find the strangers, and remind yourself that you are not alone. 

And sometimes, maybe your story isn’t over once you’ve exited someone’s life. I haven’t spoken to my neighbor Nina since probably 2021, after exchanging a few poems with her in an effort to repay her for the beautiful one she wrote to me. She told me I was an excellent writer–Nina, look at me now! I don’t remember what I wrote; I don’t even know if she still has them. But I still see her. I saw her yesterday, getting out of her car with her husband, and we waved. She’s about 92 now, and I’m about 16, and it’s been five years but I still have that paper in the same spot on my wall. Art has come and gone around it, even a whole loft bed has framed it at one point, but it is still there. A reminder to me that, no matter what, for one day I was what made someone write something beautiful. Do you understand how special that is? I haven’t ever told her all this, but tomorrow I’m going to print out this story and walk over to her house and give it to her, because she deserves to know. I have an amazing woman living right across my street, and I’ll be damned if I let my life go by without the chance to let her know how much she changed it. 

For Nina xoxo

The Cello – An Explanation By Iliana Kim

Did you know that before the endpin was invented, people had to hold their cello
between their legs? The cello is usually made out of wood and is shaped like a violin.
The thing is you could fit two or three violins in one cello. I was introduced to the cello
when my family started listening to the Bach cello suites. I was amazed by the deep,
mellow sound that it produced. I love the way the cello calms me down and I see that
other people are affected that way too. I like the several ways the cello is played, like in
solos, duets, and orchestras.


I think the sound of the cello can create a nice and calm environment for the
people who are listening. I really like the fullness of the sound and the level of volume
the cello has. The sound of a cello makes me feel like I’m floating and I think it’s very
relaxing. With certain songs people could feel happier, more energetic or stronger like I
sometimes do.


In the one and a half years I have practiced the cello, I have played in solos,
duets, and a few orchestras.The first time I played in an orchestra I felt it was easier
than doing a solo or a duet. Solos feel like one ant trying to make a rather large ant hill
all by itself with no one to help. But if you are doing a duet it’s easier because it’s like
making an ant hill with fifty ants. Then again it’s better to build with a hundred ants than
anything else.


I hope you and everyone who reads this will get to enjoy the magical sound of
the cello, whether in-person or online, as a solo, duet or orchestral performance.

Links to music:

Grieg Holberg suite (Orchestra)
https://youtu.be/kJ6AaBArhRw?si=5ztDP-Ud733CGjmf

Bach Cello suites ( Solo played by Mischa Maisky)
https://youtu.be/mGQLXRTl3Z0?si=6QH-zEV5AGhp8AU5

 Stray Kids by Sloan Correnti

Something I love is the band Stray Kids! Stray Kids is an eight member K-Pop boy group created by renowned music label JYP Entertainment! They were first discovered through a TV show called Stray Kids, on which many K-Pop trainees competed in teams for the chance to debut as JYP’s newest band. In 2017, Stray Kids won and released their debut ep I AM NOT, beginning their rise to stardom. 

The Stray Kids members are split up into three main units aka rachas; 3Racha, Danceracha, and Vocalracha. 3racha consists of Han, Bang Chan, and Changbin, and is responsible for producing and writing most of the band’s music! Dancracha is made up of the three main dancers, Lee Know, Hyunjin, and Felix. They choreographed some of the group’s dances, and Lee Know was even a back up dancer for super famous K-pop group BTS! Vocalracha is I.N and Seungmin, the main vocalists! Stray Kids used to have nine members, but their old lead vocalist Woojin left the band in 2018 for personal reasons. 

Since their debut, Stray Kids have released over 300 songs and have collaborated with many popular music artists like Charlie Puth, DJ Snake, and Troye Sivan! They have also won over 100 awards including the Billboard Music Award for top K-Pop album for their 2023 release 5-Star.  

Their latest project is The dominATE Experience, a movie about their dominATE tour.  It will be kind of like Taylor Swift’s Eras Tour movie, but with more behind-the-scenes footage.  The movie premiers in theaters on February 6th, 2026!  I’m going to watch it in theaters on the 7th, and I’m so excited!  

Stray Kids is an awesome group, not only because of their fun and interesting music, but because of the members’ great personalities and kindness towards fans! I think they’re all amazing people, and I hope you do too. GO CHECK OUT SOME STRAY KIDS MUSIC!!!

From left  to right: Felix, I.N, Hyunjin, 
Han, Lee Know, Changbin,
 Seungmin, Bang Chan.

Thank you for reading this beautiful collection of works by these incredible guest writers and Lighthouse staff alike. We hope that their work has brought you joy in this season of love. We challenge you to openly admire and appreciate the things you love in life. The people, the places, the adventures and moments. The things that make you…you. Because, at the end of the day, love is what makes us, all gathered together in this lovely yet messy world…us. And as for the world, we must remember that we can never have too much love, understanding, and empathy for the people around us; our triumphs, our small moments, our shortcomings, those are what make us so human and those are the things that should be celebrated. So finally, say “hi!” to your neighbor, pet your cat, and treat others with the love that I know our hearts so deeply crave each and everyday. 

Sincerely,

The Lighthouse Staff 

“And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make.”

The Beatles, 1969

Arts and Culture, Stories

Cloud ~ a poem ~

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by Meru S.

A breathtaking view lies below me

As I drift effortlessly above blanketed mountains.

I am surrounded by my kind;

We cling together as one.

We meander for hours,

Sometimes days,

Gently propelled by the wind.

Often, we wander apart, each sent our own ways,

Yet, never am I alone.

I scud across the skies,

Caress the crags,

Skim the slopes,

Drift along dales.

I am the daughter of the sea—

I fall to her, and she nourishes me.

I am the child of the sun—

I cool him, and he lifts me.

I am the sister of the breeze and the gale—

Though I tease them, they touch and move me.

I am a wisp,

A streak,

A pillow,

A puff,

One and many.

I am the frigid drear of November;

I am the comfort of the twelfth month.

I am the bringer of life

And a forewarning of death.

I enkindle the warmth of creation

And incite the chill of destruction

I am droplets,

I am drizzle,

I am the six-sided scintilla

Of delight and despair.

Arts and Culture, News, Stories, Student Life

“For the love of…!” A Love Themed Creative Writing Opportunity! 

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by Ava Amara Salado

‘Tis the season of love and growth. For many, that can be quite an unsettling thought. The continuous and often subconscious pressure that one must receive a box of chocolates, a neatly wrapped bouquet of roses tied together with shiny metallic ribbon, find yourself a dinner and movie date, etc. Although well intentioned the, at times, commercialized Valentines Day can be troubling. It can make the lead up to February 14 feel like a doomsday counter rather than a season that should be filled with appreciation and kindness. 

So, we at The Lighthouse wanted to offer a different perspective on the day. 

Romantic love is important, it’s wonderful, it has withstood the trials of time, giving us beautiful moments in history. Some say it’s what makes the world go round, shaping the most lovely parts of life. But there are other types of love too! And that’s what we want to hear about…

Come one, come all! We welcome you to write a short story, paragraph, or even poetry about something you love in life! It doesn’t necessarily have to be a romantic sorta’ love, it could be the love of one of your passions or hobbies, your pet or family member, your best friend, your rock collection, or even your favorite food! Truly, anything is welcome! 

Submit your work to thelighthousetve@gmail.com by February 4th, 2026.

All submissions will be posted in our February 6th publishing! 

We cannot wait to see all of the lovely things you incredible writers cook up! 

Much love,

The Lighthouse Staff

“What is done with love, is done well”

V. Van Gogh

Arts and Culture

Virgil’s Aeneid: How the Behavior of the Gods Reflects Human Qualities

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by Lucas David

Human desire to project themselves onto the divine is highlighted by how the most honorable roles in society are often connected to godlike qualities. Virgil’s Aeneid, written as a Roman epic for Emperor Augustus, subtly explores politics while highlighting these divine ideals. The gods are more powerful than humans, yet their behavior often mirrors mortal traits. By showing the divine as flawed reflections of humans, Virgil helps explain why people act as they do. This connection between human ambition and divine example allows readers to see their own values and flaws amplified in immortal beings.

The gods’ human-like motives are evident in their emotions and actions. Juno’s relentless pursuit of Aeneas reflects stubbornness, jealousy, and personal grudge-holding that are all too human. She acts out of emotion rather than justice, demonstrating that even the powerful can be petty or vengeful. By giving the gods these traits, Virgil emphasizes that desire, anger, and pride are universal across mortal and immortal beings. The gods, then, act as mirrors that reveal human passions in an exaggerated and enduring way.

The gods also reflect political ambition and human manipulation. Jupiter, for instance, balances the ambitions of other gods, acting like a ruler managing competing factions. Minor deities, such as Allecto and Iris, carry out secretive schemes that resemble human tactics of propaganda and covert influence. Through these examples, Virgil shows how pursuit of power often involves deception, strategy, and ethical compromise. The epic suggests that ambition is inseparable from the challenges of moral and social responsibility.

Moral inconsistency and emotional volatility further link the gods to humanity. Juno and other gods often justify their actions while breaking their own laws, showing hypocrisy and moral relativity. Their feelings can shift quickly, from rage to protection or favoritism, much like human mood swings. Neptune’s sudden change from stormy anger to calm guidance illustrates this emotional unpredictability. By portraying the gods this way, Virgil highlights the complexity of morality and the struggle to act ethically, even for the powerful.

Ultimately, the gods in the Aeneid reveal human nature on a grand scale. Their passions, grudges, and ambitions make the epic relatable, even its immortal cast members. By exaggerating human traits in immortal beings, Virgil explores timeless themes of conflict, loyalty, and moral struggle. The divine challenges Aeneas, emphasizing that heroism comes from navigating both fate and human flaws. Virgil’s brilliance lies in using the gods to humanize his epic, showing that understanding human behavior is as important as understanding the world itself.

Arts and Culture, News

The Beginning of The Great Dickens Christmas Fair

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by Ava Amara Salado

The Great Dickens Christmas Fair is taking Bay Area locals and tourists alike on a journey back to the heart of Victorian London. For just five weekends every holiday season, they graciously bring back the sights, sounds, and even scents of that beautiful period to history.

Image by San Francisco Chronicle

Imagine this, you stroll down narrow streets dotted with unique and authentic carnival games, English pubs with heaps of hot food being made before your eyes, and specialty shops selling handmade goods from all over. From street sellers and chimney sweepers singing carols, to characters like Ebenezer Scrooge, Bob Cratchit, Tiny Tim, the Ghosts of Christmas Past, Present, & Future, and even Mr. Dickens himself, will wander the alleys. The streets of the fair are crowded and bustling with people dressed in elaborate 1800s costumes, including sailors and seamen, businessmen, suffragists, thieves, and nobility. Numerous stores filled with presents, books, jewelry, textiles, artwork, and apparel pass by as you wind through neighborhoods and roads that have been meticulously recreated. You can smell hot, candied cinnamon almonds, pine and burnt wood, hot toddies, and musk. All of this, and just in the heart of the Bay Area, San Francisco.

Image by Fifty Grande

The fair, which has been a much beloved Bay Area institution for now 55 years, is still one of the most intricate and detailed Victorian Christmas events in the world. The Cow Palace is the site of The Great Dickens Christmas Fair, a long-standing Daly City facility that holds a variety of events, including concerts and even rodeos. It has opened its doors to the public since 1941, being the site of many of the historic conventions and moments for California. But once you enter during the holiday season, you time-travel back to Victorian London, completely forgetting that only 20 minutes ago you were struggling through thick 101 traffic.

The History

  • Image of Ron & Brian Patterson

But where did this incredible tradition start? The majority of visitors to Dickens London are likely unaware of its unique origin at a very different kind of fair in Los Angeles in the 1960s; Renaissance Faires. The birth of wide spread Renaissance Faires in America were arguable all thanks to the work of Ron and Phyllis Patterson. The Pattersons, still on the high of their successes in early “novelty themed” fairs made the decision to throw a small but special holiday party at their Hollywood Hills home in the winter of 1968, for their closest friends and family.

Image by Marin Mommies

They moved away from their tried-and-true Renaissance roots for this occasion and looked to Charles Dickens’ works and late 19th-century history for inspiration. The occasion’s costumes, food, décor, and activities were so enjoyable to the Pattersons and their guests that they proposed holding the event annually, possibly on an even larger scale.

In the meantime, the Pattersons had extended their Renaissance Faire productions to Marin County in Northern California, hosting it in the historic brick warehouses along Fisherman’s Wharf in nearby San Francisco. The scenery was reminiscent of the covered marketplaces of Victorian London, and the experience served as the inspiration for an extravagant Victorian Christmas Fair open for the public to enjoy. What started out as a house party was transformed into a large indoor fair for the Bay Area community. The Great Dickens Christmas Fair (or Pickwick Comic Annual, as it was once known) soon was born. In December 1970, the Anchor Works, a historic warehouse next to San Francisco’s waterfront Embarcadero neighborhood, hosted the first Dickens Fair for only three weekends. At the time, a newspaper article poignantly compared the Fair experience to walking onto a movie set. 

Image by Marin Mommies
Image by San Francisco Chronicle

The Great Dickens Christmas Fair has changed over the course of its over 50 year run because of the participation of three generations of the original Patterson family, a big multi-talented ensemble of performers and artists, and thousands of loyal patrons and visitors. The only festival of its sort in the entire globe, it has grown to be one of the most cherished and eagerly awaited yearly events in the San Francisco Bay Area! 

What to Look Forward to

From traditional English pantomimes and juggling acts to music hall concerts, sea shanties, and scenes performed from “A Christmas Carol” across the venue, there is always something to see. With numerous stages and activities, you can never really be bored. You can sing along with boisterous performers at Mad Sal’s Dockside Alehouse, learn a new dance at Fezziwig’s Warehouse, or even just listen in on the goings-on of the streets. The hand-powered Adventure Carousel, “Punch and Judy” puppet shows, Victorian fairy home crafting, and, of course, a visit from Father Christmas are just a few of the magical moments that await at the fair. And you are welcome to dress the part too. Costumes that are appropriate for the time period are not necessary, but they are highly encouraged. 

Image by Secret San Francisco

By inspiring the resurgence of local art, food, community, and music, the idea of living history fairs give back greatly to our beautiful Bay Area culture. We find connection in creation, and that cannot be lost. So, if you need a break from the hustle and complications of today’s world, take a trip to somewhere that brings you joy and warmth, for many that is The Great Dickens Christmas Fair. They offer a chance for playfulness, an opportunity to be both a performer and the audience, a reason for coming together to, just for a moment, emphasize the true spirit of the holiday season; connection.

Below a collage of photos by Sheri Salado

Stories

“After the Rain” – A Poem

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by Meru S.

After the rain,

Droplets of water release their hold on the tips of leaves

To mingle with the green below,

To quench the thirst of the blades that ripple with the wind.

After the gusts,

A void of silence remains,

Haunted by the fading whistles of lingering echoes,

Waiting in tense anticipation

To be adorned and enlivened

With chirps and buzzes and warbles.

After the drear,

The clouds depart with the wind,

In meek submission to the sun,

Whose wintry gleam is like a jewel—

Cool, precious, scintillating,

Piercing down in shimmering shafts.

Arts and Culture, Stories, Student Life

A Collection of Art & Poetry for Winter

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Poetry by Johnathan David

The Fire

As the thunder roared and the wind howled,
We see the light in the distance.
And as the fire raged and burned,
Comes the instance,
Where temper is unleashed, and thoughts are telled.
But the assistance is come,
Yet the cries are yelled,
And the mental resistance is held.

Where the Wind Walks

Come, we must go
To where the wind walks.
For there we can know,
To where it stalks,
And to where it blows.
For where the wind walks,
The leaves follow.
And don’t talk,
Until tomorrow.
But keep moving
Past the racks and stacks,
Through the trees,
And under the breeze.
On the seas,
But around the bees.
Because where the wind walks,
The seeds will follow.
And we need the seeds,
To feed our hungry,
Because our trades south have failed,
After we bailed,
And sailed,
To new land,
And in this land, We stand,
Hand in hand.
So come, lets find
Where the leaves follow,
And the seeds go.
Where the weeds sway,
In dying light of day,
To find what to say.
Lets go,
Where the wind walks
The night away.

Today

What are you feeling today?
Or would you rather not say?
I myself am feeling a bit under the hay.
So could you stay?
Because I may.
And I don’t know where to go anyway.

Art by Camden S.

Stories

The Tanks, They Think

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by Elaina David

Tapping tortures the tips to the toes, transmitting things that take time to talk through. Tingling turning to tough tarps taking turns tearing the thoughts that twitch through the thrashing tracks traced through time. To think that the tanks that take their thoughts, they think the thoughts though they tall, turn the tables, they think terror that terrible thought. Torches turn the tempest tint, they that think through the transparent throng. The thrum that thoughts they tilt the titan, the tall tree that twists the tempest to the themes that tell the tale they took. The throng the thong, the thing that takes the tame thoughts to turn them to tricky traps that thrust, that throw, that tangle the thinker’s tank.

Arts and Culture

How an Opera Comes Together – Part 2

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by Aleena Haimor

Stage Directing:

Soon after the actors and actresses first came together, staging rehearsals began. That was where they started setting the stage and working on choreography. A wonderful stage director, Omer Ben Seadia, and amazing choreographer, Gina Cerimele-Mechley, worked together at staging, setting out props and objects to really make the story come to life. 

Ms. Ben Seadia, whom I had the pleasure of talking to, came in from Oakland to Bloomington for the opera. She is a world-famous director who has done numerous operas, and is also an incredible person. Her interview was so fun to do!

Aleena Haimor: What is the largest responsibility that comes with directing an opera?

Omer Ben Seadia: The biggest responsibility is to build the artistic world where the story takes place, and setting the tone of the rehearsal process, which you share with the conductor.

AH: What’s your favorite part?

OBS: My favorite part is when I convince a singer that they can do something they never imagined they could do.

AH: Any advice for young stage directors or actors?

OBS: You can make as many performances as you want. You don’t need to wait for someone to give you an opportunity. 

Thank you so much, Ms. Ben Seadia!!

As you can see, directing an opera is a huge responsibility. The director is in charge of everything the audience sees on stage!

Orchestra Rehearsals:

Actors and actresses aren’t the only part of an opera. The orchestra plays a huge role in shaping the opera’s story! 

Alongside the staging rehearsals with the stage director (and the conductor), there are orchestra rehearsals as well. The musicians, like the actors, first discovered they were playing for the opera around May. There are five student orchestras with IU, and the one playing for both shows was the fourth one. 

At rehearsals, my dad, Fawzi Haimor, stood at the front of the room at a podium. They would start the rehearsal by reviewing notes and tuning instruments, then move on to doing a run-through of certain parts of the pieces. Since the opera was only 45 minutes long, they performed another piece, Bolero (also by Maurice Ravel) before the opera. Overall, the show was only about an hour and five minutes. 

After playing certain parts of Bolero and the opera and making notes, the orchestra would do run-throughs of the entire show.

My dad agreed to speak with me about his experiences conducting where he went to school.

Aleena Haimor: What has been the most difficult thing about working on this show? What was the most nostalgic thing for you, being back at IU?

Fawzi Haimor: I wouldn’t say that anything was particularly difficult, but I’d probably say that the most challenging part is getting to the point where you’re putting all the pieces together: staging, set design, and of course the music.  When you work with incredibly talented people, like I did at IU, the whole process actually went rather smoothly.

AH: You’ve conducted many orchestras over your career, what particularly stood out to you about this student orchestra at IU.

FH: I was so impressed by the level of talent these students had at such a young age. They were so hungry to play music at the highest level.  They genuinely were enjoying every moment of this experience and I had so much fun working with them over the month-long project.

AH: Okay, now for a general question. What is the best piece of advice you’ve received over your career? 

FH: The best advice I ever received was from my father.  He said “You were born with two ears and one mouth, try to listen more than speak.”

Thank you to these incredible people for enabling me to write this article!

Actors/Actresses: Sarai Burgos, Leah Nykaza, Chloe Hopson, Kathleen Simunek, Natalie Vong, Pelagia Pamel, Maggie Stall, Kathrine Barbour, Jisoo Choi, Morgan Feeney-Davies, Brynn Jacobs, Nate Paul, Jeremiah Angel, Evan Gunter, Cody Horne, Andreas Psillos, Molly Singer, Cathrine Tamayo, Ana Ambartsumian, Ambriehl Ivy, Nina Royston, Kirsten Tierney, Yixin Yang, and Langelihle Mngxati.

Chorus: Julianna Banfe, Emma DiSanto, Savanna Holley, Laura Looper, Ruby Miller, Sabrina Schubert, Lauren Smedberg, Brittany Weinstock, Issana Yaguda, Simo Brea, Tynan Butler, Robbie Erickson, Lane Harden, Gannon Hays, Xiang Li, Preston Rogers, Stephen Stavnicky, and Tyler Whitney.

Production: Fawzi Haimor, Omer Ben Seadia, Walter Huff, Lydia Spellman, Russell Long, Gina Cerimele-Mechley, Olivia Essebaggers, Virgil Fok, Katrina Keat, Rachel Rock, Jennifer Hong, Miles Swaminathan, Shuichi Umeyama, Chuck Prestinari, Janice Kim, and Elsa Quéron.

Sources: 

https://www.eno.org/discover-opera/articles/the-beginners-guide-to-opera/

https://www.glyndebourne.com/opera-archive/explore-our-operas/explore-lenfant-et-les-sortileges/lenfant-et-les-sortileges-synopsis/

https://operaballet.indiana.edu/events/lenfant-et-les-sortileges.html

Stories

The Midgard Serpent – Percy Jackson Fanfiction ~ Ch. 14

thelighthousetve

by Emery Pugh

Chapter 14

Percy

I woke up.

My vision was blurry, and the peripheries were dark as if I was viewing the world through a binoculars.

I had no idea where I was. The walls around me were constructed of simple gray bricks with a single dull wooden door. Everything was plain.

I grasped my mind for memories – why was I here? What happened? Where was Annabeth?

Suddenly, I remembered. I’d been struck by a droplet of venom in battle. I wondered whether this was what it was like when you died. It’s quite possible that I was in the Underworld.

My fears of being in the realm of Hades disappeared as the door opened to reveal Annabeth.

“Percy!” Annabeth ran over to my bedside.

“Annabeth, I thought I was in the Underworld until I saw you.” I tried to sit up on my elbows, but my right arm was still injured. I collapsed back down.

“Ow!” I winced. “Dang, that arm still hurts.”

“It’ll take at least a few days to heal,” said another voice at the door. I recognized him as Pranjal, one of the camp’s medics. “You’re lucky that it was a small droplet of venom, and it hit your arm instead of your head, for instance. Some others were struck by much larger ones, and…”

He didn’t need to explain further. The three of us fell silent.

“So… how do we fight the siege tower?” Annabeth pondered. “Even Imperial gold won’t hold up against the venom – and that’s the strongest material we have.”

I shrugged. Pranjal didn’t have a response either.

Frank and Hazel, the praetors of New Rome, entered the room.

“Oh, thank the gods,” Hazel murmured. “You’re okay.”

Frank gave me a thumbs-up and grinned. He had some eagle feathers stuck in his hair, likely from transforming into an eagle. Other than that, the battle left him unscathed.

“I’m just as glad that you’re alright,” I said. “Any details about the fight after I went out? And speaking of that, how long was I out?”

Frank tilted his head and frowned, trying to recall the memories of earlier. “You’ve been unconcious for a few hours. About the battle, turns out the venom can only shoot at a relatively short range, and it’s pretty inaccurate. Most of the campers successfully retreated.”

“Ballistae should do the job, then,” I remarked. “It’s a ranged weapon, and we can all just stay out of range of the venom.”

“It should,” Annabeth agreed. “But the tower has some sort of magical protection, and our projectiles can’t get anywhere near it.”

The memories of the battle suddenly flooded back to me. I remembered how the ballista cannons failed to penetrate an invisible barrier. “Oh. Yeah, I remember now. That’s gonna be a problem.”

“Well,” Annabeth continued. “All magical barriers have some way to deactivate them. We’ll have to somehow sneak inside the siege tower and disable the protective magic.”

Nobody was excited about that. It was practically a suicide mission. You’d have to wade through hundreds of monsters, evade the venom, somehow find out how to turn off the magical barrier (undetected is optimal, but not possible), and get out alive.

“Those people are going to need a lot of unicorn horn shavings,” Pranjal murmured.

“Someone is going to have to do it,” I said. “It doesn’t look good, but that’s what we do, right? We do hard things.”

We do hard things sounded like an advertisement. Call us at 999-999-9999 and we’ll do all your hard things for you!

Frank sighed. “We’ll assemble a team for that soon. Camp Half-Blood contacted us a little while ago that their part of the quest team is ready to go. We’ll have to decide who we send for that quest too.”

I noticed a small window just behind me. Outside, Jormungandr’s image flashed again, and was gone as quickly as he had come.

Suddenly, the room darkened and the window shattered and was replaced with bricks. The door toppled over and more gray bricks flew in to replace it. Thousands of projections raced by on the walls, depicting scenes of monsters overrunning Camp Jupiter and Camp Half-Blood. In another, Jormungandr rose above the camps and spat swimming pools’ worth of venom, devouring the camp in poison.

Then, I realized I was alone. Annabeth, Frank, Hazel, and Pranjal had vanished. The flashing projections had been replaced by one massive serpent on the far wall.

I reached into my jeans and thankfully found Riptide in pen form. I uncapped it and the gleaming Celestial Bronze blade shot out. It wasn’t much, and it was going to do anything to an illusions, but it gave me confidence.

The serpent laughed a deep, guttural, and cruel laugh. He whispered, Come to me. You cannot keep your precious little camp… or should I say, camps, safe.

I yelled and tried to throw Riptide at the serpent, but no sound came out. Since I was using my left arm, I threw the sword short and it clattered onto the floor.

The seas will rise and flood the earth. I can finally exit my freezing waters and enjoy warm, tropical waters. Humans, spewing gases with their factories, aid me greatly, he hissed. As a son of Poseidon, shouldn’t you be happy about this? The whole world will be your father’s realm. I will destroy Poseidon, and I will be the sole god of the sea. All land will be flooded with endless ocean – in fact, I have to thank you for that. Gaea’s power is no longer here to stop me. In return, I will let you and your girlfriend, Annabeth, roam anywhere you please. I shall protect you from the wrath of Tartarus… who has not forgotten you. Or… you can choose to fight me, and you will die in a pathetic defense of your camps against a force so powerful you cannot stop.

I’ve been tempted with many offers before. But honestly, this one was the weakest. Yeah, I like the sea, but the world shouldn’t be drowned in it. I would love roaming free with just Annabeth… but I would never let all my other friends die without me. Camp Half-Blood and Camp Jupiter would be demolished – I would never allow that to happen.

Unfortunately, he was right about the factories – climate change caused dangerous amounts of rising sea levels. Humans were accelerating their own destruction.

One thing puzzled me, though: the wrath of Tartarus. I escaped Tartarus with Annabeth during our quest to stop Gaea and the giants… but why would he bother chasing after a mortal? I recall him remarking that he didn’t even care about the Olympians themselves.

“No! Never, slimy serpent!” I yelled. This time, my voice reverberated around the room, gaining volume with each echo.

The serpent growled with annoyance. Fool. You will be destroyed with everyone else.

The illusions disappeared, and the window and the door reappeared in their proper places. The four others reappeared in different locations in the room. Annabeth clutched her dagger with white knuckles and looked like she was ready to throw it. Frank had his bow at the ready. Hazel was in the process of summoning hundreds of millions of dollars worth of jewels. Meanwhile, Pranjal menacingly held a fork.

“You guys saw that too?” I asked. “The illusions with Jormungandr and all that?” Annabeth gave me a sharp glance. I suddenly remembered that I wasn’t supposed to say his name.

Frank nodded. “I did. He told me that he was going to destroy the world by flooding it or something. He offered to spare me, and he said I could morph into a sea creature and have the seas to myself.”

Annabeth looked shaken. “He gave me an offer similar to what the gods gave me on Mount Olympus… the serpent said he would let me design an underwater mansion for me to live in.” There was something else implied – for Percy and me to live in.

“He offered me the chance to live with my father, Pluto,” Hazel said. “I never really knew him.” She sighed, and Frank put an arm around her.

“You guys have such cool weapons. Look at mine.” Pranjal glanced at his fork. “Anyways, the serpent offered me a selection of medicines that could cure anything… something I’ve always wanted.”

“He’s offering something that each of us wants,” Annabeth noted. “Not exactly a new tactic, though, and it’s not hard to resist his deals.”

Frank nodded. “I’m not tempted at all.” The rest of us echoed what he said.

“Well… that still leaves the venom siege tower problem,” I said. “And the quest problem. And the monsters problem.”

“We’ll have a Senate meeting sometime later today or tomorrow,” Hazel’s eyes seemed distant, as if still in the illusion. “As of now, Percy, get some rest and heal up.”