Daniel Che

It’s New Year! Is This Time For Self-Improvement?

Dear Readers, The New Year often feels like a fresh start, making it an ideal time for self-improvement. The big question is how: How can we improve ourselves? New healthy habits? Start a journal? A better sleeping schedule? This article will serve as a guide, backed-with-science, for teens who aim to make lasting changes for themselves! Firstly, it is important to approach a new year with the right mindset. Don’t expect everything to go smoothly; prepare yourself for a roller coaster ride. Growth isn’t linear, and setbacks are part of the process. However, what’s crucial is to embrace a growth mindset—how could you improve yourself, when you, yourself, don’t even believe in it? By seeing challenges as opportunities, that’s a step closer to who you strive to become. One of the most effective ways to improve yourself is by building healthy habits. Research shows that it takes 66 days to form a habit. Yet, sometimes, will power is not enough to motivate us. As a result, psychologists recommend that creating a supportive environment is as important as your willpower, a concept known as choice architecture. For instance, placing a water bottle on your desk can remind you to stay hydrated! This technique could also be applied to what only 23% of adolescents meet the standard guideline: sleep.  As teenagers are often overwhelmed with school work, extracurriculars, and many other commitments, sleeping 8-10 hours was a challenge for many, including myself. However, according to surveys, most teenagers don’t even know how much sleep they’ve gotten. Hence, this is where the concept of ‘self-awareness’ comes into play. A potential solution to this where I have personally started since last year was a sleep journal. I record the time I go to bed, the time I wake up, how many times I’ve woken up, and the feelings I had throughout the day. This way, you might be able to find correlation between sleeping hours and the feelings of each day/ week/ month…or you find nothing at all. Regardless, not only do I enjoy jotting notes of the dreams I’ve had, I find this to be very effective. Unlike regular journaling, sleep journals do not take as much time and it also allows one to become more aware of their sleep patterns.  In the end, self-improvement during the New Year is about progress, not perfection.  I wish everyone a Happy New Year! Signing off,  Jisara

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I am proud of you 

By: Isita “Three… Two… One… Happy New Year!” Priscilla Yuri Kim stared at her screen, her head throbbing and her hands clammy. A new year. Her phone began to buzz incessantly, notifications flooding in from websites she had signed up for just to get coupons. The noise was overwhelming, but none of the messages were personal. The moon shone brightly outside her window. Seeking a moment of solace, she crawled out onto the roof of her townhouse. The humid summer night in Australia blew through her hair. Another year had arrived, yet nothing felt different. Her phone rang. “Yeoboseyo, eomma. Jal jinaeyo?” Her voice cracked as she spoke. Moving away from home had been a mistake. If she were in New York, she’d be surrounded by her siblings right now, dipping fish cakes into tteokbokki while playing some silly family game. The New Year’s Eve ball drop would be on in the background tv screen, competing with the off-key tunes from their karaoke machine. Through the phone, she could hear the chaos of her family celebrating. Her side of the line was silent, loneliness wrapping around her like an unwanted guest. The contrast to her life a year ago made her question everything. She remembered the day she told her parents about the prestigious scholarship to study art at the University of Sydney. Her father had frowned deeply. “Art? Bichoso?” he had questioned her sanity. Her father had always disliked her hunching over sketchbooks, urging her to “spend her time wisely.” But her mother had defended her, and now she was here—perched illegally on a third-floor roof, alone, while her roommates were likely out in bars, holding strangers in drunken embraces. “Jeonhwa kkeunh-eoyo, eomma.” Priscilla ended the call and sighed. She opened her sketchbook, its pages a visual diary of her life. Most of it was vibrant—water lilies in the sky, paper angels holding her up. But the past year’s entries were different: dark, messy, and haunted by demons. Her art had become a reflection of her struggles. She missed her father. Appa, who taught her to ride a bike. Appa, who made bibimbap with her on rainy days. Her phone buzzed again. “Yuri-a, annyeong. It’s your dad.” His voice was hesitant, unfamiliar after a year and a half of silence. “Appa.” She wanted to tell him he’d been right, that she regretted everything. But the words caught in her throat. “I am proud of you.” His voice broke through her thoughts. A pause followed, giving the words time to settle. “I’m proud you’re doing what you love. Can you come home for spring break?” The call ended as formally as it began, but the warmth in his tone lingered. It wasn’t the grand declaration of support she had imagined, but it was enough—a child’s hands shielding the fragile flame of her dreams in the rain. Priscilla smiled faintly and turned back to her sketchbook. This time, she sketched something new. The shadows receded, replaced by her family’s familiar, cheeky smiles. For the first time in months, the page felt alive.

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The Lamppost Note

By: Dharaneeswar Nina Mallory hated New Year’s Eve. It wasn’t just the clamor of confetti cannons or the glassy-eyed toasts to new beginnings. It was the unspoken obligation to turn the page, to pretend that the next twelve months would be different just because the calendar said so. To her, the start of the year felt less like a fresh beginning and more like a spotlight shining on her mistakes, failures, and regrets, daring her to fix what had already broken. The city streets gleamed with melted snow that night, reflecting string lights and flashing “2025” banners in golden puddles. Couples huddled under umbrellas, laughter curling like smoke in the frigid air. Nina hugged her coat tighter and tried not to notice. She kept her head down, boots crunching against patches of ice, as she walked past a throng of strangers gathered outside the neighborhood pub. A neon sign buzzed in the window: Make Resolutions. Make Memories. She snorted at the irony. Her mind drifted back to last New Year’s Eve. She had sat on the same worn sofa in her apartment, scribbling resolutions in a journal: Call Mom more often. Drink less. Finally finish that novel. By February, the journal had been stuffed in a drawer, forgotten among overdue bills and receipts from takeout dinners. She hadn’t called her mom. She hadn’t stopped drinking. And the novel? Its pages were still as blank as her resolve. Nina’s phone buzzed in her pocket. She hesitated before glancing at the screen. A text from her brother. Hey, what are you up to? Thought about Dad today. Call if you need. She shoved the phone back into her pocket. The ache that came with his name was one she had spent the past year trying to ignore. Her father, who used to make the worst New Year’s toast—always the same joke about resolutions being “just wish lists for procrastinators.” He’d died five years ago, but the loss still hit her like a sudden chill, unexpected and biting. Turning the corner to her apartment, her boot caught on a patch of uneven pavement, and she stumbled, catching herself on a lamppost. She let out a breath, her cheeks burning with embarrassment, even though no one had seen. Her gaze fell to the base of the lamppost, where someone had tied a piece of paper with red string. Take one, it read, scribbled in black marker. Beneath the note, strips of paper flapped in the wind like tiny flags. Curious, Nina tugged at a strip and unfolded it. The words were simple, handwritten in neat cursive: “A year from now, you’ll wish you’d started today.” She stared at the words longer than she cared to admit, her breath puffing out in the cold. It was cheesy, sure, but there was something about it that stuck, like a sliver of light in the heavy fog she carried. She tucked the paper into her coat pocket and headed upstairs to her apartment. Later, as midnight crept closer, Nina sat by her window with a mug of tea, watching fireworks bloom against the sky. She reached for her notebook, the same one she had abandoned last year, and opened it to a fresh page. This time, she didn’t write resolutions. Instead, she wrote down moments she wanted to hold onto, even if they hurt. Her father’s laugh as he botched another toast. Her brother showing up unannounced with greasy pizza after her last breakup. The stranger’s note tied to the lamppost. When the clock struck midnight, Nina didn’t cheer or toast. She just sat there, the warmth of the mug seeping into her hands and the faint crackle of fireworks echoing in the distance. For the first time in years, she felt something shift—not the world, but herself. It wasn’t hope, not yet, but it was close. Something like roots breaking through frozen soil, reaching for the promise of spring.

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Where Tradition Marks Time’s Turn

By: Anna Li Gregorian New Year Date: Jan 1 Celebrated: Worldwide Traditions: Across the world, people stay up till the stroke of midnight to see fireworks and celebrations of the New Year in the universal Gregorian calendar. Our modern calendar is based on the Earth’s orbit around the Sun, and a year is counted after one complete rotation. At Times Square in New York, the time ball ascends from the flagpole on top of One Times Square and once it hits the floor that signals the beginning of a new year. Millions of people gather to watch these events, with numerous famous performers on New Year’s Eve such as Sabrina Carpenter, Flo Rida, Megan Thee Stallion, and many more.   Lunar New Year Date: Jan 29 Celebrated: East Asia (China, Vietnam, Korea, and etc.) Traditions: From traditional lion dances to mouthwatering food, the Lunar New Year is a joyous time for celebration. In these cultures, it’s not one day, but  a 15 day ordeal that begins with the new moon during January and ends with the full moon in February. During this time, many wear red due to its association with luck and prosperity, which is especially prevalent in the tradition of elders giving young folks red envelopes of money. In many countries, businesses halt and workers return to their hometowns to spend time with their beloved family and friends.  Nowruz (Persian New Year) Date: March 20 Celebrated: Iran, Central Asia, Middle East Traditions: Nowruz marks the end of an old year and the beginning of a new year as an opportunity to reflect on the past and set plans for the future. This celebration lasts around 13 days, and it is rooted in the religion of Zoroastrianism. Before the start of the new years, there is a tradition of spring cleaning that takes place before loved ones can reunite. Preparing the Haft-Seen table (or table of 7) is arguably one of the most important tasks. It begins with laying a special cloth, 7 items of symbolic value, a mirror to symbolically reflect the past year, candles to show light and happiness, painted eggs to represent fertility, and then a variety of delicious food dishes.  Rosh Hashanah Date: September 22/24 Celebrated: Judaism Traditions: Rosh Hashanah is the new year in Judaism, and it is a two-day event that begins on the first day of the High Holy Days, which is somewhere around late summer/early autumn in the northern hemisphere. Many Jewish families will head to a Synagogue to practice worship on this day. Some of the traditions on this day include blowing a hundred notes on a special and sacred instrument: the Shofar, which is a big horn. People eat slices of apples dipped in honey and honey cakes to symbolize a sweet year ahead. In addition, people may place pomegranates on tables as there is saying that they contain 613 seeds, one for each of the commandments they must keep.  Islamic New Year/Hijri New Year Date: June 25-26 Celebrated: Middle East, Muslim Communities Worldwide Traditions: The date for the Islamic New year follows the Hijri calendar, where the new year was chosen by Umar ibn al-Khattab, the second caliph. It lasts for about 10 days, and it is a time of mourning and peace for Muslims. It is forbidden for Muslims to fight during this period of the month. The Day of Ashura is the 10th day, where Sunni Muslims often practice fasting to commemorate the martyrdom of Husayn ibn Ali in 680 CE. 

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Aftertaste

is my back twitchingor is it my heart that’s achingor are my eyelids uncontrollably shutting, due to lack of sleep quite frankly,i’m not too sure i’m a year olderand you’re a mile furtherfrom my reachsomeone; countless arm spans away many but a May approaching:APs, parental pressures, evenacademic excellency stresses .a stilled chaotic silencelate cherries shedding their last petals now seventeen, constantly on caffeine,labelled strangers and somehow–I still hear from you… By: Sophia Xia

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Irrational Numbers

The bell for third period shrieked like panic.Just like I would have, if anyone saw me.Duck into the bathroom, slide into a stall,And open up a Google doc hidden in a maze of folders.This document was the result of a habit that infected my grade nine year.Like an obnoxious tapeworm infects one’s gut.It contained every single grade and mark I got,And the precise number of missing assignments I accumulated every week. One math class, I was sitting anxiously behind an apprehensive group of kids,Staring a test that loomed the end of our dirge.From the test, the group of kids before me received the numbers 97, 95, 100.Alright, cool, I thought.Until I got the number 60. I must have been the most annoying ninth graderBecause I constantly asked my friends if I were smart enough.I mean, usually, we’d have the exact same report cards.And I’d still loathe the marks I received.“Your scores are fine,” promised my parents.For some reason, I just decided they couldn’t be. Every upbringing story about Bezos and biography of ZuckerburgWere made in the image of humble beginnings and disastrous hardships they overcame, weren’t they?They were pretty smart, and yet I refuse to believe we began at the same starting line.If you think I was the one being ridiculous,Take a look at how humanity ditched futures created through fun idealFor ones we had to deprive ourselves to achieve. If I could take back the hours of throwing internet searches down the drain,(OK, Google, what’s the average grade I need to go to university?)I’d tell myself something else.I really would.I’d look myself in the mirror, and remind myselfThat I could have been doing something so much more worthwhile with my time.Like studying, gosh darn it. “Be confident, be you” rich and famous people in TedTalks cooed.Were they telling us to love or hate ourselves?The privileged nepotists smirked and threw me a fist with their thumbs sticking up,But I felt nowhere close to being loved.I felt like studying never made more sense. I listened to this speech by a millionaire who said thatGrades and money are built through hard work, good test scores can’t buy happiness, etc.Let me ask:How many more chronically test score counting ninth graders is it going to takeUntil happy millionaires like him fail a freaking test? By: Leon Zhang

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April’s shower

江城子 · 春雨 天灰云低无情昏,雨寒霖,落花阴。晚日初晴,樱上卷珠深。小叶才舒新雀早,自啄饮、半瓢春。 April’s Shower The sky is apathetically gray,Clouds are low, in disarrayRain, knocking on the flowers,Bitter-cold, swiftly devours…In the evening, the late sun slaloms,Pearls roll on the withering blossomsWhile, the songbird glides early, pecking,Drinking half a spade of spring  

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Blossom

cherry blossomsenticed—children and laughterwafts in the air,dance around,a carousel of joybeneath the flush of pink hopingto embody the tree spirit,they whirl,hands stretched outwards,fingers fluttering like petalsin the soft embrace of spring amidst this tender chaos,a quietude blooms,as if every laugh, step,and cherry blossomwhispers secretsof renewal, of fleeting beautycaptured in the heartof the beholder the dance slows,the laughter mellows,yet the fragrance lingers—a memoryof pink, of joy,of a momentimbued with the passage of time By: Sophia Xia

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The remedy: blasting depressing music

The following is a preview of Sophie Xia’s poetry chapbook “he fell first and she fell harder >> | norm reciprocal”, please find more information in interest in supporting Sophie through Amazon.  the remedy: blasting depressing music for the next few days, i listened to depressing spotify music,it was arguably the best and only remedy that helped. friends who caught on tried to solve my problem for me, but didn’t realize that’s not what i wanted, or never did, really. felt like stabs to my heart, each one sinking deeper,even though I know they care about me, want the best for me. a solution? i don’t want a solution…but maybe if you let me suffer for a bit longer, i’d come to my senses. the only problem was that i wasn’t suffering…i was practically emotionless or not happy but not sad. my arm came to my eye and wiped at it, but what my brain failed to realize  was that my eyes were completely dry, they didn’t need any wiping. my airpods in, i turned up the volume once again, until the sounds  of my parents talking downstairs has been completely drowned out continuing where i had left off, the lines went like:  “if you ever get lost, lost, i’ll be there…i’ll be there waiting”  – lost by levent geigner Sophia Xia

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Muted Memories, Once Vivid

Nestled between contemporary and traditional, a familiar stall sparks a rush of unease in my body. The congee food stall counter,  the menu boards, the old lady, in a dull, stained apron, always spitting broken Canto-English.   I never really learned the written language Cantonese people use to read and write, but  the boards are only in Traditional Chinese.   Eleven,    tugging on my father’s sleeves, asking him to  translate the characters. His eyes were glued  to his Huawei Android, his excuses, well,  he always seemed to have important business  to attend to. He told me not to cause any trouble. I wish he paid me more attention…    “Ei! What do you want to eat? Hurry up lei, don’t hold the line up!”   I crash back to reality, thoughts from my eleven-year-old self  pour over me. Like waves, they then settle down.  The first phrase I can make sense of:  century eggs and lean pork, so I ask for that, for here.   “Here lei, this is your number,  it will be called when your food is ready. NEXT!”   Once the frail paper with my order # leaves  her hands and lands in mine, the headphones  act as comfort over my ears. This time, I  turn the volume down two buttons. I am hoping maybe he has things to say.   My father has already downed half of his soup noodles when I scooch into the chair across from him.   Nonchalant. He doesn’t even look up.   I see bits of Sichuan peppercorn trying to float free  from the film of red and oily pork bone broth. The air  wafts an enticing aroma with numb, spicy notes.   We sit in silence, I wait for my congee. He never speaks. I turn the headphones to max volume,   pull out my phone and seek refuge in blue light.  

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