This Is Your Canvas

Mercy Excellence 2012 Walking Down Main Street A poem by: Nicole O’Keefe

Walking down Main Street is a sight to remember All the memories lit up all around you Look! Snow coming down from above The white fluffy speck coming down and landing on your face Photo By: Olivia Moir Hearing the voices of people, old and young Do you remember smelling the Mermaid chocolate?

The candy and taffy? She swims gracefully across the sea The nighttime sky, drowned out by Making every moment the sounds and laughter of others One huge memory

Mermaid I now know the magic in this place So rare in every choice she makes Happiness can be seen in every She wishes for that one special day corner Where she can walk on earth Will you come with me on this adven- Water, ture? Her only friend The only difference between her and us Where dreams truly come true? Trapped she feels Trapped by this evil gift

Mermaid Her fins glow bright through the translucent blue ocean waves While her faith Slowly dies away

A bulge of energy rushes through her body As she swims through the sea… She passes the Atlantic Pacific Dead sea All in one second. Passing all her ocean friends In this moment of reality

The night…it’s like no other The moon glows brightly As the mermaid swims by the pier Staring enviously at every person passing by Enviously at the legs she wish were hers… Waiting for the day she can call them her own.

Mermaid On this very night Photo By: Victoria Lutz She swims till she can find her way Back home, She swims Gracefully across the sea

1 Fatima By: Frances Belleza

! Fatima, good hearted, strong, stubborn, mean, and quiet. Doesn’t talk a lot, but has much to say. Fatima sleeps with the tears running down her face. Wakes up, like everything’s fine, some people know, some don’t. Her life, not so different from the rest, except the darkness of her past and the loneliness that fills her heart like the Falls of Niagara. She moves on and life goes on, but still she can never be happy. She always tastes sadness, whether she wants to or not. " Fatima comes to school with poker faces, never sad, never happy. No one can really tell when she’s having a good day or a bad day. Fatima doesn’t complain at the millions of rocks that life throws at her, and that’s because she knows that she isn’t suffering as much as others. She understands that she should be happy about her life and for what she has. But she isn?t. She hates being alone, hates falling on her face, hates that she can never be happy and hates being lied to over and over and over again... " Fatima comes to school with harp seal eyes one day. Her eyes looked as if she is cutting a never-ending chain of onions. I’ve never seen her show so much emotion, except three weeks before, when she came to school with a big smile and lingering eyes that dreamed. It makes me wonder. “Are you okay?” ?She looks at me, and I see in her eyes the pain she bottles up and the tears that pushed their way out. I then feel that same breeze of loneliness over my shoulder. ?She then smiled and says,?“Don’t let happiness betray you like it has done to me because in a blink of an eye, it’ll be gone. You’ll end up alone and confused.”? Just like that, I understand.

Photo By: Kristin Garrison

Why are you disappointed in me? What did I do? Or what did I not do? Did I not live up to your expectations for me? Everyday I try my hardest, but it seems like my hardest isn't good enough for you. What do I need to do to make you proud of me? You're always comparing me to other girls you see on TV or even the daughters of your friends. Why can't you accept me for who I am? I'm sorry I cannot be your child prodigy. I'm just plain, boring, and average. Isn't my love enough for you?

Poem By: Gabrielle Geronimo

2 Your Little Angel Poem By: Jana Visperas

Fighting in this house trying to run away no doubt, But that's not what it's all about. All types of words are running out their mouths.

Your kids are a reflection of who you are, Trying to be close when you’re pushing them afar. Raising your temper to the highest bar, Your little angel from preschool to driving her own car.

Never knew she was going to turn out like this, A little devil in her own magical bliss. The little girl who used to go up to you and kiss, And now she's on your mind the only one you miss.

You wish to go back in those days when she wouldn't speak back. Next thing you know she's putting her clothes back in her bag. Running away from home you didn't want her to pack. Honesty was what your relationship lacked.

Now you’re regretting the distance between you two, And now your little sunshine suddenly turned into blue. The line between that you never drew. Your baby girl is not like before, she's someone brand new. Drawing By: It's hard to be kept apart from the one you love, Franchette Tongson But now it's time to separate like a pair of doves. Letting her fly all the way above, And now you’re stuck saying this is enough.

Sit and Wait By: Mayalani Callaghan

Sometimes I feel like I can't ever get away - like I'll be here for eternity. I want to get out so badly that it eats me up inside. I know that if the ones who love me the most knew it will kill them inside. It's not like I want to leave the earth, but I want to leave the situation I'm in. I want to run away and never ever,ever,ever come back. I know in my heart I won't be stuck here forever, but I'm just over everything! I'm over the yelling. I'm over the threats I've made. I'm over all the constant fighting. Most of all, I'm over all of the worrying. When I'm with them when they're fighting, all I want to is leave, curl up into a ball, and cry. My mind is telling me to stay strong and that I don't really want to cry, but my heart and my gut... they're telling me to let it out and not to bottle it up. I start to feel a heavy pressure on my chest. One moment it's fine. It's like any other chest in the world. The next moment it is the world. It's the weight of the world holding all my tears - all of my emotions.

I know exactly what I have to do. I have to run away. I pack a bag, get some clothes – I’m ready to go. Then I can't move. Paralyzed. I start to cry and I can't stop no matter how hard I try. I cry because I realize there's nothing I can do. I can't run away - I don't have the guts! I can't tell them to stop because then I'll get in trouble for yelling. I realize it's hopeless. All I can do is sit and wait - wait until they change their ways or until I'm old enough to do something ---to get up and leave without anyone’s permission. That's all I can ever do... SIT AND WAIT...SIT AND WAIT... SIT AND WAIT...

3 A Tale of Two Hairstyles By: Jacqueline Warner

It is the best of hair; it is the worst of hair. I wake up in the morning and look at myself in the mirror. What is the first thing to catch my eye? My hair. This morning, like many other mornings, my hair is a rat’s nest. It is all over the place, and like Alfalfa, it is sticking straight up in the air. The orange, blonde, and pink pieces of hair underneath my blanket of brunette tresses are knotted up like the tiny pieces of string in a newly woven friendship bracelet. I attempt to flatten it with my hands, but I know this mess will require some more intense tools: a brush and straightener. This would be the very last day my hair would look like this, though. Later today, I will be cutting my long, multi-colored hair to donate to Locks of Love. My hair seems as if it is twenty feet long as I brush and straighten it to perfection. I wonder how this could be the rat’s nest I woke up with. My hair looks as if it had been done by John Frieda. The shortest layers hang just precisely to my shoulders, and my bangs swoop flawlessly to the left side of my forehead. My hair dances through the air as I swing it around my shoulder, and it elongates all the way to my lower back. I run my fingers through my hair, and like butter they run through it effortlessly. This is probably because of my new Herbal Essences “Long Life” conditioner I had used the night before; it guaranteed my hair would be “silky smooth to the touch,” and they did not lie. I cannot stop touching my hair, I am amazed by how quickly it transformed from being so disgusting to so beauti- ful. Confidence oozes out of me as I take one last glimpse in the mirror. This is the last fleeting look I will ever take at my elegant, long hair. My hair had never been so short in my life. I could still hear the sharp blades of the scissors cutting through my pride and joy. The one thing I could especially hear, though, was every single strand of hair seeming to scream as they were cut, and falling to their death. Tears came to my eyes hearing those shrilling sounds, but I held back and smiled for the sake of my fellow classmates about to undergo the same torture. I looked in the mirror and found that I had just made the biggest mistake of my life. My once beautiful hair was now a short, chopped up mess. I ran my fingers through, desiring to feel what I had felt earlier this morning. All I felt was dry straw which was once silky smooth cashmere. I walked out of the bathroom and saw girls staring at me; they knew I look like the living dead. I attempted to put my hair in a hair ponytail because of the embarrassment I was experiencing. I felt a piece begin- ning to fall out and realized my hair was too short for a high ponytail. All I could think is that it couldn’t get any worse from here. I left it down and walked toward Mercy’s Great Hall to face my peers. My closest friends approached me with huge smiles on their faces. “You look gorgeous Jac!” Mia told me with a genuine tone. I begin to feel better about myself as my friends compliment my new hairstyle. I thanked them for being so sweet, and attempted to run my fingers through my new hair once again. It was still as silky smooth as it was when it was long, maybe even silkier. I took another look in the mirror. My new hair actually looked a lot healthier than before; it used to be as damaged as a young girl’s broken heart. I thought to myself that I could get used to having short hair, and it seems to be the “in” style now anyways. I then imagined the young girl who would receive my locks of love and how happy she would be with my long hair. She, too, will have my gorgeous, long locks, and will gain the confidence that I did. I flashed a smile to myself in the mirror for the first time with my new, short hair, knowing I did the right thing. Out with the old, and in with the new.

Photo By: Chelsea Glynn

4 Photo By: Tyler Wienckowski

Drawing By: JulieAnne Nepomuceno Mommy and Me By: Alana Wilson

“You seem like you get along so well with your mom! Why is that?” asked one of the parents volunteering at the welcome back barbeque last Wednesday. At first, I didn’t know how to answer his odd, blunt question. I’d never thought about this before and my closeness with my mother always seemed natural to me. I told him awkwardly that I didn’t know, we’ve just always been very close, but his question never left my mind. Why was I so much closer to my mother than most girls my age? As the night went on, I continued to think about this, looking for clues that might answer this man’s absurd question. Those clues were certainly not hard to find. It was merely eight o’clock when a woman approached me asking if the lady running all over the place with pencils was my mother. “Yes. How’d you know?” was the most obvious response I could utter. The woman laughed, exclaiming how blatantly obvious it is. “You’re both so polite and are very extraverted. And the way you both greet me with that same gracious smile, how could I say no?” Everything this woman, a stranger to me, had said was true. My mother is the queen of community service and has trained me to be her princess. We both have an immense understanding on the impact of kindness, and make sure we’re always putting this understanding to good use. This was just one of the many clues I’d continue to pick up throughout the night. “The girl’s sharp, Kathy. Just like you!” It was now nearing nine when I looked up to see a parent informing my mom of this. I knew I’d made a witty joke to the woman earlier in the night, but I’d never expected her to compare it to my mother’s sense of humor. This comment had been said dozens of times and I’d often overlooked it. Now though, I’d considered the thought that perhaps my mother and I did share the same sense of humor, and it was really sinking in. We are always laughing at each other or telling family friends stories that only we find hysterical. Every day, we make fun of each other for the silliest little things. Dinner conversations never fall short of a good laugh and constant witty jokes or comebacks. I’ve always admired my mother’s humor, but it was then that I realized she’s not only one who can cause a good laugh. The barbeque ended, and I was now finishing placing all the trays in the kitchen. Looking up, I noticed the time was approximately 9:30, and my weary feet made me desperate to go home. Yet, as I looked over, I noticed there were two brownies left that shouldn’t go to waste. And so, I picked them both up and returned the patio extending a brownie to Ms. Glasser and the other to Ms. Mueller. “How sweet,” replied Ms. Glasser, “but your mom already offered me one.” My mom then walked over and informed me she was saving them both for me. My step-dad came to join us and whispered to my mother, “You trained her well. She’s just as selfless as you.” I wouldn’t exactly classify either of us as completely selfless, but I would say we’re both very willing to do what we can for others. It was just another wonderful thing I’d inherited from my mother, and just another reason I was glad to call myself her daughter. Alas, the night was over, and we finally were on our way home. The car was dead quiet; something both my mother and I believed car rides should never be, so we turned on the radio and began to sing along. The song was “Bad Romance” by Lady Gaga, one of our all-time favorites. As if there wasn’t enough my mother and I had in common, our love of Lady Gaga was one of the most special bonds we had. Memories flashed of the Gaga concert my mom took me to the day before I was to start my freshman year. Now, a year later, as we both sat there rocking out to our favorite song, I truly discovered why I was so close to my mom. My mother is in my bones. From our passion, our sense of humor, our generosity, and even our love of the Gaga, we are the same person split in two. To be honest, there’s no one I’d rather call “Mommy.” 5