Lin-Manuel Miranda’s Hamilton is, without a doubt, a revolutionary theatrical production. While this look into society during the time of the American Revolution might seem outdated at first glance, there are many components of the musical’s intricate society that remain true in the 21st century. Take the Schuyler Sisters, specifically Angelica and Eliza, these two characters are key pieces in the vision of Miranda, as they are each examples of how women can adapt themselves due to societal expectations. Hamilton’s representation of society, as told through the Schulyer Sisters, shows how we contort our personalities to fit the standard of acceptance in society.

At the beginning of the musical, the Schulyer Sisters, most specifically Angelica and Eliza, seem to be confident and empowered with their ideas for equality amongst the sexes in this new country, and their ideas relating to the revolution in general. Even though during their song, "The Schuyler Sisters," they are looking for men, most likely to marry, that idea seems to be overshadowed by this goal to become more than just spectators to the Revolution. As Angelica says, “‘We hold these truths to be self-evident that all men are created equal,’and when I meet Thomas Jefferson, Imma compel him to include women in the sequel.” This song, which is the debut of the Schuyler Sisters, sets up the rest of the musical to show strong female personalities, but instead, the next two hours and fifteen minutes undercut the ideas and aspirations the sisters originally present to us.

To begin, Hamilton is, quite frankly, historically inaccurate with the history of the Schuyler Family, and most specifically Angelica’s story. Angelica was already married long before she ever met Hamilton at the ball where he and Eliza were introduced. There were also Schuyler brothers, who remain not only unnamed, but do not exist in the musical’s version of the Schuyler family tree. Both of these edits to the story provide opportunities for more drama and plot, however, they both further the traditional female roles in society. While both of these inaccuracies rely on each other for the plot to align, the first allows the musical to perpetuate the stereotype that competing over men plagues relationships between women.

The concept of women constantly in competition over a man is one that could only come from a man, as it demonstrates the only thing about which women care are romantic relationships. While Eliza and Peggy are both important characters to this idea, Angelica is the one from whom we hear the most about this topic in the first few songs. In the song "Satisfied," we hear Angelica’s internal monologue regarding the triangle between Eliza, Hamilton, and her. While this song does emphasize the relations that she might have wanted with Hamilton, it shows levels of selflessness and selfishness simultaneously. The ideas pushed in this song completely undermine the empowerment that we see from Angelica only a few songs prior. As she says, “He's after me because I'm a Schuyler sister, That elevates his status, I'd have to be naive to set that aside, Maybe that is why I introduce him to Eliza, Now that’s his bride.” Even though her emotions are seemingly in control and eloquently relayed to the audience, they still have hints of the outdated idea of competition and betrayal amongst women due to relations with a man.

While Eliza might have never known that Angelica was originally interested in Hamilton, she most certainly knew about the relations between Hamilton and Maria Reynolds, which is a role played by the same actress who plays Peggy Schuyler in the first half of the musical. This was certainly no accident, as this dual role makes it appear that Hamilton is having an affair with his wife’s sister. These decisions undermine the original empowerment seen in "The Schuyler Sisters," who were originally shown as a united front. This visual, however, undermines any of the original camaraderie seen between the sisters. It also perpetuates the idea that women will betray each other, even those most important to them, to get what they want.

Finally, we hear from Eliza in the song “Burn.” While this song is also clearly an emotional ballad, it is well organized and, again, eloquently presented to the audience. We see her grapple with the aftermath of the affair that Hamilton had with a woman who was, at least visually, her sister. She says, “You forfeit all rights to my heart, You forfeit the place in our bed, You'll sleep in your office instead, With only the memories of when you were mine.” While she seems to spend the majority of the song comparing the treatment she has received from Hamilton to that which Ms. Reynolds has experienced, at the end of the song she seems to finally stand up for herself. This essentially demonstrates her taking back the empowerment she previously exhibited in her debut. Eventually, not seen in this song, Eliza decides to forgive Hamilton, which undermines the empowerment that she regains in the song "Burn."

Ultimately, Hamilton shows the relationships between women, especially close women, in a way that undermines all previous empowerment and trust in each other that they might have. While some might argue that this is a historical piece, and therefore these traditional tropes are warranted, there are plenty of other factual pieces of history that were edited to fit the narrative told by Lin-Manuel Miranda. This outdated representation of women’s relations matter because of how revolutionary this musical seems at first glance. When we only look at this musical through the lens of “revolutionary,” it becomes more and more difficult to see the subtle, and not so subtle, outdated and unfair norms demonstrated throughout the show.

While I do not believe that Lin-Manuel Miranda wrote this musical with the intention of furthering the gender norms that we see time and time again, this is yet another theatrical production that is so prevalent in our society with detrimental elements. With the success of this show, and as people continue to view, listen to, and support this musical, these outdated ideas of female relationships continue to be reinforced, and ultimately, will make them even harder to erase.

This documentary discusses the psychological effects of being a person of color in America. I interviewed four individuals of different races including African, Middle Eastern, Latina, and Black, and asked them several questions regarding their racial experiences in America.

This topic related to the book Between the World and Me by Ta-Nehisi Coates and includes quotes from that text.

Through this documentary, I hoped to raise awareness and to better understand the experiences of people of color in America and how that has shaped them into who they are today. I was able to gain a new perspective, and I hope that you will be able to, as well!

In this video, I delve into Ta-Nehisi Coates's Between the World and Me and Lin-Manuel Miranda's Hamilton to investigate how struggles motivate us.

A strand of hair. It can be long, short, curly, straight. It can be brown, black, red, perhaps even neon green. It really can have any appearance imaginable. Normally, we would envision this strand of hair with many other strands, attached to someone’s scalp. Part of a family in a way. It goes about its days with all the other strands, venturing from place to place. It sees the park, the grocery store, an office. It sees all. Together, all the strands experience these places from day to day, month to month, year to year. But suddenly, the individual strand is ripped from its family. Taken away with no warning. An abrupt end to its form of normalcy.

And where does this lone strand go? It floats and floats and floats. Where does it come to rest? It could find a place between a seat and console in a car never to be discovered, not even with the most effective vacuum cleaner. It could stick to a random couch, chair, or bean bag. It could stick to the wall of a shower, curling into abstract forms. Maybe it would forever drift. One day it could land on the floor of the grimy school hallway. The next day it could be carried along with the flow of students, finding its new home in the grass of the school courtyard. But still forever drifting. A nomad. It will never truly make sense wherever it lands. It left that behind the moment it departed from the scalp. It is indefinitely out of place. Homeless.

Is this strand aware of this depressing new reality? An unprompted solitary existence. Is it capable of even realizing this? If it is, this must be incredibly distressing. It may begin to weigh its options. It could attempt to claw its way back or accept its fate by further drifting into oblivion. This strand of hair is a lot like us, whether or not we care to recognize or admit it.

Human beings. We crave interactions with others. Naturally, we congregate. We organize large social events like weddings, parties, dances, “hangouts” as teenagers would say. We experience others at work, school, stores, restaurants. Everywhere. Social interactions occur everywhere, intentionally or unintentionally. When we are prevented from these social encounters, we drift, much like the strand of hair. It throws some of us into dark mental states that threaten our qualities of life. We contemplate. We think, “Does so-and-so really want to spend time with me? Are my friends actually my friends? Am I truly close to anyone? Am I truly missed when I am gone?” This dive into negativity only gets worse over time. Still we are left contemplating. It leaves others of us scrambling to schedule time with people we care about, itching to get to that next party or gathering on our calendars. We count the days until “the day”, awaiting the moment so eagerly. Inescapable downslide or eager rebound. We can react in either manner. Can we control this? Or do our personal tendencies dictate how we handle drifting like a strand of hair?

An extrovert versus an introvert. An extrovert would jump at the opportunity to interact with people in their lives. An introvert would happily stay out of the fray, accepting their regular state of aloneness. The extrovert would escape solitude, and the introvert would sink deeper into it. Is one choice better than the other? Is isolation better than congregation?

Does the strand of hair truly have a choice in its state of loneliness? It cannot really find its way back to its home. It cannot control where the wind takes it. It may stick to the bottom of a shoe, but the strand did not choose this. It can dream. It can hope outside forces will carry it to where it wishes to be. It may leap at any opportunity to become part of a group again. Or it could accept its perpetual state of floating. But in the end, it is totally out of control of its own fate. Are we like this too? If we experience solitude, is it our choice to break it? Or are we simply hoping the right person will come along to help us out of our drifting state?

We need interaction, but some of us are not extroverted enough to satisfy that need. All humans have different ways of socializing, but we all require it in some form or another. The extrovert simply approaches a group and automatically melts into its dynamic. The introvert watches from afar, hoping that someone will approach them. It takes all people to make the world go round. Extroverts must embrace introverts, and introverts must embrace extroverts. No one deserves to be like a lost strand of hair. A sense of belonging. That is something we all deserve to feel.  

“You ready?”

“I think so, yeah.”

These are the words exchanged between Autumn, a distraught teenager, and Kelly, the kind social worker, as they prepare to take Autumn into the operating room for her abortion procedure. While this moment oozes with anxiety and restlessness, it also allows a pregnant, exhausted teenager to take a breath, knowing her nightmare will soon end.

The 2020 film Never Rarely Sometimes Always directed by Eliza Hittman, known for previously directing the 2017 film Beach Rats, follows a troubled teenager named Autumn Callahan as she discovers she is pregnant. Her life immediately becomes complicated as she attempts to abort the baby without her parents discovering the truth. Eventually, Autumn sneaks off to New York City with her cousin Skylar for an abortion since she cannot have one in her small Pennsylvania town because it requires the consent of her parents. The film documents the struggles of the two girls as they wander around NYC’s unfamiliar streets.

Normally, I stick to sappy, cringe-worthy romantic comedies when I lounge on the couch to enjoy a movie, but Hittman’s most recent film is captivating. This gut-wrenching tale highlights a woman’s right to self-determination without being painfully obvious and aggressive. Some productions can lose their value if they come across as too political; however, Hittman’s direction transports the audience into an emotionally raw, heart-breaking story that says it all without saying anything explicitly. For example, Hittman includes one scene where Autumn attempts to self-abort the baby. No words are spoken throughout this scene, but Autumn’s frantic actions show the audience exactly what it feels like to be her.

Although at face value this film appears to comment solely on abortion, it covers much more than that. It tackles the uncomfortable nature of the world for women and girls. Brief moments, like the store manager kissing Skylar’s hand as she passes him money from the cash register or the disgustingly creepy man on the subway touching himself inappropriately as he stares at Autumn and Skylar, capture a feeling that many women have experienced. Never Rarely Sometimes Always is not only for the women who have struggled with an unwanted pregnancy; it’s for all women. Hittman crafts a film that speaks to those uneasy and sometimes dangerous moments that most women have encountered.

During her interview with Naomi Fry of The New Yorker, Hittman disclosed that she was inspired by another film. Hittman explained: “One movie I was thinking about when I was making this was [Robert] Bresson’s ‘A Man Escaped’ … Where you see, in a very physical and tactile detail, a man’s journey to set himself free from prison.” For Autumn, her prison is the unwanted role of “mother.” And her escape is abortion. Knowing Hittman thought of Bresson’s film further verifies the sense of urgency and angst portrayed during the girls’ journey. Autumn is actively fighting time, embarking on a quest that forces her to mature as she is seeking to rid herself of a responsibility that would require the highest level of maturity.

While this film tells the captivating tale of two struggling teenagers, it does not hold your attention like a blockbuster movie filled with action, adventure, and thrills. No moments are meant to make you leap to your feet in excitement or cower behind a blanket in fear. Each scene modestly unfolds, gripping your attention with its simple execution. There is beauty in this simplicity. Hittman does not throw impressive sequences at viewers to pique their interest. Instead, the film’s stripped-down scenes engage the audience by capturing interactions in a straightforward way, allowing those watching to interpret the deeper meaning behind each moment. Extra attention-grabbing tricks would only distract from the message Hittman wants to communicate. Ultimately, the film’s simplicity works in its favor, adding to the significance of each moment.

Never Rarely Sometimes Always has you invested in the two girls the moment the film begins. From the opening scene where Autumn is slut-shamed during her high school’s talent show to the exchange where Skylar uncomfortably deals with a boy’s advances so she and Autumn can get money for bus tickets home, Hittman pulls you into the teenagers’ reality, nudging you to step into Autumn and Skylar’s shoes. Hittman weaves her subtle but effective commentary on today’s world into the film’s composition. If this film teaches the movie industry anything, it is that a big-budget blockbuster production is not necessary to impact viewers. A simple film addressing difficult topics does the job just as well.

A must watch, Hittman’s Never Rarely Sometimes Always discusses issues faced by women, sparking a much-needed discussion about today’s society.

In the first installment of the Recipe for Disaster podcast series, Liv and Liv discuss the musical Hamilton and female representation in Lin-Manuel Miranda's work. Liv and Liv dissect the female characters' purpose in the play, the sexualization of these characters, the male gaze, and Miranda's input on this through a modern lens. Through a feminist and economic criticism, this episode seeks to compare the idea of a woman's purpose in the 1700s versus today.

References:

• Hamilton: Broadway’s Most Disappointing Performance of Progressive Feminism
• Hamilton: Does the Critically Acclaimed Musical Have a Problem With Its Female Characters?
• All Musicals Hamilton Script
• Hamilton – The Diverse Musical with Representation Problems

Stop me if this sounds familiar to you: It's one of those fickle spring mornings, and you groggily wake up and trudge over towards your closet to grab a pair of clothes for the day. You open the drawer and stop, as you wonder what to wear for the day. Will it be hot? Cold? Windy? Or perhaps even snow? So, looking for answers, you turn to your phone, which conveniently gives you all your clothes-picking answers in the form of a short daily weather forecast. Knowing that, you throw on a set of clothes, and move on with your day.

If you’re anything like I am, this happens more mornings than you might care to admit. It’s nice knowing what might happen on a given day at a given time and being able to have a fairly good idea of how the weather might act falls right in that category. I wouldn’t say it gives me a sense of power, but when I know when it’s about to rain on those poor fools sitting outside as I watch from behind a pane of glass, I can’t help but laugh at the fact that I’ve got information that they don’t. (On the other hand, maybe it does make me feel powerful, but that point isn’t up for discussion as of now).

It’s because of that sense of control and understanding of the world around me that I picked up a new book to read not long ago called The Secret World of Weather: How to Read Signs in Every Cloud, Breeze, Hill, Street, Plant, Animal, and Dewdrop, written by an avid weather observer named Tristan Gooley. After a lifetime of exploring places from the American West to the marshes of the U.K. to the Himalayas, he has become what he calls a “master of natural navigation.” He’s been caught in snowstorms, torrential downpours, and even found rain in the desert, and came out all the better for it. That’s because he knew when and where it was going to happen—and it all stems from the fact that he could understand the world around him in a way we usually don’t.

That’s honestly the fundamental difference between Gooley and the rest of us trying to figure out the weather as we roll out of bed. When we immediately turn to our phones, he turns to the sky and the trees or the dew on the lawn outside to figure out what the weather might do. With a high degree of frequency, he loves to turn to clouds, using them to point out inclement weather that might be hours or days in advance. For example, he uses thin wispy clouds high in the atmosphere to predict rain that might be a day away, or low hanging stratus clouds to show that precipitation might be right around the corner.

More interesting is his emphasis on how small microclimates have a huge impact on local weather. Though he shows that there is a greater usefulness to official meteorological reports and forecasts, they usually don’t factor in any of the local topography. Hills or wooded areas might generate thunderstorms, and shaded spots under trees or houses might stay mystifyingly dewy when not a drop of it exists anywhere around it on early mornings. His take on how even weeds or tree bark dictates whether or not snow, dew, or rain might fall on a given area adds another layer to an otherwise impersonal weather report and emphasizes that there’s always more to see than what meets the eye.

Perhaps I’m slightly jaded in saying that I think this book is extremely interesting, but I make a habit of trying to find out why the world we live in works around us. And trust me, as much fun as it is skimming through textbooks to find out the answers I want (which isn’t actually fun at all), these small stories and anecdotes scattered throughout meant that I couldn’t put the book down once I started.

Now, instead of immediately reaching for my phone, I now can look out the window, take a glimpse at the shapes of the clouds, and know whether to wear shorts and a T-shirt or throw a windbreaker on for the day at hand. A general forecast is useful, but the art of being able to read the clouds and the wind yields a degree of certainty I otherwise wouldn’t have had.

I remember picking up a gold chain from my father’s jewelry box. For gold, it felt so delicate, and although small and light, I could feel that it held the weight of the world. “Can I have this?” I asked my dad, and he said yes without hesitation. He got this necklace back in the “old country,” and I could tell by the shape of the pendant hanging from it: it was the map of Lebanon.

For him and for me, Lebanon evokes different feelings. When I ask him if we can travel there, he tells me, “No, we’re not going back.” But when I ask why, he gives me a vague answer: “We immigrated to Canada for a reason; there's no reason to go back.”

In reality, though, I know the true answer: he grew up in war, where the sound of bombs was as normal as the sound of a car passing by; he was practically raised in the basement of his apartment building, the only safe place for shelter. He doesn't want to go back because it was traumatic. I know that it was traumatic. He might have even passed that onto me because when I hear a loud pop or a sudden noise, I fear the worst. It’s almost like an instinct, like a trait so deeply rooted in our nature, so deeply ingrained within us, that we cannot escape it. He never told me to be scared, he never told me I needed to worry about that, it's just a part of me.

But still, I want to understand where I came from.

Sometimes I feel like I can’t connect with who I actually am because I don't even know a whole other side of myself. At the same time, though, my Lebanese roots feel like they are the only thing grounding me. Sometimes, it takes being thrown into an environment so monotonous and boring to realize that you are a lot closer to your roots than you previously thought. When you are described as the “diversity” in your predominantly white school or deemed “different” because of the way you look, you realize that in those people’s eyes, you are someone you thought you were not.

So, you embrace it. It becomes a part of who you are. You are the Lebanese girl with the dark, curly hair, and a gold chain around her neck.

But you ask yourself: Is this truly who I am? You don’t even know the answer, but your thoughts are always lingering. People think you are someone that you wish you were, but who you are not. You want to feel like a “true Lebanese” so badly, but the reality is, you couldn’t be further from it. Your roots hold you down in the ground, but you give them no water to grow, you have no water to give. How can you call yourself Lebanese when you haven’t even experienced being Lebanese? People don’t hear that internal monologue; they just take you for who they think you are.

That’s where the whole predicament begins, whenever someone asks me where I’m from, my answer is always: “I was born in Canada but I’m originally Lebanese.” What does that even mean, though? In those moments, I grab the chain on my neck and become more confused than ever.

I think back to when my dad gave me the chain and wonder why he was so willing to give it to me. Then, I look at pictures of my father in his youth, and I see the chain on his neck. He smiles like the weight of the world isn’t on his shoulders, his pearly white teeth beaming with glee. You can’t even tell what he’s been through.

I wonder if one day, my children will look back on pictures of me and see our gold chain hanging from my neck. I wonder if they will be wearing it on their neck, too, and I hope they see the meaning of it, just like I do. I hope our gold chain, me and my dad’s, will be a part of them too. Maybe that is why he was so willing to give his chain to me, he was ready to let go: he was ready to pass it on to me, he needed to take the weight off his own shoulders. The gold chain that was linking him back to Lebanon, a place of trauma in his eyes, was what I needed to connect to my own identity.

Maybe he knew that.

Dark. Dizzy. Nauseous. I’m spinning. Wait, no, it’s not me, it’s the room. The room is spinning. “Emma! Emma! Can you hear me?” I blink and blink to clear my head. Nothing.

It’s two days later, I’m at the doctor’s office; “follow this pen with your eyes,”—up, down, right, and left. This feels familiar. “Stand on one leg, close your eyes.” I’m spinning again. “Button, lemon, rose, couch, Band-Aid;” I am supposed to remember those words? “Band-Aid,” I repeat back... that is all I can recall.

“What do you remember from two days ago?” my mother asks me when we get home. I remember the close-up of an elbow and then the coldness of the ground. “Basketball is an aggressive sport,” she says, “maybe you shouldn’t play.”

WHAT? I snap back into reality. This is my third concussion, but it doesn’t matter to me. I have to keep playing; basketball is my happiness, basketball is my life, basketball is my everything.

Apparently, that isn't enough...it’s been three years since I played. I still frequently dream about it; about running down the court and slapping the ball out of the air to block someone, about shooting the game-winning buzzer-beater, about feeling that rush of adrenaline. I ask my parents every day if I can play again, only to hear the same answer every time.

Sometimes I wonder if risking another concussion would be worth it, especially after feeling the effects of my third concussion three years later–headaches, migraines, memory loss. Is my health worth sacrificing for a game?

I think about that question a lot, especially as the manager of the team. As I sit on the side of the court, I long for the feeling basketball used to give me; now it is something I need, not just something I want. I am struggling to keep a smile on my face sitting there as if my mere presence is of any use; I am struggling, and no one is noticing. I am not a part of the game anymore. I am just another spectator. But no one cares. So, I cheer for my team, and I give them water when they need it. I’m not even the manager, I feel like the water boy.

The Benefits of Sports

If sports can cause serious injuries, then what are the benefits? Physically, sports aid in maintaining healthy bones, muscles, and joints, controlling weight, strengthening the heart and lungs, and preventing chronic diseases. Individuals who stay active from a young age tend to decrease their risk of obesity into adulthood and increase their life expectancy.

At first glance, sports seem to be important exclusively for maintaining peak physical shape, but in reality, sports are important for improving mental health as well. According to Advent Health, engaging in physical activity reduces depression and stress, improves sleep, increases confidence, enhances concentration, and grows valuable life skills.

Socially, sports allow people of all ages and backgrounds to create a community centered around a mutual passion. The connections built from these communities last a lifetime, especially after going through blood, sweat, and tears with those individuals.

The benefits reaped from participating in sports are endless! Not surprisingly, 75% of children play sports at a young age while about 25% of adults play sports, totaling 229.7 million Americans who engage in physical activity.

The Effects of Sports Withdrawal

For athletes forced to quit the sports they love, sports withdrawal symptoms can affect them deeply. Depression and anxiety are the most common forms of mental illness resulting from withdrawal, though this list also includes eating disorders, extreme loneliness, and suicidal thoughts.

In many cases, these athletes experience loneliness because they believe that people – especially their doctors, parents, the decision-maker of their career-ending decision, or even their friends – do not understand their situation or the deep impacts of stopping sports. This feeling often lingers and forms into more serious mental health-related issues such as depression.

Depression is a mood disorder that is characterized by constant sadness and lack of interest in life; in many cases, it is a reaction to loss or change. Feelings of hopelessness and worthlessness often arise with depression. This is common in individuals experiencing sports withdrawal because they are living through a situation in their life that feels like an endless dark hole.

You may wonder why the effects are that deep, but just imagine this: one day, you can freely do something that makes you incredibly happy, and in just a moment, that is stripped from you. Along with feeling betrayed, you are forbidden to do that thing again, you are forbidden to even think about doing that thing.

I found an old “notes” entry I wrote on my phone on September 28, 2019 – 246 days after my third concussion and around 8 months since I had touched a basketball.

I show you this vulnerable screenshot of my writing to help you understand how truly taxing sports withdrawal is; it is not just a distant concept or something that people make up to pity themselves. These are real effects that impact real people.

Nearly one-third of women across the world between the ages of 15 and 49 have experienced some form of physical and/or sexual violence from their partner during a relationship. People often perceive violence against women, especially sexual, as occurring in the dark of the night when a random man attacks an unsuspecting woman as she walks home. Often, this is not reality. While these rare occurrences do surface every once in a while, the staggering majority of violence takes place within romantic relationships. So why aren’t we talking about abusive relationships like we talk about these unexpected instances of violence?

As a young woman nearing my first year of college, this issue is something I wish was brought to light more frequently. It is frightening to learn that most sexual and physical abuse can come from someone that is supposed to be a reliable, loving figure. It is time to address this issue instead of sweeping it under the rug.

The poet Warsan Shire does exactly that in her pieces "The House” and "Backwards." Safia Elhillo, another poet, takes an empowering approach in her poem called "From ‘The Girls that Never Die’" which complements the root of the issue discussed in Shire’s poems. Shire’s poems explain the heartbreaking nature and effects of abusive relationships while Elhillo’s poem provides a response which invites women to take a stand in the face of these restrictions.

Both “Backwards” and “The House” tackle abusive relationships, but each poem speaks to a different situation of abuse. Shire’s poem “Backwards” focuses on an abusive stepfather and the effects he has on the speaker, who is a child, and the rest of her family. The first line of Shire’s “Backwards” reads, “The poem can start with him walking backwards into a room.” This refers to the speaker’s father, not her stepfather. The whole poem unravels from there, mentioning all of what could have been avoided if her father were still present. The speaker talks about various events: her stepfather shoving her pregnant mother down the stairs, the speaker enduring physical and sexual abuse from her stepfather, and her stepfather constantly drinking. All of this is framed as a what-if situation. The speaker imagines what would have happened if she could prevent how their lives unfolded. It becomes clear that the speaker will have wounds for the remainder of her life when she states, “I’ll rewrite this whole life and this time there’ll be so much love /… I can make us loved, just say the word.” Shire displays how the influence of an abusive childhood can last a lifetime.

Shire’s poem “The House” dives into abusive partners within romantic relationships. Shire breaks this poem into ten sections that each address a different topic relating to the speaker’s experiences with manipulative partners. Shire’s “The House” begins with the speaker’s mother warning her about men that “come with keys” and “hammers” to unlock or break into the “locked rooms inside all women.” It then abruptly shifts to a moment revealing the speaker has been sexually abused: “I said Stop, I said No and he did not listen.” From there, the speaker chronicles a history of her romantic partners and the scars they’ve left behind. And the last few lines of the poem show just how damaged the speaker has become: “At parties I point to my body and say This is where love comes to die. Welcome, come in, make yourself /at home. Everyone laughs, they think I’m joking.” Through this poem, Shire expresses the danger of abusive romantic relationships and the attachment that can arise from these situations.

Although Elhillo’s poem “From ‘Girls That Never Die’” is not specifically about physical or sexual violence, it provides a perspective of empowerment, encouraging women to break free from any shackles that men have placed around them. The poem describes a girl who is buried and bound by natural elements. She appears to have passed away. A crowd gathers to watch her. However, towards the end of the poem, the perspective shifts from third person to the girl’s point of view. She exclaims: “[What if I will not die]/[what will govern me then] … [what stone what rope what man/will be my officer.]” Elhillo ends the poem with the girl taking control of herself and breaking free from her restraints. “From ‘Girls That Never Die’” highlights the importance of hope and that even the grimmest situations can turn out better than expected.

Shire’s work is raw and gut-wrenching. It clearly illuminates the issue of domestic abuse. While Elhillo’s poem is not directly related, it provides a beacon of hope in response to the heartbreaking situations that Shire details in her poems. Shire’s poems address an issue that many women face, and they emphasize something many people fail to recognize. They also show women who have dealt with this abuse that they are not alone. Elhillo’s poem reminds women to remain hopeful. Its inspirational nature communicates that there is light at the end of the tunnel. Together, these three poems raise awareness for an issue that many women across the planet have experienced. The poems are a reminder that women should not be silenced. Their cries for help should not be disregarded. It is time to stop ignoring the almost one-third of women who have spoken out regarding the physical and sexual abuse they have endured.

People are always moving. People are constantly migrating, whether from states of mind, ideas, or moving from one place to another. When people end up moving, there are always a series of emotions and struggles that follow.

When I first moved from America to Japan a few years back, I was torn between two states of mind: on the one hand, I was excited to learn about a new culture and gain more knowledge about the world. My parents always taught us that new opportunities would help us understand more about the world and improve ourselves from a young age. Yet, I had amassed many friends, and the fact that I had to leave them behind disappointed me.

This idea that migration is a double-edged sword — it can bring together people of different cultures, but it can also cause pain for immigrants — is exemplified by the poems “América” by Richard Blanco and “the children of immigrants” by Lenelle Moise. In the poem “América,” Blanco writes about how different cultures celebrate holidays such as Thanksgiving. In “the children of immigrants,” Moise focuses on the experience as a first-gen immigrant to America, directing her attention to her childhood. Both poets use imagery and symbolism to explore how cultural differences cause struggles for immigrants and their families.

Richard Blanco writes about how even while living in a melting pot of cultures in Miami, he and his family still preserve some of their traditions: “There was always pork though… / even on Thanksgiving day—pork, / fried, broiled, or crispy skin roasted.”

The quote symbolizes Blanco’s Cuban heritage blending in with his American surroundings. Pork is an essential dish in Cuban culture, as the Spanish colonizers brought foods such as pork, and the cultural diffusion through this process made pork an integral part of Cuban culture. By discussing the use of pork in his family's dishes, Blanco shows how he and his family have brought a piece of their culture to America.

One of the main themes Blanco cultivates throughout the poem is that people of different backgrounds and cultures can coexist. Blanco focuses on his childhood experience for the poem, and in certain parts of the poem, he shows how he stands between different cultures. When he wants to have turkey at his family's annual Thanksgiving celebration, his family objects and only wants to have pork. The examples demonstrate that he is stuck between many cultures as he can't explore any culture without his parents' criticism.

Poet Lenelle Moise echoes this idea of feeling stuck between various cultures in the poem “the children of immigrants”. In the poem, she talks about her experiences in high school: “I will never play Seven Minutes in Heaven / At home, I am a bridge, a cultural interpreter, a spokesperson, a trusted ally, an American who is Haitian too, but also definitely American."

In the quote, the game “Seven Minutes in Heaven” serves as a symbol of an American experience she will never get to go through since her parents forbid her from doing so. Even though she grew up in America, her parents prevented her from going through the average high school experience that her American counterparts would go through. She cannot easily explore either her Haitian or American culture and is stuck in the middle of both. This shows that migration causes struggles for immigrants, as the poets are stuck between both cultures and unable to explore either one.

Another similarity between the two poems is that both poets use imagery to show how cultural differences cause their parents’ struggles. In “the children of immigrants,” author Lenelle Moise states, “In Haiti, [Moise's parents] were middle class... They gave up everything they knew to inherit the American dream." Moise uses powerful imagery to evoke her parent’s struggle in the reader's mind, going into great detail describing all the various jobs her parents had. One of the main reasons the parents of both poets struggle to make ends meet is due to the cultural differences in the United States. Back home, most of their parents had degrees and other qualifications which allowed them to climb the economic and economic ladders. However, once they come over to the United States, these past achievements are meaningless, and their parents have to work hard to put food on the table.

On the one hand, the poem “América” focuses on the immigrant experience, showcasing how people of multiple cultures interact with one another. On the other hand, the poem “the children of immigrants” focuses on how a first-gen immigrant awkwardly stands between her Haitian and American culture. Combined together, both poems are similar as they use symbolism and imagery to convey the struggles of migration on immigrants and their families.

Over the winter break, I came across a TikTok rabbit hole filled with various theories for the JonBenét Ramsey murder. These videos, all ranging from 15 seconds to three minutes, were each filled with information on all aspects of the Ramsey murder. Some videos came in a “series” where the creator made multiple videos with information and background to start, and then finished the series with a video or two stating their theories. After about 45 minutes of watching these TikToks, I started to look up more information on the internet, quickly understanding why these teenagers had become so focused on solving this murder.

If you’re unfamiliar with this case, or were just too young to remember, JonBenét Ramsey was born on August 6, 1990, and passed on December 26, 1996, at the age of six. On the morning of her death the family found a ransom note on the kitchen counter. It stated JonBenét had been kidnapped. Investigators found this note to be peculiar. The note was about three pages in length, written with a writing utensil found in the Ramseys’ kitchen, in Patsy Ramsey’s handwriting, and requested a sum of money that was identical to John Ramsey’s Christmas bonus. Many thought the note was staged, as JonBenét was found, dead, in the family’s basement.

There were multiple violations in the way the crime scene was handled. When JonBenét was found, her father moved her body upstairs, moving and contaminating any potential evidence. Family members, friends, and neighbors came into the Ramsey home and cleaned surfaces in the kitchen, went into the basement to look at the crime scene, and continued to walk through the home. With this many compromises to the crime scene, hope for any evidence for a conviction would essentially be gone.

JonBenét’s murder remains a mystery 25 years after her death, but will TikTok creators help solve this cold case? The human drive for closure manifests differently for everyone. According to Jerome Kagan, a psychologist from the 70s quoted in an article from the New Yorker, “When we can’t immediately gratify our desire to know, we become highly motivated to reach a concrete explanation.” Because this desire to know has been brewing for a quarter of a century, it is no surprise that it continues to manifest in the next generation. But why do people, who weren’t born until the early 2000s, care so much about solving this murder?

True crime is an industry that continues to grow, whether via different podcasts, TV shows, movies, documentaries, or books, there is plenty of access to true crime resources in the 21st century. While the ethics of true crime media are certainly up for debate, there is no doubt that there are ways that these forms of media can obtain justice and closure for victims, their families, and those who identify with them. One thing that seems to be a common denominator of many well-known or “popular” cases is the malpractice of investigators.

It is no secret, especially over the course of the past eighteen months, that the public’s critique of police practice is on the rise. The JonBenét Ramsey case, much like that of Tamla Horsford, has been rendered unsolvable due to the misconduct of investigators. With issues like lack of crime scene security, improper handling of corpses, and removal or contiamination of evidence by bystanders. These cases have been deemed unsolvable or an accident due to the failure of investigators to follow procedure while collecting evidence.

When taking recent police conduct and this country’s longstanding history of racism into account, police misconduct might come as less of a shock in the case of Tamla Horsford, as she was a black woman. One question the JonBenét Ramsey case poses is, “If investigation of the murder of a young, famous, pretty, rich, white little girl can become corrupt, what does that mean for victims from different races, genders, and socio-economic statuses and their investigations?” JonBenét Ramsey was not only a victim of murder, but a victim of theft. She has been robbed of a fair investigation, adequate trial, and justice in every sense. If this is what can happen to a young girl from a well-off family, can victims that do not look like her also be victims of their status pre-mortem?

If this is the case, then it might be necessary for true crime media to stay popular and hold a prominent place in the eyes of the public. While some could argue that it is unethical to monetize the trauma that victims and their families have endured, the true crime podcasts from middle-aged white women, and TikToks from younger creators, are potentially beneficial to bringing closure to the families of these victims. Debate of the ethics of the income that creators make from trying to piece together these crimes is certainly warranted, but if that income is unethical, what is to be said about the income of the investigators that rendered it nearly impossible to solve the case in the first place?

While these creators might be using the trauma of the JonBenét Ramsey case to gain their 15 minutes of fame, it is all the more likely that their intention is to bring more answers to this case. The human brain needs closure, and considering the uncertain circumstances of the pandemic, it is no surprise that people, especially young people, try to satisfy that need via other avenues. As psychologist Arie Kruglanski states in an article from the New Yorker, “[the] individuals’ desire for a firm answer to a question and an aversion toward ambiguity are a drive for certainty in the face of a less certain world.”

While true crime might not seem like a logical way to cope with a pandemic that has spanned four years, the need for closure and certainty isn’t entirely logical either. While what really happened to JonBenét Ramsey might never be proven in a court of law, an attempt to find answers, and justice, seems to be the choice form of control for young people. Sharing it on social media also might help others, also trapped in this era where answers are far too sparse, find an avenue of control to cope with a world where control seems to be an illusion.