Artur Zhuk

Katherine Lamica

To those who think mental health is not a real thing 

Do you know what it feels like to drown? 
Every day, every second, every struggle, 
all in a desperate attempt to keep my head from going under. 

The sorrow plows through my soul, 
The fierce fear follows me around like a shadow, 
Encapsulating my heart and keeping it from the rest of the world.

How tired I am of trying, 
Tired of having to fight, 
I'm so tired of hating myself. 
How did I become someone I don't recognize? 

When my body can't cease shaking, 
And the tears never stop pouring, 
And the clouds never seem to leave my eyes, 
Ask yourself, am I making it up? 

This toxic poison flows through my every cell, 
Breaking through my defenses 
Taking down my spirits with a single blow. 

When my reflection shows a broken soul 
I want to give up 
I don't wanna have to fight to do every little thing. 

I don't want to fight to eat, 
Fight to drink 
I would collapse in fits on the floor 
Hoping with everything in me for this nightmare to end.

Sometimes I ask, why me? 
Why do I need to suffer? 
What did I do to deserve this pain? 

It made me more resilient than the tallest of mountains 
More compassionate than a mother of four 
More brave than a pack of lions. 

So... 
If a broken girl with no place in this world can 
Pick herself up from the lowest of lows 
If she can continue eating every day 
And if she can make her dreams come true, 
Then you surely can, too. 

Because you are stronger than you know, 
You are more talented than you choose to acknowledge 
You are more beautiful inside and out.

So... 
Even when you feel like giving up
Know that things do get better. 

I was once drowning 
But now I have tamed the waves 
And you will too. 

Poetry

In a KidSpirit poem, teen poet Katherine Lamica vividly portrays a journey to overcome mental illness.

Waves

Jasmine Xu

Child running. Flip. Moving houses. New school year. Flip. Flip. Growing up and up and up . . . 

There — wedged between two volumes was a faded photo album. When did that get there? Fueled by a peculiar sense of curiosity, I gingerly lifted the album from the shelf.

Dust particles danced in the afternoon sun. It had been a weary, dreary, dreadful day — one of those long days when lethargy lingers in the air. It was the perfect afternoon for a healthy dose of nostalgia and an easy excuse for procrastination. Settling in an old armchair, I placed the album on the cream-colored desk and prepared myself for 20 minutes of photo flipping.

Peeling away the cover, a chubby face stared up at me. Ah yes, I had forgotten how ugly I was as a baby. I barely had any hair, half-bald like a middle-aged man! Pulling a face, I rapidly flipped through the ugly baby photos.

Shabby little huts had caught my attention. Some white. Some grey. All fenced away by the mountains and wilderness folding in around them. Below this picture, two little toddlers poked sticks at brown dust. The two toddlers were my cousin and me. The white huts were the homes of my relatives. 

Ever since I was little, our family would journey out of the metropolitan Hangzhou city and pick through the uneven village road to the white huts, with relatives and friends sitting on dusty doorsteps, calling out to us in foreign dialects. It was a different world, where traditional values dominated, where farmers roamed the roads, where horror stories were casually told . . . baby drowned because she was born a girl, woman raped in the nearby mountains, man killed over fight for land. But as a young child, I did not see these differences. To me, grandmother was grandmother, and the village was the village. The two worlds existed as one; it was an infusion of perspectives. 

Slowly, I turned my eyes away from the collection of village pictures. Off I went again, on my journey through time. I must not linger too long at one site.

But slowly, as I flipped, the scenery changed again. The snow melted into sunny beaches. The people in the background morphed from black haired, tan skinned to blonde haired, fair skinned. 

Eventually, my eyes rested upon a jarring page: on the top half, a primary school girl grilled chicken on a barbeque. On the bottom half, the same girl wandered through streamers and dragon dancers at Lunar New Year celebrations. It was then when I found myself navigating through a foreign culture in a foreign land. And for some reason, I was different. They say Chinese eat dumplings; Australians eat burgers; Asian people are collectivists; Western people are individualists.

But they don’t see what I see: the liminal space between two cultures. Steak ramen is a dish. Chinglish exists. So do “indillectivists” (a term in The Jasmine Dictionary that refers to people who have both individualist and collectivist traits). I found myself becoming the chasm walker who walked the path in between to close the gap between two worlds, two cultures. 

But I digress. Just another immigrant story — nothing too special. Keep going.

And there — a recent picture of me surrounded by those who matter the most to me. In the family portrait, my mum smiled broadly — optimistic, progressive and open-minded; my dad stared solemnly at the camera — serious, level-headed, the embodiment of traditional values and conservative views; and there I was, clamped in the middle between my parents, with an awkward grin. Indeed, in my family, I often find myself in the middle of two polar ends. Debates over different views on politics, ideologies, life, aspirations, everything, was a common trend at the dinner table. Growing up, I often heard more disagreements than agreements. And yet, that does not change how much we love and care for each other. Our familial bond is not weakened by differences — on the contrary, it is strengthened by it. 

The last rays of the sun trickled through the window frame, casting a golden slant over the desk and bookshelf. How time flies! I had expected merely 20 minutes of old photos. Oh, but no! Instead, it was an entire two-hour movie of my past — a complete reflection of my 17 years, shining, gleaming back at me as the sun bounced off each silvery page. 

Flipping through the photo album has reminded me of all the complexities and nuances in my identity, of all the puzzle pieces that make up who I am today — rural and metro, Eastern and Western, traditional and progressive. Sometimes, the puzzle does not always fit neatly together. Sometimes, a piece needs to be chipped away to accommodate another. The puzzle is complex and messy and oftentimes misunderstood, but it is one that I am fiercely proud of. It represents me — the 17-year-old who is defined by differences and contradictions, who finds roots in shifting worlds, who is crafted by her past, but is the crafter of her future. 

As the golden light spread its blurry fingers across the room, a warm fire burnt inside me. “Keep going,” it cooed, “there’s more to come. More perspectives in this world to discover.” 

In a KidSpirit Awesome Moments article, teen writer Jasmine Xu relives defining moments in her Asian-Australian upbringing.

Photo Flipping

Natalie Tai

Children’s movies are an influential medium of storytelling, with the ability to portray social phenomena of cultural polarization and gatekeeping in the rawest emotions of a character. 

Holding the great power to break chains of discrimination and stereotyping deeply rooted in our society, children’s movies can set the standard for the future of humanity as one of love, compassion, and the utmost courage to stand up for these ideals. 

Enrico Casarosa’s 2021 animated Pixar film, Luca, opens up a conversation around social acceptance and love through the wholesome journey of two best friends on their shared dream to win their very own Vespa. Luca captures the magic of self exploration through friendship, traversing the topics of self-identity, relationships, and family in search of middle ground. With a plotline parallel to the seemingly instinctual reaction of separation in today’s society, Luca isn’t just a story about two best friends and their dream of a Vespa, but a groundbreaking allegory of cultural gatekeeping and social division. It teaches us to embrace our differences and love who we are, celebrating every newfound excitement and uncertainty through love and acceptance. 

The story begins in the Italian coastal waters of Portorosso, where the main character Luca (voiced by Jacob Tremblay), a blue-scaled sea monster, and his family live. Growing up underwater, Luca knows nothing of life on land; in fact, nobody has told him that he can become human through exploring the world above the surface. Spending his days herding goatfish on the family farm, Luca begins to dig through curious underwater treasures left by humans (or, as the sea monsters call them, “land monsters”). Having been taught all his life to stay away from the surface where the land monsters live, Luca develops a growing curiosity about life on land. Eventually giving in to his instincts, he swims towards the shore and meets Alberto (voiced by Jack Dylan Grazer), a sea monster like him, who shares his curiosity about the land-monster town. With their newfound bond of friendship, Luca and Alberto chase their dream to travel the world on their very own Vespa motorbike, allowing them to finally live as their true selves. As the story unfolds, they begin to experience hostility from the land monsters, an ironic phenomenon resembling the sea monsters’ similar fear of those on land. Finally met with the struggle to hide their identity as sea monsters (a physical trait that is only present when their skin comes into contact with water), Luca and Alberto struggle to come to terms with their identities and share their authentic selves with the world. 

Often described as an LGBTQ+ allegory, the generations-old “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy of the sea-monster town references and portrays social attitudes towards the LGBTQ+ community in militaries during the 1990s. In addition, the subsequent attitudes built on unfounded assumptions and closed conversations continue to fuel a toxic cycle of stigma and hatred, just like Luca grows up with a fear of the surface after having been told to never mention anything about it. This lays a foundation for the rest of the story, depicting the dilemmas of friendship and love in the conflicting desires to protect and to trust. As the plot moves forward, a revelation is made: trust and acceptance put us beyond the superficial differences that divide us and bring a new sense of comradery and love to a chosen family. 

The character dynamics in Luca are a representation of the tangles of interpersonal relationships in the face of changing times. Luca stands as a symbol of bravery, unafraid to explore and share his authentic self with the world. Alberto, his best friend, represents the power of sacrifices in friendship, putting others before himself. Giulia, the girl from the land-monster town who invites the two boys to stay with her and her father, Massimo, despite their financial strife, shows the magnanimity that often comes from those who have the least. And Massimo similarly stands as a model of selflessness when he uses his privilege as a human to protect those whose voices are suppressed by the marginalization of society, furthermore encouraging his friends to do the same as he. As the film portrays the different roles people can take on to make a difference in this world — whether it be a protector like Massimo or a picker-upper like Giulia — we can see the value of indignation, cast by the stepping-up of individuals from all walks of life, brought together by their shared desire for justice. By illustrating every individual in society as a single puzzle piece seeking to build a community of love and harmony, Luca manifests the futility of isolation or division, showing how only embrace and trust can bring us to our shared goal of the common good. 

Apart from the film’s characters, the animation’s incorporation of scenic realism as a backdrop to the cartoon characters creates an echoing sense of serenity as the movie progresses. The glistening crystal waters of the Italian coast bordering the lush fields of Portorosso set the scene of great nature at the peak of its life, creating an oddly comforting feeling of nostalgia as everything looks picture perfect, as if time has paused and our very own memories of childhood are frozen, too, in frame. With the accompanying soundtrack of many classic 50s- to 70s-era Italian jazz and popular songs, the merging of the real and fictional world remains one of the most unique aspects of Luca that caters beyond the children's demographic, appealing to audiences across generations. Although many aspects of Italian culture might be unrecognizable to international audiences, the overall atmosphere of pure joy and adventure is a greater language understood by all. In addition, many aspects of the Italian language and culture used as catchphrases give the movie a hint of comedy. For example, every one of Guliana’s exclamatory remarks is a different pasta, giving traditional Italian culture a new definition and place in popular culture and expanding the influence of the Italian spirit to different corners of the world. 

Overall, I would rate Luca 5 out of 5 stars because the wholesome storyline, classic soundtrack, scenic animation, and character portrayals complement each other beautifully. Although the film is produced to cater to a younger audience of children and adolescents, its universal message of love and courage is important regardless of age, as everyone plays a part in this changing world. 

Luca and Alberto’s navigation of adolescence in the movie shows us just how powerful conversation and compassion are in breaking the cycle of social separation. Showing how hate is never the result of our differences but simply a reaction to unresolved fear, Luca and Alberto’s bravery to find their place in the world and step away from the prejudices ingrained by social conventions remains the paragon of the power of love. With its underlying coming-of-age theme of courage and acceptance, Luca echoes the importance of embracing our flaws and celebrating our differences, reminding us that no matter who we are, we are enough and we are worthy. 

In a KidSpirit Media review, teen writer Natalie Tai gives her take on the animated Pixar film Luca and its themes of friendship, acceptance, and self-understanding.

Exploring Love in Luca

Nikita Zinoviev

There are so many countries all over the world and each of them has something unique. We all differ in  language, culture, nationality, outlook, climate, territory, and so on. As for me, I belong to the Ukrainians. 

Cultural identity refers to a person's sense of belonging to a particular culture or group. This process  involves learning about customs and accepting traditions, heritage, language, religion, ancestry, aesthetics,  thinking patterns, and social structures of a culture. The need to belong refers to a human emotional need  to be accepted by members of a group. This may include the need to belong to a peer group at school, to be accepted by co-workers, to be part of an athletic or sports team, or to be a part of a religious  group. A sense of belonging involves more than simply being acquainted with other people. It is centered on sharing interests and gaining acceptance, attention, and support from members of the group, along with providing the same attention to other members. Young people who share the same taste in clothing, music, and other interests might seek each other out to form friendships. 

Ukrainians, as well as other nationalities, often present themselves in a particular way in order to belong to  a specific social group. This need to belong also motivates us to participate in social activities such as clubs, sports teams,  religious groups, and community organizations. By belonging to a group or an organization, our people feel as if we are a part of something bigger and more important than ourselves. 

There are a lot of features which unite Ukrainians into one nation. First, we possess a unique stylish  collection of national clothes that still hasn’t lost its relevance. Almost every modern Ukrainian tries to decorate their garments with beautiful embroidery, carefully choosing the color and pattern, which represent a certain region. 

Second, our people enjoy having their own field or garden on the most fertile land in the world. We often call our ground “golden soil.” We are really rich, because we can afford a bountiful harvest, the opportunity to live in unity with the world of lush useful vegetation, and enjoy our fruitful work on earth. 

Third, Ukrainians are characterized as generous and welcoming hosts. Our guests are always amazed by our cooking skills. Ukrainians enjoy serving their guests with world-famous traditional dishes, such as tasty red borsch, dumplings with cottage cheese, potatoes, mushrooms, and cherries, potato pancakes, pickles, cabbage rolls, mlyntsi (thin pancakes), and fruit pies. If you are invited to visit a Ukrainian house, even just for "tea," you will definitely find a wide range of pastries and delicacies — pies, homemade cakes, candies,  cookies, thin pancakes, and more. And what can I say about the holidays, when all close and distant relatives come from everywhere? Ukrainians believe that the more filling dishes decorate the table, the more pleasant and fun it  will be to communicate with the whole family! It is true that our nation feeds everybody from the bottom of our hearts. It is even traditional to treat all guests with some food to bring back home. 

As for me, I feel lucky to be born in Ukraine. My nation is quite unusual, friendly, generous, and peaceful. I enjoy following our customs and traditions, wearing our beautiful clothes, and eating our delicious food. These are the small but pleasant things which make me a Ukrainian.

Editor's Note: This article was written in February 2022, before the beginning of the Russian invasion.

In a KidSpirit Interfaith Connections article, teen writer Nikita Zinoviev explains how food, clothing, and nature connect him to his homeland, Ukraine.

A Ukrainian Sense of Belonging

Rhianna Obi

Who am I?
I’m me, myself, I —
such an easy question,
I am me.
But the more I think about it,
who am I truly?

I’m not a role model,
I’m not someone who wants to lead,
I’m someone who wants a quiet life.
I don’t want lots of responsibility,
I just want to live for me,
I just want to do stuff that I enjoy,
like watching cartoons or playing sports or maybe even reading some comics.
I’m not someone with high aspirations,
like becoming a millionaire and living in a three-story mansion.
I’m someone with reasonable ones,
like owning a car or renting a small house.

I’m still young,
I have years to find the answer.
For now, I'm a sleeping slave,
someone who lets fate guide my path.
Who am I? That’s up to fate.

In a KidSpirit poem, teen poet Rhianna Obi ponders a deceptively simple question.

Who Am I?

Mac Fabens

When people say they “know who they are” instead of saying, “I am comfortable with my identity,” both the future and past are being neglected.

I have a strong dislike for the phrase “know who you are,” both because it is used so often and because I think it has a completely different meaning from what it is often used to convey.

This phrase is often used in Western movies, where a protagonist is lost and goes on a quest or adventure to “find out who they are.” What this phrase is trying to convey is discovering or accepting one’s identity — a completely normal and valid process. However, when people say they “know who they are” instead of saying “I am comfortable with my identity,” both the future and past are being neglected. I view being comfortable with your identity as a necessary component of mental stability, and “knowing who you are” as a fantasy of being able to safely navigate your thoughts and feelings, without ever having to question yourself again. Evidently, different people define “knowing who you are” differently.

To me, “knowing who you are” means that you understand every thought you have and why you have it, all in the present. To know who you are would be to have the ability to predict everything you will do given every situation. This separates the self from your identity, because while your identity is how you live and express yourself in a given moment, the self is everything pertaining to you. This isn’t to say thinking about who you are is useless, because you can examine who you once were and who you want to be. Everyone has some long-term thought patterns or habits, and identifying those is a way to make new habits or break old ones that you don’t like. You can’t know your current self, only your current identity.

One idea could be that knowing who you are is a short term process, in which you understand your current identity as well as the idea that your identity can shift over time. Every time you notice a major identity shift, you just have to re-learn who you are. My problem with this is that your identity isn’t who you are. To get farther into this rabbit hole, “being something” doesn’t even really exist because it implies a fixed state. Most people probably think they know who they are, or their true purpose, multiple times throughout their life. The simple fact that you can think you know who you are and later disavow that thought is what eliminates the idea of knowing who you are from the table. If you are constantly changing, how can you be something, and never change from being that thing?

Claiming to know who you are is dangerous because it may lead to thinking you never have to reflect on anything and can write off anything you do as “that’s just who I am.”  Not having to question yourself may seem like a good thing — contending with self and identity can be painful and difficult.  You may have to do less day-to-day thought and reflection, but then bad habits can’t be corrected, and personal growth is out of the question.

I find it contradictory that you can only know who you were, not who you are or who you will be. Because time is always moving forward, you are always moving with it. Even while you sit here trying to think about who you are — personality, tastes, habits, etc. — what you just thought of has now become the past, technically a past person. Anything that isn’t split-second decision-making is in the past, a past thought of yours. You can dream of who you want to be, or reflect on who you were in the past, but knowing who you are is just not technically possible. 

Even if you could think about every aspect of you in one second, the other factors of life make you constantly change. If someone grabs your pencil to write something really quickly without asking, how do you react? The answer probably depends on other things going on in your life, or your day. A self even a week from now could react the same way or completely differently. If you knew who you were, you would subscribe to that choice staying the same forever, because you are the same person who makes the same choices. You would believe that if someone were to take your pencil in endless different scenarios, no matter how you were feeling that day, you would make the same decision, because you know who you are. But because you’ll always make a different decision, the decisions you do make are just factors of who you are, not definitions.

With so many different definitions of “are” or “am,” there can’t be a definitive end to this debate. According to my logic, you can never see the big-picture you. I can be someone who likes dogs, and that is on definition of who I am, but there’s too much constantly changing for me to know who I am.

With so many different personal definitions of “are” or “am,” there can’t be a definitive end to this debate. According to my logic, you can never see the big-picture you. I can be someone who likes dogs, and that is one definition of who I am, but there’s too much constantly changing for me to know who I am.

Using my definition, let’s circle back to the question. Can you ever truly know who you are? No, because this implies a constant, fixed state. Knowing who you are means you will never stray from the person that you are, and promotes a fixed mindset in which you are devoid of change. Thinking you know who you are promotes a lifestyle where anything that doesn’t come naturally is not worth striving for, because it isn’t who you “really” are.

In a KidSpirit Big Question article, teen writer Mac Fabens explores whether we can really define our selves and identities. 

Can You Ever Truly Know Who You Are?

Jovjin Zhu Bo

If I hadn’t met the Mongolian elder sister, maybe I would still be bogged down in the mire of confusion about my identity. 

Three years older than me, she faced the same problem I did, but took different actions. I was inspired, and then learned to balance my inner timidity and bravely face difficulties .

Of the Chinese population, 91% is Han Chinese. My classmates and teachers from elementary to high school were all Han Chinese. I have completed 17 years of Han Chinese study in Beijing and mastered Chinese very proficiently.

Although I grew up in a Han culture, my parents are both Mongolians who grew up in Inner Mongolia. When people ask about my unusual name, I tell them that I am Mongolian, one of the 55 ethnic minorities in China.

They are surprised because Mongolians and Han people don't look much different, I don't speak with a Mongolian accent, and my usual outfits don't contain Mongolian totem elements on them.

When I realized people could not tell I was Mongolian, I was quite disappointed that I looked so “normal."

Once, when I was with Han Chinese friends, I told them that I can't play the morin khuur (a traditional Mongolian instrument), just like them. They said confusedly: "No way, who are you? You are Mongolian, not Han! How could you not play the Morin khuur?"

I am not 100% Han, but I am not 100% Mongolian either. 

I fill in the ethnic column on my ID card as Mongolian, because my parents are Mongolian, and, therefore, I am Mongolian by birth.

But I speak Chinese fluently and better than Mongolian. I can write Chinese characters, speak Chinese, and read Chinese, but I can't write or read Mongolian. I am the same as Han Chinese. But I'm not Han Chinese.

At home, my parents communicate in Mongolian, but I can't speak a complete sentence in their language. I can understand what they are talking about, but I hardly open my mouth to speak with them in Mongolian. I just don’t understand why I have been afraid of speaking my mother tongue.

Although I wear Mongolian robes to some special events and eat Mongolian food, I know very little about Mongolian history and culture. When other people asked me enthusiastically about the story of Genghis Khan, my mind went blank and I tried to recall the very general and popular content that my history teacher had said in class. After listening, they smiled stiffly and looked at me with suspicion. I saw myself in their eyes, a person who doubts her identity.

For a time, I deliberately hid my Mongolian identity.

I didn't know if it was my shame or my burden.

When I returned to Inner Mongolia during summer vacation, I didn't fit into the circle of Mongolian-speaking children. My parents told me to play with them and pushed me to get near them. I knew what they said to me, but I couldn’t reply. Gradually, they kept their distance from me. I saw them riding horses freely on the grassland, enjoying the breeze touching their faces, while I could only sit in a jeep that was out of tune with the grassland. I sat in the steel-hard car, swiping through social media that had been updated countless times and still had no news. Then I went back to my grandparents' house and watched them try to understand my current situation by struggling to speak the little Chinese they knew. Tears kept rolling down my face; I felt sorry for their sadness, and I hated that I couldn't communicate in my native language. Gradually, I was resistant to going back to Inner Mongolia because I didn't want to face the fact that I felt like an alien in my hometown and didn't belong.

The turning point came in the summer of 2021. I met a Mongolian elder sister at a cultural publicity meeting. She was a college student from a Mongolian family who, like me, grew up in a society where Han is the mainstream culture. We grew up in the same environment and faced the same difficulties about our identities, but our way of dealing with the problem was different. I tried to escape reality, but she found a way to overcome it.

She can communicate with her parents in Mongolian without any problem, reads novels in Mongolian, knows the culture well, and knows who she is. She didn’t lose her identity when she lived in another culture.

I struggled in high school to find the light that led me through a burst of chaos.

I started doing my best to speak Mongolian. I found that listening to Mongolian for the past 17 years has made me adapt to the pronunciation and grammar of Mongolian very quickly. Although every time I speak Mongolian I am like a two- or three-year-old baby just learning to talk, I also try very hard to imitate my parents' accent. Every time I say a complete sentence, I can see my parents’ happy smiles, which makes me excited and strengthens my determination to learn Mongolian and find my identity.

After a few months of hard work, I can communicate with my parents fluently. I have read a lot of Mongolian history books and learned a lot about the mysteries of the grasslands. At the same time, I am very proud that I am a Mongolian.

Now, if you ask me, “Who are you?,” I will happily and proudly say,"I AM A MONGOLIAN.”

In a KidSpirit Helping Hands article, teen writer Jovjin Zhu Bo shares how a new friend helped her embrace her Mongolian identity. 

Lost and Found

Emilia Melville

My best friend Rose and I clambered down the fire escape on the side of my building.  I was wearing Risk, my obnoxiously loud and careless side, which meant I could swing around the side of the escape and jump onto the stairs below without fear. 

Rose and I had snuck out of our rooms so we could skate on the roof, where we had built ramps from random pieces of wood that Rose’s dad had a hobby of collecting but never using. We eventually reached my floor. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Jesse! Remember, we have to shred the halls up before Mr. Canero arrives,” Rose said.

Around Rose, I always put on Risk since I knew neither of my other sides would agree to do what she said.

“Rad. I’ll see ya!” I threw my body lazily through my window and landed with a cushioned thud. I turned again to Rose and waved goodbye.

Now that Rose was gone, I needed to change out of Risk, and quickly. I put on my innocent, sweet side, Logic. This was the side my parents liked most, since Risk would talk back or get the hall rug muddy. Logic was prim and obedient, stood with his hands held behind his back, and walked with controlled, little steps. I used to wear him all the time, but he wasn’t too popular with my classmates. My father had heard the earlier thud, and I heard his steps coming up the hall to check up on me. I quickly closed the window and sat at my desk with a book. My father knocked lightly, but before I could say, “Come in!,” the door was already swung open. My father was a tall man, with skin the color of spruce wood, oval-shaped glasses, and no hair except for his graying mustache. I shared some of his features, but the most noticeable thing we shared was my tight coils of hair, grouped in clumps. Nowadays, my dad regularly shaves his head, but in old photos, he looks almost identical to me. 

“Jesse, are you ok?” my father asked. 

“Yes, a stack of books fell. From up there.” It was hard to lie to him, since Logic keeps his room very clean and the floor was noticeably spotless. 

“I already cleaned it.” My father wrinkled his nose but did not suspect my behavior beyond that. He bid me goodnight and left the room. 

I sighed in the dark of my room, sat in my bed, and attempted to sleep, but my third and final side, Reason, subconsciously took over. Reason likes to ruin my sleep schedule by filling my brain with ideas and theories at such an inopportune time of night. He tended to come out at the worst moments. I must have slept a little, because I woke up at the crack of dawn and filled my backpack neatly with folders for each subject. Stepping down the hallway, I strained to hear the quiet chatter in the kitchen. When my mother, who was stirring the eggs, saw me, she sped to the doorway and hugged me. “Good morning, Rainbow.” I never understood why she called me Rainbow, but she always said it was because I was her “special boy.” I breathed in the vanilla scent that came from her silky black hair. She sat me down at the table and gave me a plate with spiced eggs on it.

Arriving at the concrete steps of my high school, I tied my skateboard to my bag and sprinted to class. On the way, I took off Risk and replaced him with Reason, who was liked by my teachers. See, Reason is very artistic, while also being more conversational than Logic and Risk. He does tend to daydream, but Logic and Risk couldn’t sit through a class like he does. My last two classes before lunch were shared with Rose. This is the problem with having three sides: there are often situations where I have to act in two at once. Luckily, Rose and I don’t share a table, but I need to make sure I have the proper reaction when she throws a paper airplane at my face. Lunch is a similar story: Risk can carry me through social situations with other teens, Logic is polite but oblivious, and Reason tends to talk too much. 

I sauntered out the door of my biology class and ran through the hall with Rose at my side. When we exited the building, we neared a small crowd that had gathered outside. I was too far away to see, but Rose urged me forward. 

As I neared the human circle, I heard a sickening fuzz in my ear, followed by electric guitar notes. I followed the sound in a trance, fumbling through my backpack for my phone. I weaved through the crowd and finally laid eyes on who was making the sound.

He stood on a bench and held a black guitar across his body. This young man had tight copper curls dangling over his eyes and neck. His ears peeked out of his bed of hair and held up his square glasses. He wore his school uniform loose and hung multiple necklaces around his neck, and bracelets jingled on his wrists. I had seen this boy in my art class before, but I hadn’t paid attention to him besides looking at his work. I could feel Risk being shoved over by Reason as I was lulled by the song. Reason pulled me to the front of the gathering as my other sides fought for control. When the song ended, my sides were scrambled and Logic took over to report back to Rose. Rose had strayed from where she was standing before and took her place for lunch. I joined her under the tree where she was sitting and filled her in. 

“The redhead from art class. He brought approximately 100 pounds of gear to school.” Rose thought for a moment. “Approximately?” Rose said, “Do you mean Elliot? Curls, earrings, won’t shut up about art culture?”

Risk took control again and said, “Yeah, I guess it was him.”

We chatted during our lunch break, then parted ways. The rest of the day was chaotic; Reason kept trying to take over when I didn’t need him, and he was flustered and distracted when I did need him, and Logic had to take control for the rest of school. During my newspaper club meeting, I showed my clubmates the photos I had taken of Elliot during his performance, and they joked that it was for attention. 

Two Mondays later, my sides were fighting for control as I stumbled out of school. I headed to a bench where I could hopefully sort out my brain while sitting, but tripped on a diggidy-darn crack in the sidewalk and hit the ground with a sickening crack. Elliot, who was sitting under a tree nearby, noticed the sound and saw me on the cement. He ran over to me and helped me up. 

I was numb from the shock, and my brain was finally quiet, until Reason saw who it was. “Yea-yeah I’m totally fine. I don’t think my water bottle is.”

I pointed to the shattered glass in the side pocket of my backpack. I continued to ramble while Elliot helped me sit down, then he picked the glass carefully out of my backpack. I felt around my knees and arms for scrapes and found that my elbow was bleeding. I used a sweater to blot away the blood.

 “This is not fixable, I’m afraid,” Elliot said.

I couldn’t tell if Elliot was joking or not. He turned to me and picked a tiny piece of  bark out of my fluff of hair. He looked at the bark in his hand while I looked at him.

 “Heh. This is Paperbark. Oh, what’s your name?” asked Elliot.

Elliot hopped up from his seat and held out his hand for me to take.

“So how are you getting home? I’ll walk you!” he said.

I flushed. I took his hand and staggered to my feet.

“I was going to skate home, but thank you,” I said.

“Not on my watch,” he said, “there will be no more broken bones today. Here, I’ll hold your bag.”

He ran back to the tree where he was previously sitting and retrieved his things, then he handed me his water and started to walk by my side. During the slow walk to my apartment, Elliot told me about his lunchtime display.

“I realized that I’ll be graduating high school this year,” he said. “I’ll be done with school. I’ve made major milestones for sure, figuring out who I am, who I want to be, and what I’ll do. I felt a moral obligation to change this school somehow, after being in it for so long.”

I felt it hard to pay attention while he was talking, since Risk was practically choking Reason to death. Elliot turned to me and looked into my eyes for a moment.

“I guess I never thought about it,” I said.

Over the next few days, my sides sorted themselves out and calmed down. I avoided Elliot at school because I was embarrassed. He kept to his group as well. I felt bad, but decided it was for the best, since I should probably steer clear of people that make my sides act out. For someone who avoided Elliot a lot, I sure thought about him plenty. My sides conflicted when it came to him: Risk was embarrassed that Elliot witnessed me eat dirt and break all my bones, Reason was hopeless and thought Elliot was the best thing since I discovered painting, and Logic was confused as to why it mattered.

I realized I couldn’t avoid Elliot forever when we ran into each other at the park the following month. Reason was directing a pencil across a sketchbook in an isolated part of the park, when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned to Elliot’s face, only about an inch away from mine.

I jolted away and looked around, shocked that he found me. Reason was delighted to see him.

“Stranger? I hardly think that’s accurate . . . ” I stammered. “Maybe classmates, or mutual friends! Wait, that doesn’t make – ”

Elliot interrupted me, saying, “I haven’t heard from you in a while. I asked your friends where you were but they didn’t know. Are you ok?”

I thought he would have been mad or uninterested, but it seemed he was genuinely concerned. Truth is, I don’t think I was. I looked sadly into his eyes, then back into my book. Elliot took a seat next to me on the grass.

I contemplated telling him the truth, but that was too big a burden to put on someone who I’d only spoken to once.

“Tell you what, if I share my chips with you, will you tell me?” said Elliot.

“I-I’m not even sure if I can put it into words,” I said.

“Can you try? I want to help,” he said.

I paused for a moment, thinking of what to say.

“I’m just . . . always at war with myself,” I said. “Three different people occupy my headspace and everything I do. They conflict without my permission. It’s worse . . . when I’m with you.”

Elliot wore a surprised look on his face, but didn’t back away.

“I’m so sorry. Why is that?” he asked.

“Because one of them won’t shut up about you! Uh . . . sorry. That was rude.”

Elliot smiled slyly and laid back on the grass. I was mortified and was quick to remark:

“Not like that! Maybe like that . . . just stop it. Point is, when you’re around, they fight. And it sounds crazy, I know, but that’s just life for me and – ”

Elliot put his index finger to my mouth and handed me the chips.

“I was just joking,” he said. “ I can’t say I understand what you’re going through, but that doesn’t make you crazy or weird. Go on.”

“The problem is, I don’t know which is really me,” I said. “I identify with all of them, but they are so different that they couldn't possibly all be the same person.”

“Because I feel them tearing me apart for control,” I said. “Sometimes it gets really bad, so I get dizzy or act weird. That happened when I tripped on the sidewalk last month. It takes a lot of recharge time to finally calm down. That’s why I haven’t seen you in a while. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

He grinned as I awkwardly crunched on a handful of chips.

“You didn’t hurt my feelings at all. I was more worried about how you were feeling,” he said, “I’m sorry I didn’t let you walk home alone, while you were going through that. Do you want me to leave?”

“No! You don’t have to leave,” I said. “I just need to sort out my head.”

We sat there in the park for the rest of the day. It was the longest time that my sides were calm.

In a KidSpirit Fiction story, teen writer Emilia Melville delves into the different facets of one boy's identity.

Three-Face

Izzy Weitzman

There is no process more personal yet more public than the construction of an individual’s identity. 

There is no process more personal yet more public than the construction of an individual’s identity. Our identities are connected to those around us and myriad other related or unrelated factors. In some ways, we have complete control over our identities; in others, we have almost no control. Given the intense personal nature of this concept, forming a unified idea for how identity develops is difficult. One of the best large distinctions to make is across generational lines. Generations are defined by the larger context of the world around them; the Baby Boomers grew up in a post-war pro-freedom America, while the Millenials of the world watched the Twin Towers fall and the housing economy crash before they really found their footing in the world. These large events can be identity shaping, especially for the youth of their era. My generation, Generation Z (or Zed for our British brethren), has had one of the largest world events in recent times: the booming of technology out of giant rooms in military buildings and into our pockets and our homes. This society-warping change undoubtedly affects more or less everything my generation experiences, whether through the usage of digital alternatives to real-world activities, possible interests usually not available in one’s environment, or the ability to discuss and debate various topics with others around the globe; all of this combines to create a notably diverse generational identity.

Before we can examine the generational differences in identity development, we must gain a basic understanding of identity development in general. Each person is born into a specific context. This context comes from the lives and values of their immediate family members, the physical surroundings that make up their world, and the influences of various people in their lives, as well as countless other factors that differ from person to person. From there, the person has two main options: accept or oppose their surroundings. This process is sometimes subconscious and other times the subject of intense internal debate, but eventually a conclusion is reached, whether this is an active decision or a decision to ignore a topic. The combination of these thousands of tiny or large decisions and the amount of weight we give to these ideas eventually help us form a cohesive idea about our identities, whether or not we consciously realize it. 

A good example of this is food. Throughout my life, I have tried thousands of different foods. I have made a decision about my feelings toward everything I have ever eaten, essentially accepting or rejecting my surroundings of others enjoying eating something. Over my 16 (17 in June) years of life, these individual decisions have combined into my general food identity: I’m not a fan of cheese and I am a fan of anything with enough sugar. Now, this food identity helps me make decisions about what to eat and what not to eat; I know to avoid the mozzarella balls and focus on the pastries. I can also make these decisions about food without really thinking too hard most of the time. This is the central idea of identity, the process of figuring things out little by little until I let those little things make decisions for me. 

In order for a person to incorporate something into their identity, that person needs to have a great deal of experience with that one thing. It needs to be a prominent part of their surroundings, or have the potential to become a prominent factor in those surroundings. The digital world provides near-constant access to what could become identity-defining activities. For example, I played a card game at summer camp for a few years called Magic: The Gathering. I loved the game, and spent countless hours at camp playing with my friends. But, when I left camp and returned to elementary and middle school, no one else had heard of this classic card game, so I was unable to play. I played a few games with my sister, but she was unreliable in her playing habits. Finally, I discovered the world of Magic: The Gathering on the internet. Now, I read countless articles and have played hundreds of games online against random internet opponents. I have had access to this game, and could deepen my understanding and love for the strategy. This is when Magic Player became a facet of my identity, and this could not have happened without the content and connection of the internet filling my surroundings with information. This is one of the most important aspects of the digital world: because of its wide range and depth of information, anyone can get lost mining their way through content. Our surroundings are now, for all intents and purposes, infinite, and so relatively anything could become part of relatively anyone’s identity, regardless of an individual’s physical surroundings. 

One of the digital realm’s largest effects on my generation is social media. Social media is an umbrella term for an application that creates a digital network for the purpose of sharing information. Some of the time, this information is related to one’s own life; other times, it is related to one’s opinions. Either way, social media provides a large outlet for whatever is going on inside our heads. This affects the identity creation process in that we now have a way of expressing our identities to the world. These vaguely personal posts can seem incredibly simple, even unimportant, but their constant presence becomes a key factor in the affirmation of an individual's identity. For example, say there is a person that posts something along the lines of “Just watched the new Spider-Man. Best Marvel movie of the year!” This tells us the new Spider-Man film has made its way into the poster’s surroundings, and that the poster has accepted it and is now a fan of the new Spider-Man. This, by itself, seems to be a minute part of their identity, as our scenario has not been fully constructed. Now, consider that this same person has released similar posts about other superhero movies for a few years. This tells us our friend here is not just a Spider-Man fan, but a superhero movie fan. Now, let’s imagine this person posts not only about superhero movies, but about everything. Bagels. Promotions. Wars. Suddenly, through this social media account, we have a pretty good idea of who our superhero-loving, bagel-hating, recently promoted veteran is. 

Social media helps an individual take these many different elements  of their identity and display them for the world in a single space. This gives the individual a clear sense of their identity, as it can be laid out in front of them. While my generation was not the first to experience social media, we have taken the phenomenon to the next level. According to a recent study, 50% of Generation Z members use social media as a news source at least once a day, compared to 44% of millennials and 37% of Generation Xers. Therefore, this medium has an especially pronounced effect on Generation Z. 

It is clear that through increased access to a wider variety of things, and through outlets for active confirmation of those preferences, that my generation approaches the identity definition question a little differently than those who have come before us, because of our increased access to a larger digital world. All of this creates a situation where my generation and future generations are more able to clash with their immediate surroundings, and develop a more specific niche for themselves. A central idea of Generation Z is our diversity, and the internet has allowed for a culture of celebrated diversity to emerge. We do different things and have different ideas; everyone has access to this multitude of options, so forging a trail off the beaten path has become the norm. With this depth of differences, we face the future with determination and power. 

https://www.statista.com/statistics/1124159/us-generational-social-media-news/ 

In a KidSpirit Feature article, teen writer Izzy Weitzman explores how the digital world has impacted Generation Z's identity. 

Internet Identity: Finding Ourselves in the Modern World

Miseng Kim

Who am I? 
Biology states that I come from a cell,
So unique that the genes create a unique me;
So normal that 99.9% of the genes are the same for all humans.

Who am I?
Sociology states that I am the result of social influence,
So unique that it shapes my identity;
So normal that we live in the same global society.

Who am I?
I am a human,
Just like you;
I am unique,
Just like you;
I am different, but beautiful,
Just like you.

Who am I?
Who are we?
We are all uniquely different,
But we can all find common ground.
We want peace,
We want dignity,
We want equality,
We want a healthy planet.

Who am I?
Who are we?
The precise answer might not exist,
But I know I am part of “we,”
And we all have the responsibility
To make the world a better place.

In a KidSpirit poem, teen poet Miseng Kim asks what makes us unique and what binds us together. 

Who Are We?

Taylor Merrett

“It is quite a revelation to discover that the place you wanted to escape to is the exact same place you escaped from.”

This quote provides a beautiful illustration of the world created by Matt Haig in The Midnight Library. The book follows Nora Seed as she finds meaning in life following a downward spiral leading to her attempting to take her own life. She ends up in the midnight library, a place of limbo where she is given the opportunity to experience all the other lives she could have lived if she had made different choices. Through her many lives, she journeys to rekindle her will to live. Released in 2020, the book is very up-to-date with the struggles of modern society, especially the strain on people’s mental health. 

The Midnight Library demonstrates the struggles of Nora, who has one of the most captivating character developments I’ve ever read. From beginning to end, she is never an unreasonably perfect person; her flaws and insecurities are highlighted in an endearing manner, which makes her development all the more satisfying as we see her progress.

One of the most impactful scenes follows a near-death experience during one of Nora’s alternate lives. She is shaken, but she doesn’t cry from shock or sadness. Rather, she cries with joy, because in that moment she does not want to die. She has found the first spark from which we start really seeing her change. This spark grows into full flames as she continues to find more meaning in her expeditions into other lives and ultimately makes the climax very emotional. The climax doesn’t have the drama of a brawl or any other forced tension. It shows the progression Nora has experienced in a beautiful way and keeps the      intense emotional power of the book right to the last page. 

Aside from Nora, I really like the characters of Ash and Mrs. Elm and the impact they both have on helping Nora grow and develop. Notably, both are named after trees, which may symbolize growth or, in this case, how they help Nora grow. Mrs. Elm is a hugely important person in Nora’s early years and later acts as the librarian in the midnight library. Her encouragement and consistent support of Nora makes her one of the most captivating characters. She is a very real person, someone who we feel we know personally and all appreciate, like a mentor. Not everything she does makes Nora happier immediately, however she ultimately has Nora’s best interests at heart by helping her overcome her regrets. 

My favorite scene involving Mrs. Elm is when she plays chess with Nora.  Nora is down and feeling useless, like a pawn, and Mrs. Elm says, “Even if you were a pawn — maybe we all are — then you should remember that a pawn is the most magical piece of all. It might look small and ordinary but it isn’t. Because a pawn is never just a pawn. A pawn is a queen-in-waiting. All you need to do is find a way to keep moving forward. One square after another. And you can get to the other side and unlock all kinds of power.”  The advice here is that anyone can be what they want and live the life they wish for, as long as they have the drive to go for their dreams. This is something Nora struggles to do due to her fear of commitment, so Mrs. Elm’s advice is hugely valuable.  

Next, we have Ash. He is a kind, smart, and caring man. Ash is a character that feels like a friend, someone you can trust and who is always there to help. Alongside his overall caring demeanour, these traits make his character one of the most positive in the book. He has the same realism as the others, but is always there to help and is the sort of person we would all want in our lives. There isn’t one specific scene that makes Ash great; rather it’s his consistent kindness and helpfulness which is on display in almost every scene he’s in.

One thing consistent about the characters in the book is their flaws, which gives them realism. For example, at times Mrs. Elm can be relatively short tempered or annoyed with Nora, which shows her humanity. No one is perfect, but, as the book says, “A person was like a city. You couldn’t let a few less desirable parts put you off the whole.” The idea of perspective and individual viewpoints is expertly explored as well. No two views are the same as “it’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see.” Everyone will have a different outlook on life but, as the book emphasizes, “you don’t have to understand life. You just have to live it.” You will not instantly understand everything you see; only by living can you start to understand it and enjoy it. 

I appreciate the book’s characters and their realism as one of its greatest aspects.  In addition, its unique structural style of having short moments instead of chapters makes it feel as though we are living alongside Nora in each of these key moments. Alongside this, I think the delicacy with which The Midnight Library tackles serious issues is a masterclass in writing. The serious aspects aren’t shoehorned or ignored; rather they act as the centerpiece for the book on which everything revolves. With COVID’s being the force that it has been over the past few years, depression has taken major prevalence in modern society, and Haig’s writing with such care to tackle these serious issues makes his story the powerful book that it is.     

I also greatly appreciate the recurring chess symbols.The game of chess is often associated with intellect and symbolizes intelligence, yet in this book, in many ways, the symbols are used as reflections of life. Mrs. Elm’s quote about us all being pawns is symbolic of us all being born on a level playing field, with our own lives to live and our own choices to make. Reaching the life we want simply requires the will to keep pushing onward. By facing the barriers and fears in front of us, like the opposing pieces in chess, we can become our own powerful people. In chess each move opens an array of new possibilities and influences the game. Likewise in life each decision we make, big or small, opens a completely new set of options and can lead to a completely different life. Yet, as Mrs. Elm explains, whilst a chessboard with no moves played is beautiful, it’s boring; no life has been breathed into the game. While it may seem easier to run from every decision, ultimately we will never truly live and we will be plagued with countless regrets. In chess, rooks ( sometimes called castles) are able to move in straight lines. Mrs. Elm explains the rook is her favorite piece because of just how straightforward it is. Players are often so preoccupied focusing on “sneakier” pieces, like knights or bishops, that they overlook the power of the simple rook. This is symbolic of how we can spend so much time focusing on ultimately unimportant details that we miss things staring us straight in the face. To me, these symbols are very imaginative and the way they are used in uncommon ways gives both the book and the game new value.   

I thoroughly enjoyed The Midnight Library and give it 4.5 stars out of 5 stars. I would definitely recommend it, however I would only suggest it to mature readers aged 15 and up, due to the highly emotional status that it holds and the seriousness of the issues it tackles. 

In a KidSpirit Media review, teen writer Taylor Merrett weighs in on Matt Haig's moving novel The Midnight Library.

The Midnight Library: For the Life We Live

Patryk Karpowicz

Each of us often wonders what our lives will be like in the future. 

I also decided to imagine myself in a dozen or so years. It is difficult because my head is full of a million thoughts and pictures.

I close my eyes and try to imagine our world in future decades. Daily life first. In addition to people, robots looking like living creatures will stroll the streets. A lonely man, without friends, will be able to make a friend or several in a special store. Such a mechanical companion will talk, tell a joke, and also clean the house and cook dinner. For people who like animals, but not the responsibilities associated with them, a mechanical pet is a great solution. The robot kitten will be fluffy and cuddly to the touch, but you won't have to clean up the litter box after it. The mechanical dog will pass its paw and look you faithfully in the eye, but you won't have to get up at five in the morning to take it for a walk. This will allow people with allergies and various phobias to learn about feelings and experiences that were so far beyond their reach.

The earth will be enclosed in a special plastic shell. Dangerous meteorites will crash into it, and gasses that are deadly for humans will not be able to get through it. Transport will be fast, comfortable, and safe. Blazingly fast trains will speed under the land and oceans, airplanes will exceed the speed of light, and cars will be so spacious and comfortable that even a long journey will be a pleasure. This makes the daily path to work in my pharmacy easy and stress-free, and the phenomenon of overwhelming traffic jams is a completely foreign experience. Traveling and exploring the world is easier and accessible to everyone; we can change our place of stay at any time without fear of long hours traveling between continents. Thanks to this, I will be able to meet pharmacists from around the world and exchange my own experiences and news in the field of helping people fight a few diseases, strengthen their immunity, and cope with addiction therapy. My positive approach to myself as a human being, cheerfulness, and openness to other people make me a popular person, and the customers of my pharmacy know that I will always try to help and advise them well. It makes my life meaningful and I am a fulfilled person not only professionally but also socially. 

In a KidSpirit Fiction piece, teen writer Patryk Karpowicz envisions our future world and a life of harmony, love, and responsibility.

Me in the Future

What does it mean to know who you are? Is identity constant or does it evolve over time? Do we each have a purpose? KidSpirit contributors dig deep to examine questions that may take a lifetime to answer. 

Waves

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