With searching eyes, my mother said, “I look to you as my husband.” The rawness of her comment suggests a strange filial relationship. Hesitating, I looked down at my journal and wondered if I should write in Korean instead. After all, this unusually frank confession from a rather emotionally distant mother was spoken in Korean earlier that day. The art of translation is flawed, but the impact of those words mirrors my bewilderment of that past moment. I leave them...

I make deep, clean incisions. Into words. Dissecting each line of the text, I question every word’s purpose and collect hints to synthesize my own perspective. Details in author’s language give way to interdisciplinary connections that span across disciplines and cultures. I most appreciate how literature welcomes every individual’s interpretation. Altogether, these interpretations form a timeless literature of their own. Delving into literary craft and listening to alternative perspectives has influenced my role at the art museum....

Before me lies Nathan Vincent’s exhibition, Let’s Play War!, at the art museum where I volunteer. Half-life-sized soldiers are scattered across the floor, waging a mute battle. But these action figures have an anomaly: green crocheted fiber wraps around their bodies like the sinuous vines of Vietnam’s jungles. Suddenly, I hear the detonator as sunlight carries Curt Lemon into the tree from O’Brien’s The Things They Carried. I climb with Tim, throwing down Lemon’s...

In an age of instant gratification technology, pen and paper seem like anachronisms. But I find a certain intimacy with printed words that creates a more tangible experience. Holding a red pen, I, as an editor, scribble feedback on various essays and Parallel Ink submissions. Red is not the color of bloody anarchy that empowers me to slash through words. Red is the color of planting and cultivating a young rose garden. Nurturing feedback is more valuable than any stamp...

When I looked around the mandatory in-class assembly, students were preoccupied with their phones or mindlessly replicating cards based on templates. The video honoring veterans was background noise. I saw that the passive motions of writing generic thank-you cards only entrenched our desensitization to military service, because it simply isn’t an everyday encounter for most. As Red Cross Club’s President, I initiated a new annual project, Totes4Hope. Packed with donated personal care items, these totes for the...

Journals of various sizes and colors, each holding a chapter of my life, adorn the shelves. But don’t be fooled by their well-preserved covers. Inside lies a labyrinth of words architected by rudimentary handwriting, budding curiosity, and the “always-already” present. Starting with my teddy-bear-themed notebook in third grade, I’ve journaled daily in both English and Korean. What one language can’t do, the other can. I distinguish the fine, subtle differences in words and tone to most smoothly...