The Best Memories

By Adam Sarsfield

Leaving my driveway for the first time in the 4,600-pound car, I never realized how important that car would mean to me and all my friends who would get to ride in it. My 2002 Dodge Durango was the perfect vehicle for transporting my group of eight friends around.

Saratoga Library: My Home Away From Home

By Faith Gonia

“Mom, can we go soon?” I prodded, interrupting her diligent studying. After three hours at the Saratoga Library, I had started to get antsy. She dedicated her Saturday to learning psychology; I, distracting her endlessly.

They Call Her Cookie

By Emi Gruender

At 4’11,” my grandma casts a formidable shadow. I call her Ba Ngoai, the Vietnamese name for “Grandma.” It feels weird to call her that, actually, since I’ve known her by only two names my whole life—the aforementioned, and “Cookie”—an Americanized version of her Vietnamese name. 

Cuc Ngo is one of the, if not the, strongest woman I have ever known. Her story started in 1943, in the poor village of  Trà Vinh. Her father was abusive to her mother, and my great-grandmother just decided to up and leave, taking my grandma with her. Since my great-grandmother couldn’t afford to work and take care of my grandma at the same

time, she sent her to a Buddhist monastery, where my grandma lived for the first ten years of her life. My grandma and great-grandma clawed themselves out of deep poverty, and my grandma married my grandpa shortly before the Vietnam War began. 

With only the clothes on their back and their three young children, they attempted three times to escape. The first time they were caught, they spent some time in prison, while my grandpa was sent off to a concentration camp. What happened there scarred him forever—we still have no idea what happened. All we know is that his lungs took a beating, and to this day, he still refuses to talk about it.