A key component of the course is mentorship: Each AAR class is assigned two to three mentors — ranging from district parents to local professors to business owners — who regularly check in on students’ progress. According to AAR teacher Rachael Kaci, this model of mentorship has evolved since the course’s development nine years ago.

“Most students, prior to Covid, were assigned to a mentor one-on-one, but we saw such a variance in how the students relied upon the mentors,” she said. “Now that the mentors come into the classroom, they have the opportunity to watch the progress throughout the year and the student growth.” Under these mentors, students learn critical research skills, such as professionalism and writing. Kaci appreciates how the course challenges students to strengthen their soft skills of time management, communication and adaptability.

“Every single year, every student runs into a hiccup,” she said. “It could be a major one — like last year, I had two students who completely pivoted second semester and redid their project. Or, it could be a minor one, like not having enough respondents on a survey.”

SCRAPP

Despite these challenges, AAR students finish the school year with newfound answers to their research questions or having made an impact on an aspect of their community.

For instance, while walking around campus, students might notice green and blue posters with “Don’t Trash Your Planet” in bolded text plastered on any empty wall.

These posters are part of the Sustainability Campaign to Raise Awareness of Plastic Pollution initiative, begun by Social Justice Pathway juniors Phoebe Mota-Judges, Floyd Neesen and Talya Schube this year. SCRAPP’s goal is to motivate Gunn students to clean up trash from school lunches.

“We just saw the problem was so bad,” Neesen said. “If you take a look at the senior and sophomore (quads after lunch), there’s so much (trash). If you’re walking by, you can’t not notice it.”

The group hopes to combat littering by raising awareness. As part of the sensibility campaign, they have created an Instagram account to post videos and infographics about the detriments of non-reusable plastic and the impact of trash on campus.

Although existing posters in each classroom highlight the different materials that go in compost, landfill and recycling, they don’t include all of the wrappings used by the school cafeteria.

“There are reminders to throw away your trash and waste sorting guides that include the (packaging) that is used in the cafeteria,” Neesen said. “The (existing posters) don’t have the things that they use to wrap sandwiches and burgers. We have those.”

Fueled by their determination to improve Gunn’s sustainability, the SCRAPP team has learned valuable skills, such as networking, adaptability and teamwork. According to Schube, there were challenges when working with a lot of people.

“Trying to work on other people’s time, as well as going through a lot of people, was difficult,” she said.

BuddyBonds

AAR projects also extend beyond Gunn’s boundaries. For instance, juniors Namya Kasturi, Samhita Krishnan and Lia O’Donovan have worked to combat elders’ loneliness in Palo Alto through pen pal assignments this year. In collaboration with Palo Alto Commons, a retirement community, they sent a sign-up form to the home’s residents and are currently waiting to hear back.

From the beginning of the brainstorming process, O’Donovan and her team knew their main goal was to build community.

“We wanted to create intergenerational events between the elderly population and teenagers, and we were hoping to branch out to other schools and care homes to work with,” she said.

For O’Donovan, this project stemmed from her desire to become closer to elderly family members.

“I live far away from my grandparents, so when I get to talk to them, it’s very special,” she said. “I know that I have older neighbors on my street and I feel very connected to them when I get to talk to them a lot. I wanted to form that bond for others.”

Although BuddyBonds originally wanted to organize student groups to go to retirement homes, they had to adapt their idea, as finding a retirement home willing to partner with them was much harder than expected.

“It’s taught me a lot about moving on and how to make a change in a community that isn’t sheltered by a class, because this is something we could have done outside of AAR,” she said. “I learned that it’s the real world.”

Staff mental health

AAR is more than hands-on work, however: Students must also write up their findings in a formal paper. As sophomore Alisa Sonehara begins drafting her research paper, she needs to cite information from other sources while still integrating her own ideas.

Luckily, she has the support of experienced mentors to help analyze and organize her data. She also uses generative artificial intelligence tools such as ChatGPT, which help check that her writing is clear, concise and, most importantly, accurate. With these resources, Sonehara has been able to delve into staff mental-health supports in PAUSD.

While Sonehara originally planned to research students’ mental health, she ultimately shifted her focus to staff, in light of district staffing shortages and new support initiatives following the pandemic.

“I wanted to see the type of support they are getting because I think there’s a lot of awareness and support for students right now, and there’s a lot more talk about it compared to educators,” she said. “I feel like educators deserve the same attention for mental health, because they matter a lot too.”

Sonehara was surprised to find that improving certain areas of mental health isn’t within the county specialist’s purview.

“For example, in the Healthy Kids Survey, if a teacher’s respondents are saying how they don’t have a good work environment, the mental health specialist isn’t really directed from the district to help improve that — she’s kind of just working on the overall view of the support for mental health,” she said. “That kind of surprised me because I feel like she could do a lot to help (those particular areas) as well.”

According to Kaci, this long-term, hands-on investigation makes AAR unique. With the wealth of professional resources and guidance, she recommends the course to anyone passionate about something and unable to find a class on campus that caters to their interests.

“You’re placed with a mentor or a manager and in a field that’s different from the traditional classroom and still get credits to put on your transcript, so that’s why I like (AAR),” she said. “Don’t shy away if you’re nervous about research — we can help anyone.”

Fleischmann’s journey with languages began early. Born into a multilingual family in California, her parents introduced her to German and Danish when she was a baby. Alongside these two languages, Fleischmann’s mom spoke Italian and her dad spoke French, further diversifying her language exposure.

“For me, language is a form of self-expression,” she said. “Knowing more languages makes our house a lot more expressive and a lot more vibrant.”

Although Fleischmann was born in the U.S., she moved to Germany when she was a few months old. There, she attended a British international school, where she learned English.

“I say words such as ‘hoover’ instead of ‘vacuum,’ or ‘queue’ instead of ‘line,’” she said. “Because I learned British English, it’s always a really funny conversation to have because (people ask), ‘You were born in California, German’s your first language and you learned British English?’”

By the age of 5, Fleischmann had moved back to the U.S. and begun attending Ohlone Elementary School, where she participated in the Mandarin immersion program for four years.

“It’s a thing in my household where everyone knows a special language that no one else in the household speaks, so (my parents) wanted me to have my special language as Mandarin,” she said.

Although Fleischmann became mostly fluent in Mandarin, she lost her proficiency after leaving Ohlone when she was 9 and started German Saturday school instead.

“If I don’t use (a language) regularly, I will simply forget it,” she said. “It’s harder for (me to forget) languages like Spanish, English and German because I am (completely) fluent in them, but definitely for upcoming languages, if I don’t practice or use it, I’m going to lose it — and it’s scary.”

Even when Fleischmann lived in Palo Alto, she occasionally visited Europe during the summers. She learned two more languages during these trips: French and Spanish. She began learning French at around 8 years old after an interaction she had at a party with a businessman her dad knew.

“He and my dad were talking about (me), so this guy said, ‘Introduce me to her,’” she said. “I walk up to him, he goes full-blown French on me and I (could not respond).”

After this exchange, Fleischmann’s parents urged her to learn French. Her lack of genuine interest in the language caused her to dislike it, however, and when she was required to choose either French or Spanish in fifth grade at her school in Germany, she opted for Spanish.

“I knew (French) and hated it,” she said. “My parents thought I should have done French. … In hindsight, that was probably the smart move because I’m now ‘bad fluent’ in both French and Spanish. I should have just stuck to one.”

That said, learning Spanish has allowed Fleischmann to better understand her mother when she speaks Italian, as the two languages share important linguistic similarities. For example, the word for a male cat is “gato” in Spanish and “gatto” in Italian.

When Fleischmann was 9 years old, she began classes to help her with her dyslexia. Fleischmann’s teacher taught her Latin word bases, which led her to fully learn the language.

“I am dyslexic, which makes learning this many languages even more freaky because learning languages is really hard for dyslexic people,” she said. “Learning Latin bases actually helps you a lot to decode (a) word. I was also really interested in Latin and kept learning it because I’m interested in medicine, and everything in medicine is Latin.”

In eighth grade, Fleischmann’s family moved back to Germany for a year. Hearing people speak a familiar language in a new setting allowed her to begin understanding and gain appreciation for the culture.

“(Living) in Palo Alto was quite the bubble,” she said. “It’s crazy. People don’t realize that there’s a world out there. I didn’t realize that either, and then I went and lived in Germany. I felt like I put glasses on for the first time because there was so much out there.”

Fleischmann quickly noticed that culture shapes language, and vice versa: Some words encapsulate ideas that simply don’t exist in other languages’ lexicons. These words are often adopted into other languages because they capture such a specific sentiment. For example, the word “schadenfreude” in German means finding pleasure in others’ misfortunes.

During her time in German school last year and the two summers prior, Fleischmann learned American Sign Language from her deaf teacher.

“For the first few weeks of school, I was completely fascinated,” she said. “Every time she said something, I asked, ‘What’s that in ASL?’ Eventually, she got so annoyed with me constantly asking her what things meant that she just offered to teach me after school.”

ASL opened Fleischmann’s eyes to both the possibilities and limitations of language. Before, she had not recognized the significance of the languages she knew because they were such a quotidian element of her life.

“The main reason I learned (ASL) was to try to connect with someone who wouldn’t normally be able to connect,” she said. “Most of (my background) of languages was that I just grew up speaking them, but this one specifically had a reason and impact.”

Overall, however, Fleischmann has found that each language she has learned — verbal or not — has improved her ability to communicate.

“It’s so much more powerful for me to say ‘I’m feeling exuberant’ instead of ‘I’m happy,’” she said. “Through the ability to manipulate and understand language, you’re able to connect with people because it evokes this emotion that all forms of self-expression do.”

Nevertheless, he made it through. After finishing the track meet, Mirza was physically drained, but his spirits were lifted.

“I realized that there are many other people who do (track) while fasting,” he said. “It gave me a new appreciation for the mental strength involved in the halal lifestyle.”

Mirza is one of many Muslims who partake in a halal lifestyle. This lifestyle is based on the concepts of “halal” (allowed or permissible) and “haram” (forbidden), which are taught in the Quran, the sacred scripture of Islam. The natural state of everything is halal, and things are haram only if specified in the Quran — pork, for example, is haram because pigs are considered unclean. These concepts apply to aspects of life beyond food, including social norms and individual beliefs.

“Universally, (the halal lifestyle) is no pork, no alcohol, no drugs,” Mirza said. “But there’s more to it with the halal
lifestyle. I see the halal lifestyle as my moral code, along with the Islamic moral code.”

Freshman Hana Siddeek, who is also Muslim, noted that the distinctions between haram and halal aren’t always simple.

“There’s some circumstances nowadays where there’s not something specifically stated, so you have to use logic and reason and the sayings of the Prophet, peace be upon him, to infer the right decision,” she said. “There’s also varying degrees of disliked, allowed, permissible and encouraged.”

The strictness with which the lifestyle is followed also varies. Siddeek and her family are flexible with some things because of their personal beliefs and choices.

“Gelatine is sometimes taken from the insides of a pig, so a lot of Muslims won’t eat gelatine unless it’s halal gelatine,”
she said. “But my parents (took) a class and their teacher told them that gelatine is chemically reformed — it’s a completely different thing and not actually pork. So, I eat gelatine.”

Nevertheless, finding food options can be difficult. Students may opt for vegetarian options simply because finding halal-certified food options can be challenging. While Mirza has faced these difficulties, he also noted that those at Gunn do their best to make allowances.

“You can’t necessarily eat (school lunch) depending on which family you’re from,” Mirza said. “People (at Gunn) are supportive and they understand the restrictions that I have. I feel like Gunn makes the halal lifestyle relatively easy.”

Outside the realm of food, haram and halal also govern other aspects of daily life, including social interactions.

“I can hang out with my friends just fine, but if my friends are making bets or playing poker, I just don’t put any money in,” Mirza said. “(Living halal) also teaches me how to create my own boundaries so people don’t cross them.”

For Siddeek, part of living halal is not dating.

“I don’t date,” she said. “This is a reason why I prefer juvenile fiction, because a lot of the young-adult fiction features people doing stuff that they wouldn’t normally do unless they were married, but they’re not married. That makes me a little uncomfortable.”

Ramadan is still another crucial aspect of living halal. During this sacred ninth month of the Islamic calendar, Muslims fast, waking up before sunrise for a meal and praying afterward. While fasting, Muslims do not eat or drink, including water. Prayers are segmented throughout the day: dawn (“Fajr”), early afternoon (“Dhuhr”), later afternoon (“Asr”), sunset (“Maghrib”) and evening (“Isha”).

These daily prayers allow Mirza time for introspection. While he tries to pray five times a day, most days outside of Ramadan, he prays once in the early morning and once before bed.

“Living halal affects me in a positive manner because every (day) through prayer, I get to reflect upon my own feelings
and show gratitude towards my own life,” he said. While many of Siddeek’s experiences with Islam have been shaped by her parents, she has gradually learned to embrace and interpret the religion in her own way.

“As I learn about (Islam), I’ve started to (follow) it more of my own accord because I understand it,” she said. “Just learning by myself and learning from my parents’ guidance has helped me to live this way.”

]]> /26911/uncategorized/halal-kosher-values-govern-food-social-interactions-2/feed/ 0 /26890/uncategorized/filmmakers-illuminate-lives-through-cinematic-visions-sophomore-jaylen-wong/ /26890/uncategorized/filmmakers-illuminate-lives-through-cinematic-visions-sophomore-jaylen-wong/#respond Fri, 15 Mar 2024 05:24:18 +0000 /?p=26890 Sophomore Jaylen Wong joined the filmmaking world in middle school, when he signed up for the video production elective. However, it wasn’t until high school that he found his niche: sports filming.

Wong posted his first sports film on Instagram during his freshman year after attending a Gunn varsity football game. Although he received positive community feedback, he found that he struggled with adjusting to filming at night.

“During the game, I had to quickly search on YouTube how to fix the lighting problem, turn up the ISO (International Organization for Standardization) and turn up the aperture,” he said. “(I had to figure out) how to increase the lens so more light came through to brighten the shot.”

Wong’s personal journey as a basketball player played a large role in his decision to continue making films.

“I wanted to capture how it felt being there (on the court),” he said. “That’s why I wanted to film sports, because I think (it) is a really great way to show other people’s passions.”

Core lessons Wong had learned from playing sports contributed to his filming mindset.

“Many sports require a lot of patience and dedication, and that really transferred over to my filmmaking,” he said. “(I had to) dedicate a lot of time in post-production, filming (and) planning.”

Wong’s journey, however, wasn’t all smooth sailing. Most of his major filmmaking challenges occurred when he pushed himself out of his comfort zone and tried filming sports he wasn’t as familiar with. In a water polo video, for example, lighting posed a problem.

“It was light out, and it was hard to adjust my camera to the glare from the water,” he said. “Since it was my first time filming water polo, I needed to get used to the sport and know what to look for.”

Usually, Wong creates multiple iterations of a video, and the full film-creation process for a 90-second video typically takes around six hours from start to finish. Much of this time is dedicated to fine-tuning pacing.

“(Making a film) is like telling a story,” he said. “There’s a rising action, climax and falling action. I take that format and use it to (create) the
±čŸ±»ć±đŽÇ.”

Moving forward, Wong hopes to continue filming college sports to bolster his portfolio on Instagram. He has already filmed some Stanford basketball games this past season, and he and his twin brother, Liam Wong, are working to acquire media passes from the video director of Stanford’s football program, Mike Gleeson.

Despite the heavy workload, Wong finds the time commitment to be manageable, especially since he enjoys working on the videos. The feedback he receives further motivates him to continue to create films and seek new opportunities.

“Just seeing the athletes’ reactions make it worth it,” he said. “It makes me happy that they liked the video and that it wasn’t all for nothing.”

From an early age, Schettino González enjoyed creating skits and helping his sister — now a film student at Chapman University — make movies. For him, pursuing filmmaking was a natural instinct.

“I was never as attracted to something as I was to film,” he said. “I don’t think there was ever a moment where I was like, ‘Okay, this is what I want to do.’ It was always just something that I had to do. I had to make these films. I had to see my passion through.”

Schettino González has explored a variety of filmmaking genres — sports documentaries, PSAs and narrative shorts, just to name a few — but recently homed in on storytelling through fictional short films. He has a meticulous process: brainstorming ideas, writing a shot list, creating a detailed script, filming with actors and editing. He focuses on finding ideas and stories that resonate with his own experiences.

Like all amateur filmmakers, Schettino GonzĂĄlez started out shooting with default camera settings. With experience and upgraded equipment over time, he acquired an eye for detail, learning to enhance every element to make his films come alive. One technique Schettino GonzĂĄlez has honed is sound design, which he believes adds another dimension to films.

“A lot of people … don’t realize how (sound design) can enhance the performance, how we can create depth to the story, how we can make the characters feel lived in and make the story feel lived in,” he said. “Just creating a world with sound is very important and something that I pay more attention to.”

Schettino González’s film “Querido Mexico,” which explores his gratitude towards Mexico while comparing it to the stressful environment of Palo Alto, won first place statewide at the Directing Change Film Contest and the regional award for the National Academy of Television Arts and Sciences Student Emmys. It was also nominated for a National Student Emmy. “Skateboarding with Lara Botto,” a film Schettino González created with senior Josh Scheinman, also received the regional award for the National Academy’s Student Emmys.

Schettino González has found it extremely rewarding to be able to network with actors and directors and spotlight important topics through films like “Querido Mexico,” which touches on student mental health and pressure.

In the future, Schettino GonzĂĄlez will continue improving his abilities and using film to bring meaningful issues to light.

“I see myself creating more impactful work, pieces that matter, pieces that touch on subjects that most people are scared to touch on, and collaborating with talented filmmakers to create things that stand out,” he said.

“I was around 7 or 8 at the family reunion,” Knudson said. “I knew that protective hairstyles like braids came from the African American side of me, but I hadn’t been able to see it a lot, so seeing them on my (family) was really cool.”

Growing up in a predominantly white and Asian community, Knudson rarely saw hair like hers. Because her mom wasn’t educated on how to care for Black hair, either, Knudson didn’t have guidance on how to maintain her hair. She ended up following her peers’ routines, though they didn’t suit her hair type.

“I washed my hair every other day, which you’re not supposed to do,” she said. “That’s far too often for hair like mine. Most of the time, I put it in a singular braid because that’s what I saw a lot of other people my age doing.”

Knudson’s experience isn’t anomalous: Many students have struggled to maintain hair that doesn’t adhere to Eurocentric norms. Sophomore Elijah Williams, for example, described never having advice on how to take care of his naturally curly hair. Worried that he would be stereotyped, his grandmother urged him to keep his locks short.

“My grandma was really big on taking care of how people perceived me,” he said. “Growing up, she didn’t want me to look like a ‘thug,’ so she usually made me buzz my hair.”

Raised in an Indian community in Spain, senior Angelina Rosh’s self-image was shaped by cultural biases.

“In the Indian communities (in Spain) that I grew up in, everybody brushed out their curly hair to make it frizzy — nobody knew how to take care of their hair,” Rosh said. “The standards in Indian culture are Eurocentric, so straight hair is considered prettier. I always internalized it as (me) having really ugly hair. I hated my hair.”

When Rosh moved to the U.S., she encountered more diverse hair types but still felt restrained by the beauty standards in her Indian community.

“I go to an Indian church,” she said. “That’s where it proliferated. The Indian community I was in maintained the same values that the mainland does, which is that straight hair is prettier. All the aunties would make passes at my hair.”

Still, students like Rosh have carved out their own methods of self-care over the years. While Knudson didn’t dedicate much attention or care to her hair at first, she reevaluated her routine after seeing her grandmother’s hair at the reunion, experimenting with new hairstyles to restore her hair’s health. Her go-to during this time was straight down — no up-dos — because pulling her hair back into tight ponytails and braids like her peers’ had damaged it.

Similarly, Williams experienced a perspective shift at the beginning of eighth grade, when he got a haircut that didn’t suit his hair. Wanting to be able to feel good about himself and look his best, he believed that growing out and learning more about his hair was essential.

“I didn’t want (my hair) to be really unhealthy,” he said. “I just didn’t know how to fix it. I resorted to social media, and then my brothers also helped me a lot. I just kind of experimented.”

Rosh also gave herself time to explore new hairstyles during the pandemic. Through TikTok and other online posts, she curated a hair-care routine that restored not just her curly hair, but her self-image.

“The pivotal point was walking into church again, and an auntie that had made fun of my hair before (asked) me, ‘Oh my goodness, how do you do your hair?’” Rosh said. “I told her, and then I told her daughter. Now, her daughter has healthy curly hair and she knows how to take care of it.”

After instructing some other church members on how to take care of their curly hair, she began to teach her mom as well.

“I held so much judgment against her for not knowing how to do my hair, but then doing my mom’s hair and teaching her how to do it really felt like a generational breaking point,” Rosh said.

Rosh has enjoyed being an educator and advocate for those with curly hair. Now, both she and her mother embrace their culture through their hair maintenance.

“Putting energy (into) and prioritizing taking care of my hair makes me feel more connected to my culture — whether it’s oiling my hair or having my mom oil my hair — which is a big love language for us,” she said.

By the time Knudson graduated from middle school, she had also decided to change the way she styled her hair to better reflect her cultural background and artistic desires.

“I started to care (more) about my appearance, not only because other people saw me, but because I wanted to look the best for myself,” she said. “I planned to show a different side of me when I got to high school. I wanted to express and experiment with myself in artistic ways, and my hair was one of them.”

Knudson’s first protective hairstyle entering high school was braids, inspired and done by her grandmother. When 2024 began, however, she tried a new style: two-strand twists called passion twists, which she currently wears.

According to Knudson, getting her hair done was a time-intensive process: Cornrowing, looping in extensions, crocheting and twisting took two to three hours. Still, it was worth it — after the passion twists were finished, Knudson returned to school with yet another part of her culture that she could share with others at school. “In (Gunn), you don’t see as many people with protective hairstyles,” she said. “(My hair) helped me expose myself and have people see different sides of me.”

Embracing her unique hair — alive in her grandmother and embedded in her ancestry — has given Knudson a profound appreciation for her identity.

“Learning about my hair and being able to express myself through it (has) helped me be closer to my Black roots,” she said. “I can see a different side of me that I haven’t been able to before.”

Likewise, Williams expresses his pride in his Black culture and carries this pride with him through his hair.

“I like to represent being Black, especially in areas where we’re a minority,” he said. “I feel like through my hair, I can do this.”