Leena Abdul Halim, 17, Pakistan

Aangi Shah

Should my voice fail me, 
My hands shall carry these words 
Shaping once-blank canvases, 
Silent screams they will record 

Should my heart be too hoarse, 
Soothing hymns shall heal, 
Resonating with every heartbeat, 
Every emotion they reveal

Should I drown in my sorrows, 
Colors shall carry silently, 
From centuries past or halfway across the world, 
Voices singing the same melody 

For it is only human, 
To seek the comfort of kindred souls 
For it is only human, 
To pour our hearts out forevermore

Poetry

In a KidSpirit poem, teen poet Aangi Shah evokes the power of music and art to express our emotions. 

Reflections and Echoes 

Xiaoxiao Chen

Are art and music truly universal, or are they bound by cultural and linguistic barriers?

Five years ago, I had the chance to perform at a folk music festival in Piesk, Czechia, representing young Chinese dancers alongside other students. 

Before the event, we spent hours every day polishing our movements to perfection, listening to the music over and over again to match every beat, and even rehearsing every facial expression in front of the mirror to represent the beauty of Chinese dancing to the fullest.

However, the highlight of that memorable day, as it eventually turned out, was not on the brightly lit stage, but unfolded on the dewy lawn next to it after the performances were over, when we joined the local students for a picnic. After a while, someone turned on music, and suddenly, the afternoon lawn transformed into a dance floor. Without hesitation, the local students began to form a circle, joining hands and stepping in rhythm together. Their folk music was fast-paced, joyous, and almost infectious, with sharp turns of the song of the flute and the resonating rhythm of drums. My friends sat on the picnic mat and stared at them, hesitant, held back by the more-than-apparent wall of our cultural and linguistic differences. I felt it too — a creeping sense of loneliness at the absence of my family and friends, the world I was used to, the unease of being foreign in a place rooted in its own traditions. Everything, from the pastries to the colorful, traditional dresses, was alien to us. But something in me stirred, something that overshadowed the feeling of being out of place. I did not know a single word in Czech, but I could understand the dancers’ unspoken invitation for us to share their joy, to be part of something together.

Before I realized it, I had leaped into the circle, joining its momentum. I found myself immediately being accepted into the colorful spin of traditional clothing — the embroidered aprons, the red and yellow and green flowery skirts — the lacy hems at once blending in with the pink silk that was my dance costume. I was completely unfamiliar with the steps and kept stumbling, accidentally stepping on the local students’ feet, but rather than frowns and complaints, there was genuine, friendly laughter that echoed in the air. I kept on dancing in the circle, feeling the lawn — a soft and thick green carpet — underneath each step. Changing partners after every verse, clapping hands, and joining arms with the students, I saw the smiling faces around me, our worlds so distinct, so far away from each other, yet colliding at that shared moment of joy. I realized then that dancing was not all about being perfect, about performing and representing, but about our human nature to be happy, to celebrate, and to bond. When we were not on a stage anymore, under the scrutiny of both an audience and our own awareness, we were truly able to dance with freedom. To express. Our dance, then, turned into a celebration of life itself, an appreciation of art and beauty in its very purest form, despite the fact that we were unable to exchange a single spoken word.

The separate walls that we were used to living within, that defined our identity — languages, cultures — caved in. In the circle that flowed according to the melody, it almost seemed as if we had created our own little universe with the medium of dance and music, where movement spoke louder and more eloquently than any sentence we could construct. For the first time in my life, I wasn’t dancing for the sake of imitating a given repertoire, pose for pose, in an attempt to represent certain meanings constructed by others. Instead, holding the hands of the other children with whom I’d never imagined I would become friends, who came from the other side of the world, we became creators of meaning. I found myself dancing simply to express joy, to connect, to be part of something larger.

Dance, in its purest form, is never supposed to be all about precision or a showcase of skills and flexibility. It is about the way it brings people together, about the shared emotions that flow through every step, every turn of the dancer to reach their audience. It’s a celebration of life, of the joy that transcends every social barrier we perceive. Art, then, is unique in its great power to communicate across linguistic, cultural, geographical, and political disparities. Just like I did not need to understand Czech and the local students did not need to speak English or Chinese for us to share the joy of the dance, a person can also appreciate the emotional message of a painting or a piece of music without having to learn the nuances behind it.

Since my first-hand experience in Czechia, I began expanding on this realization, harnessing my years of practicing traditional Chinese folk dancing in various regions and choreographing dance repertoires to promote environmental awareness. Using art as the bridge between cultures, I hoped to not only bring together different communities with emotional resonance but also engage them in global causes. In one of the pieces I created, for instance, I incorporated various physical motifs often used by the Dai ethnic minority, such as the wind, rain, and ocean tides, in an attempt to remind my audiences of the inherent and constant connection between humans and nature. By blending the heritage of Chinese folk dance with modern issues, I have been able to create performances that resonate across cultural boundaries, proving that art can evoke empathy, and in turn raise awareness that, hopefully, will one day turn into collective action.

In short, art and music are powerful forces that transcend the limitations of language and culture. By evoking shared human experiences and emotions, they can unite people from drastically different backgrounds. In the increasingly globalized world we find ourselves in today, they can, perhaps, serve as a constant reminder of our shared humanity, allowing us to ignore our superficial differences and truly connect.

In a KidSpirit Big Question article, teen writer Xiaoxiao Chen ponders if art and music are universal or bound by cultural and linguistic barriers?


The Transcendence of Art

Dylan Zhang

The impulse to create, to make something out of nothing, seems to be deeply embedded in our species. But why?

Art has been an integral part of human existence for tens of thousands of years, from the cave paintings of Lascaux to the digital masterpieces that flood the Internet today. 

The impulse to create, to make something out of nothing, seems to be deeply embedded in our species. But why is this? What is it that compels us to paint, sculpt, dance, and sing? While the reasons are as varied as the forms of art themselves, there are several key forces that drive humans to create art: self-expression, communication, emotional release, societal influence, and, surprisingly, biology.

One of the most commonly cited reasons for creating art is the need for self-expression. Art allows individuals to convey thoughts, feelings, and identities that may be difficult or impossible to express through words alone. Whether through a painting, a poem, or a piece of music, artists channel their innermost thoughts into a form that others can perceive. Take, for example, Vincent van Gogh's swirling skies in Starry Night or Frida Kahlo's deeply personal self-portraits. Each of these pieces offers a glimpse into the mind and emotions of the artist at the time of creation. Van Gogh’s work conveys the intensity of his inner turmoil, while Kahlo’s paintings explore themes of identity, suffering, and resilience. Both artists struggled with personal hardship and found in art a way to grapple with their pain. This drive to express oneself is not limited to emotionally fraught experiences. Even in mundane moments, we feel the desire to leave a personal imprint on the world. From doodling in the margins of a notebook to singing in the shower, we find joy in making something uniquely our own. It’s a way of asserting, "I am here, and this is how I see the world."

Creating art can also serve as a form of emotional release or catharsis. In ancient Greece, the philosopher Aristotle wrote about how tragedy in theater had the power to cleanse the audience of negative emotions, a process he called “catharsis.” This concept is not limited to theater; art in all its forms can serve as an outlet for emotion. When we pour our frustrations, fears, or joys into a piece of art, we often feel a sense of relief and renewal. The psychological benefits of art are well documented, such as by researcher Vicky Karkou and her collaborators. Art therapy, for example, is used to help individuals process trauma, grief, and anxiety. By creating art, individuals externalize their emotions, allowing them to process difficult experiences in a safe and controlled way. The very act of creation becomes a therapeutic process, helping individuals to gain perspective and find healing. As I reflect, I wonder: How many of us have found comfort in simply sketching or painting, not for an audience but for our own peace of mind?

Art, however, is not just about individual expression, it’s also about communication. Historically, before the advent of writing, humans used art to convey complex stories, ideas, and shared experiences. The ancient cave paintings of Lascaux, for instance, may have served as a form of storytelling or a way to pass down important cultural knowledge. These visual records offer insights into how prehistoric humans lived, what animals they encountered, and even the rituals they may have practiced. Even in the modern world, art continues to serve as a powerful medium for communication. Political cartoons, street murals, and artwork shared on social media can influence public opinion, incite movements, and challenge societal norms. The work of Banksy, for instance, merges art and activism, commenting on issues like capitalism, consumerism, and war in ways that words alone often fail to achieve. Art can also cross language barriers. A powerful image or a stirring piece of music can resonate with people from vastly different cultures and backgrounds, conveying meaning in ways that are universally understood. In this sense, art is a bridge that connects people, making it possible to communicate ideas and emotions that transcend spoken language.

While communication is a critical reason as to why humans create art, societal influence cannot be ignored. Throughout history, art has often been used as a tool for reinforcing cultural norms, religious beliefs, and political ideologies. The grand cathedrals of medieval Europe, for instance, were not just places of worship, they were also symbols of the power and authority of the Church. Artists are also influenced by the societal conditions in which they live. Movements like Impressionism and Surrealism were, in many ways, responses to the political, economic, and social climates of their time. Pablo Picasso’s Guernica, painted in response to the bombing of the Basque town during the Spanish Civil War, is a striking example of how art can serve as a reaction to political events. The massive, monochromatic painting captures the chaos, suffering, and destruction wrought by the conflict, making a powerful anti-war statement. Today, social media and globalization have accelerated the pace at which art is shared and consumed. Platforms like Instagram and TikTok have democratized the art world, allowing anyone with a smartphone to create and share their work with a global audience. This digital landscape has also fostered new forms of artistic collaboration, as creators from different cultures and disciplines come together to produce innovative and hybrid forms of art.

While cultural and emotional factors clearly play a role in our desire to create art, some researchers, such as Dahlia Zaidel, argue that there may be a biological basis for this impulse as well. Evolutionary psychologists suggest that art may have developed as a way to enhance social cohesion, attract mates, or demonstrate intelligence and creativity, traits that were advantageous for survival. In his book The Art Instinct, philosopher Denis Dutton argues that the appreciation of beauty and the urge to create art may be hardwired into the human brain. He points to the universality of art across all cultures as evidence of this. From the intricate patterns found in indigenous pottery to the haunting melodies of traditional folk songs, every human society has produced some form of art, suggesting that the impulse to create is a fundamental aspect of our species. Neuroscience also offers insights into the biological roots of art. Studies using brain imaging have shown that creating art activates the brain’s reward centers, releasing dopamine, the same chemical that is triggered by pleasurable activities like eating or listening to music. This neurochemical response may explain why humans find the act of creation so intrinsically satisfying, even when it serves no practical purpose. When you think about it, isn’t it fascinating that our brains reward us simply for the act of creating, reinforcing a behavior that seems fundamental to who we are?

The drive to create art is complex and multifaceted. It is shaped by individual desires for self-expression and emotional release, influenced by societal norms and political climates, and perhaps even rooted in our biology. Yet, no matter the reason, art continues to hold a central place in human life. It allows us to communicate across boundaries, make sense of our experiences, and leave a lasting mark on the world. In a rapidly changing world, where technology and globalization are transforming how art is made and shared, one thing remains constant: the human drive to create. As long as people seek to understand themselves, connect with others, and find meaning in life, art will continue to flourish, evolving in new and unexpected ways. And while the forms may change, the fundamental impulse to make something beautiful, meaningful, or provocative will remain as deeply rooted in the human experience as it has been for millennia. So the next time you sketch, sing, or dance, consider this: you’re not just creating something external, you’re fulfilling an intrinsic part of what it means to be human.

Dutton, Dennis. The Art Instinct: Beauty, Pleasure, and Human Evolution. Oxford University Press, 2009.

Gharib, Malaka. “Feeling Artsy? Here's How Making Art Helps Your Brain.” NPR, January 11, 2020. https://www.npr.org/sections/health-shots/2020/01/11/795010044/feeling-artsy-heres-how -making-art-helps-your-brain.

Karkou, Vicky et al. “Editorial: The Psychological and Physiological Benefits of the Arts.” Frontiers in Psychology, vol. 13, 2022. https://doi.org/10.3389/fpsyg.2022.840089 . 

Zaidel, Dahlia W. “Creativity, Brain, and Art: Biological and Neurological Considerations.” Frontiers in Human Neuroscience, vol. 8, 2014. https://doi.org/10.3389/fnhum.2014.00389. 

In a KidSpirit Features article, teen writer Dylan Zhang explores the emotional, biological, and social impulses that drive us to create art.

The Intrinsic Artistic Desire of Humans

Amy Bai

The magic of photography is that it can permanently preserve a moment, a person, or an encounter.

A normal, damp, rainy day in Melbourne. I was carrying my camera around to take photos of the same old neighborhood that I had lived in for the past five years. There was nothing new, so I struggled to find inspiration for my photography project. Just as I ran out of ideas, a cascading rain started, as if to complement my dampened mood. I quickly ran to the nearby underground walkway to protect myself from the rain. I carefully covered my camera with my jacket, embracing it as if it were a newborn baby. I took a deep breath, inhaling the cold moisture to calm myself and exhaling to release the unwanted toxins inside of me.

Somehow, I was saturated with impatience that day, desperately praying for the rain to stop. I paced around the entrance of the walkway, trying to entertain myself a little. Normally, on a photographing day like this, I would use all my spare time to filter through my chaotic camera roll and pick a few photos out of the hundreds that were just satisfactory. I was not even bothered to open my camera roll that day because I knew there were no decent photos. Again, I took in a long breadth. I shivered as the coldness penetrated every single cell in my body. 

Just as I began to exhale, someone said, “Are you okay?”

A child’s voice. Following the voice, a sense of warmth washed over me. Perhaps because the voice was uniquely sweet, distinct from the harsh sound of the raindrops. I was not sure whether the voice was targeted at me, but in the dark, desolate walkway there was only me and this anonymous voice. The child’s voice made me remember the rainy days of my childhood.

My mum and dad used to hold my hands as I jumped in and out of water puddles. As a child, I was not afraid of rain, but rather, I loved it. The rain always transformed the streets into a water park with free entry. It was endless happiness and fun. Those good old days.

A few seconds passed, and I withdrew from my nostalgic thoughts. I turned around, and the anonymous voice turned into a person. A little boy. He wore a bright yellow rain jacket with a complementary yellow umbrella in his hand. He waved, but looked confused as he stared into the dark walkway extending behind me.

“I am alright. Are you looking for someone?” I asked.

He shook his head, “No . . . not really.” Lifting up his umbrella, he passed it to me. I thought he just intended to show me his interesting umbrella, but no, he wanted to give it to me.

“No no, it’s fine . . . I am fine.” 

I gently pushed his umbrella back to him. He nodded and then hesitated as if he was trying hard to process my words. Then, without a farewell, he ran from my end of the walkway to the other. His yellow outfit made it look as if he were a firefly flying across the dark cave in front of me.

Without hesitation, I opened my camera. I lowered the exposure of the frame to emphasize the contrast between the bright yellow color and the dark background. Through the lens, I saw the little boy opening his umbrella and bravely walking into the heavy rain as if he were just a part of it. Something inside me clicked. I quickly walked to the other end of the walkway, following the boy’s path. He probably heard my hurried footsteps, so he turned around and smiled.

The magic of photography is that it can permanently preserve a moment, a person, or an encounter, even though in reality it was just an infinitesimal instant. The photo of the boy in the yellow raincoat became one of my favorite photographs that I always share with others, not only because of its composition and presentation of color, but also because of the lesson I learned from it. Photography is not always about having everything prepared and set up for the moment of capture: it is about living in the moment and being observant of your changing surroundings.

As a passionate photographer, I think this lesson was a very important step in my photography journey, since it propelled me to take a greater variety of photos. While photos are a form of visual communication, they also should act as a way for the photographer to convey their inner world and share the stories behind each image. This is why I think the photo of the boy in the yellow raincoat is one of the best representations of the value of photography. The stark contrast between the yellow and the gloomy background symbolizes the enlightening experience the boy had brought to me amidst the dismal environment.

After this encounter, I began to approach photography differently whenever I went out to take photos. I started to give myself more time to interact with the people I encounter on the way, to connect through casual conversations, and I have learned about the interesting stories of the people who might become the subjects of my photos. It’s the stories of those people that inspire me and bring depth to my photos.

Whenever I head outside now, I bring my camera with me to take photos of the random, yet valuable, things that I observe. This habit has largely broadened the diversity of photos I take, ranging from small plants on the road to people and buildings. 

Over time, I have grown to perceive photography as a reflection of my inner world. When my mood or mental state changes, my observations of the surroundings will change and influence what I choose to photograph. Recalling the special moments of my own childhood, I think I would have loved to have a photographer who captured and preserved my daily life as a gift for the older me.

In a KidSpirit Awesome Moments article, teen writer Amy Bai shares a moment that shaped her journey as a photographer. 

Click, Processed, Stored

Zoe Nhyira Maison

I checked today’s date on the calendar. June 12th. 

Exactly six months since my  sister’s death. Six months since my whole world decided to topple over. 

It had been difficult to deal with life without her. My family was broken without  her, and everything just felt . . . meaningless.  

I rubbed my hand on my face to pull myself together before getting up to open the curtains. The bright sun streamed through the window into my room. A lump formed in my throat as the thought of my sister never coming back hit me again.  Six months wasn’t enough to get over grief. No time would ever be enough. 

“Get yourself together, Brenda,” I murmured to myself as a tear rolled down my  cheek. 

Who was I kidding? I couldn’t go back to work today. Not like this. I dragged myself to my family's sitting room across the hall. It was empty, which was perfect.  

I sat behind my cello and sighed. This was the only way I could distract myself, and I honestly knew I couldn’t keep up with this every single day. I had a life to return to; but I didn’t care. 

I pulled a string. The note bounced off and rang beautifully in my ears, reminding me of the times I used to play for my sister so she could forget her sickness, and the pain she was feeling. 

I picked up the bow and began playing my sister’s favorite song, "My Girl" by The Temptations. 

I swayed swiftly as I gracefully moved the bow across the strings of my cello.  Playing her song felt beyond magical. It felt like she was there, moving to the tune with me. The tears in my eyes returned and before I could help it, I was sobbing. The music was enough to break me down.  

As I played the final notes, the wave of emptiness returned and the realization that I had to go to work rekindled in my mind. I reluctantly placed the bow on the little table beside me and sighed in satisfaction. 

I had to move on. I knew it was going to be hard, but I also knew that was what my sister would want. For me to move on. 

With the little reassurance I had given myself, I stood up and walked out of the room, silently humming the tune of the song, the only reminder of my sister’s true joy. 

In a KidSpirit Fiction piece, teen writer Zoe Nhyira Maison conjures a story about music's healing power amidst grief. 

A Sister’s Symphony

Cléa-Rose Deschanel-Pathman

If there is light, filtering through the snowy branches,
Then surely there is music. Follow it through to the awning.
Everything here has been waiting for you since your ancestors
Broke the quiet dawn over fire, revealing that element 
That makes things heavy in the presence of light; 

Because where there are people, float barley and laughter, 
The surety of one’s hand in yours, elbows on concrete floors,
The glow of lanterns on the river and fried sweetness on the flame,
A noose forgotten in a basket, a couple of shackles laying broken,
A shadow pushed back by the sheer weight of the human condition. 

Some people are born whole. Others, lifting out of shadow, 
Tip chin on string, pressing lips to brass, voices laid on air,
Breathe in winter and sing out spring. 
Some things must be made. Others, are lying in wait
In the space between octaves, hidden in the chords. 

If it is not the light, then it is the darkness, 
Thick on the lungs and stifling the throat. 
Even in the gloaming, on the cusp of twilight,
Teetering between dusk and gold, I can find my way 
To my voice, grasping blindly for what was mine before I knew name and reason. 

Our faces, opening up in the cataclysm of dim and din, 
Are the only real deciding factor for music,
Because there is a blanket of snow sparkling with the promise of spring,
And if that isn’t music, then surely that’s the same as freedom,
And if this isn’t light, then surely it’s the path towards it. 

In a KidSpirit poem, teen poet Cléa-Rose Deschanel-Pathman evokes the magic of music. 

Where There Is Music

Siddhant Raj

Friedrich Schiller once said, “Art is the daughter of freedom.” 

This quote succinctly encapsulates the core trope that intertwines the profound ideas of art and freedom — the two primary keystones that drive the story of Wings in the Wild by Margarita Engle. 

Written in verse, this book is internationally commended for its lyrical style and deep allegorical connotations. The novel’s unique structure helps the reader connect to the characters’ emotions and struggles. Using its poetic narrative, Wings in the Wild intricately laces the ideas of art, freedom, and romance into a sublime depiction of two teens’ struggles in their journey toward tackling environmental crises. This delightful and stimulating novel serves as a quintessential portrayal of the intricacy of nature and human resilience. 

Wings in the Wild  starts by showcasing the ordeals faced by two Cuban teenagers, Soleida and Dariel. Soleida’s life is turned upside down when her parents are imprisoned for violating censorship laws by creating secret art, a rebellious act under their oppressive regime. On the other hand, a tragic wildfire causes the demise of Dariel’s parents, who used to be stars in the telenovela world. Soleida and Dariel encounter each other at a refugee camp where they seek asylum. Although they come from different worlds, one thing they share is their undeterred drive to make a sea of change in the world by working toward saving the environment. Engle’s lucid description of the hardships faced by Dariel and Soleida shines a needed light on the arduous lives of Cuban refugees, and at the same time helps us understand the adverse effects of natural disasters. 

Teeming with imagery and allegories, the dual perspectives of Soleida and Dariel deepen the reader’s understanding of the core message Engle conveys. Also, she lucidly balances realism and poetic idealism in the novel, thereby helping readers relate to the adversities faced by the characters. However, I found the plot to be a bit too predictable, as it only revolves around the “oppression-resistance-love” arc.

Along with portraying the effects of major crises, Wings in the Wild illustrates how a strong bond and shared values can have the everlasting power to make a difference in society. Albeit from vastly contrasting backgrounds, Soleida and Dariel find common ground in their keenness toward nature and art. This shows how love and solidarity play a crucial role in transcending the societal paradigms that confine one’s mind. I resonated with this idea as I am someone that enjoys art and a little bit of romance in books. Since art is used as a metaphor for resistance and freedom in the book, it serves as a motif in Soleida and Dariel’s journey to challenge norms. 

Furthermore, Engle also incorporates multiple allegories which act as a locomotive for the themes conveyed in the book. The author very meticulously shows wings — which symbolize flight — as a metaphor for freedom, juxtaposing the common perspective that wings symbolize escapism.  Soleida and Dariel face their own challenges for freedom, and the idea of “wings” and “birds” represent how they rise above these adversities to propel positive change. Another connection I noticed in the book is between the wildness of nature and untamed forces of the environment which are spurred by human actions. This destruction of nature could serve as a metaphor for how human greed and corruption can be detrimental to environmental equilibrium. 

In addition to these intriguing themes, one element I found fascinating about this novel is how Engle subtly blends concepts from her previous story Your Heart, My Sky to convey the ideas shared in the book. Through this continuation of ideas, Engle creates a literary ecosystem where she portrays the recurring significance of activism, nature, and human resilience. 

I would give this book four out of five stars, as it gave me abundant insights into environmental crises as well as how human resilience plays an important part in tackling them. I also appreciate Engle’s incorporation of metaphors in her efforts to communicate themes like love, art, and freedom. Moreover, as someone who enjoys poetry and philosophy, I could relate to the format of the book and the various ideas it encompassed. The only element that could have been enhanced was the plot predictability. 

All in all, Wings in the Wild inspired me to break through boundaries and constantly soar higher in life.

In a KidSpirit Media review, teen writer Siddhant Raj gives his take on Margarita Engle's novel in verse about art, music, and environmental activism.

A Review of Wings in the Wild

Jewel Yang

Music and art play a very important role in my cultural tradition.  

For example, at every holiday we celebrate with unique traditions, and we show gratitude by playing different genres of music and expressing ourselves with different forms of art. In particular, music teaches me how to appreciate my culture. It gives me knowledge about my historic background and it takes me back to my roots. It reminds me to never forget where I came from. 

I never used to understand the lyrics of the songs when they were played in restaurants during holidays like Chinese New Year. I would simply just sit there and eat my food without thinking of the meanings of those songs, and I didn’t bother to ask questions because I thought they were just regular songs. But as the years went by, I came to a realization that certain songs would only be played during the month of Chinese New Year. 

Chinese New Year, which is also known as Lunar New Year, is the most important holiday for Chinese civilization. This holiday marks the start of the lunar calendar. During Chinese New Year, there is a list of traditions to follow. If we don’t follow those traditions, we won’t have good luck for the new year. For example, we need to say positive things during the start of Chinese New Year. Saying positive things will guarantee you a year of happiness. There is also a list of things not to do. We shouldn’t buy shoes during this period of time because, if we do, the shoes will lead us onto a path of bad luck. We can buy shoes 15 days after Chinese New Year ends. Chinese New Year also symbolizes the end of winter and the start of spring. Usually animals come out of hibernation during spring. This also means that spring is a new start for everyone. Chinese New Year is the time to gather with our families, wish for wealth, happiness, health, and to be grateful. 

I started to have many questions about the Chinese New Year songs. I wondered what inspired songwriters to write them, and how it became a tradition for us to listen to them during Chinese New Year. So I began asking my parents loads of questions, and they explained what the songs were written about, and how the stories from the past became our traditions. Then they started telling me the stories from the past, and as I listened to the stories, I made notes on the events that had happened. After that I carefully listened to the lyrics of the songs and Googled their meanings. One song that I really liked was “Gong Xi Gong Xi,” which means "congratulate, congratulate." The lyrics are cheerful and lively. What I love about this song is that its filled with positive energy. The song is congratulating us for finding peace and happiness in the new year.

Since then, I have found out that many of the Chinese New Year songs were written in hope for an abundant amount of wealth, health, success, happiness, and good fortune for the new year, or to symbolize joy. The intentions of the songwriters were to pass down these songs from generation to generation, and they wanted them to be a part of Chinese cultural traditions. Even though I am Taiwanese, my family and I also follow these traditions. In fact, the majority of Taiwan follows the Chinese traditions for Chinese New Year. 

These songs have made a great impact on Chinese and Taiwanese civilization. For over 3,500 years, they have helped spread cultural awareness, a sense of community, and a sense of belonging. Not only have they made a huge impact on Chinese and Taiwanese civilizations, but these songs are now known by people from all around the world. This helped preserve Chinese cultural traditions for Asians who don’t live in their motherland. For example, Asians who live in Western countries often don’t know much about their culture because they are not taught cultural traditions. Living in a place that has different traditions makes it harder to adapt to Chinese culture. 

In addition to music, my cultural traditions are influenced by visual art.  While I was in lower school, every year when Chinese New Year rolled around, Chinese teachers would help us learn how to write Chinese calligraphy on Chūnlián, square or rectangular pieces of red paper. On these pieces of paper there are usually either one or four Chinese characters that symbolize good fortune, blessings, wealth, health, happiness, and more. You will see one Chinese character on the paper that is in the shape of a square and you will see four Chinese characters on the paper that is in the shape of a rectangle. 

Chinese calligraphy is written on square or rectangular pieces of red paper called Chūnlián. On these pieces of paper there are usually either 1 or 4 Chinese characters that symbolize good fortune, blessings, wealth, health, happiness, etc. You will see 1 Chinese character on the paper that is in the shape of a square and you will see 4 Chinese characters on the paper that is in the shape of a rectangle. These papers are called square and rectangle shaped paper that are red are called Chūnlián.

In lower school I learned how to write Chinese calligraphy on Chūnlián. Before the teachers taught us how to write Chinese calligraphy, they taught us the historic background on why writing Chinese calligraphy during Chinese New Year is our tradition. They explained that Chūnliáns are placed in houses to welcome good fortune. 

Chūnlián are taped everywhere during Chinese New Year. You can find them on every wall, hallway, door, window, and anywhere you can imagine. We do this because we believe that changing Chūnliáns every year can help us with our luck. We throw the old Chūnlián away and change it to a new one for good luck. It is essentially like throwing bad luck away. 

After learning about the traditions in my culture, I know that music and art play a huge role in my community. These traditions are not just about celebrating the holiday, they are about embracing the values that my family and I believe in. Chinese New Year reminds me of where my ancestors, family, and I came from. This makes me proud of my culture and our traditions. Without music and art, Chinese culture wouldn’t be the same. But this is not true of Chinese culture, without music and art every culture in the world wouldn’t be the same. This taught me to not take music and art for granted.

In a KidSpirit Interfaith Connections article, teen writer Jewel Yang shares how music and art are central to celebrating Chinese New Year. 

The Beauty of Music and Art

Varshini Arunachalam

It was a warm afternoon, and I was surrounded by a group of eager young faces, curious and excited, waiting for our poetry workshop to begin. 

The room hummed with quiet anticipation, the kind that sparks creativity. As part of a volunteer program with peers from my school, I had embarked on a journey to help underserved primary school students write and perform their own poems. The classroom was bright but modest, its walls adorned with colourful posters. Around 15 students from ages eight to 10 sat at their desks, sharpened pencils and freshly printed booklets in front of them. The challenge wasn’t just about putting words to paper — we wanted to help them unlock their voices' unique rhythms, to teach them the art of telling their own stories and bringing them to the world.

Poetry, I’ve realized over the years, is more than rhyme schemes, literary devices, or metaphors. It’s a way to express our emotions, much like music, which carries rhythms and resonances that touch the heart without the need for elaborate explanations. In many ways, poetry mirrors music, turning words into melancholic melodies and feelings into harmonies. It’s an art form that can convey any message of any depth with just a few carefully chosen words (known as diction). 

My tryst with poetry began when I stumbled upon a dog-eared anthology in the library. At that time, I was more familiar with the art of writing prose and expositions, and the exquisite sensation of finding another means of escape has never truly left me. I still remember the thrill of finally penning my first poem; although clunky, it was wholly mine. 

As we guided these young students through the poetic process that day, I was able to further understand firsthand how art, in its many forms, can be a powerful and amazing tool for us to discover ourselves.The journey began with blank sheets of paper, empty save for a few printed lines, and hesitant pens. Many of the students were unsure of where to start, and looking at their blank pages reminded me of how similarly daunting it had been for me to first make my way into the world of poetry. Since then, I’ve learned that poetry is not really about perfection but about connection. We reassured the students that they could write about anything that moved them, be it something they loved, something that made them delighted, or even something that made them wonder.

Slowly, pens slid across the pages. As I read through their drafts, I really enjoyed looking at the often musical meaning their poems conveyed. When it came time to perform, I could see the students’ initial nervousness start to melt away, and we spent time teaching them to use their voices: to emphasize certain words, pause for effect, and let the rhythm of the poem shine through. Some wrote about impactful, meaningful figures in their lives. One student wrote about her grandmother’s garden, and the depth of imagery was gripping. She spoke of her grandmother’s sudden passing and the subsequent withering of her garden, and her pen found its way to our hearts. Another student’s performance stood out differently — his poem about his love for football showcased his energy and humor to the audience. Describing the thrill of finally scoring a goal, he stomped his feet and mimed the action of kicking a ball, earning cheers and laughter from his peers. The students didn’t need to pinpoint various literary devices used to pique the reader’s attention, for their poems wholly captivated the audience with their rawness, almost as if they were offering us a glimpse into their souls. The joy they found was truly meaningful and struck me.

In this age dominated by screens and various distractions, it was amazing to see the students' receptiveness to such forms of art, and their conviction truly impressed me. Some of them managed to leave the room completely still, their peers hanging on every word. To be honest, the real beauty was watching the students develop not just as poets but as speakers, too, and this was incredibly fulfilling. Public speaking is a skill that may terrify even the best of us, but through their poems, the students actively tried their best, and learned to express themselves openly and confidently. As the workshop came to a close, they built meaningful connections with us and their peers by bringing their poems to life through performance. Their voices managed to add another layer of meaning to their poems, each intonation and tone coupled with the impact of the words striking a deep-set chord in our hearts.

This journey has deepened my love for the arts, and shown me how wonderfully they can bring people together. Everyone’s voices matter, their tales deserve to be heard, and art, in whatever form, can indeed strike a chord deep within us all. Sometimes, the most profound connections are created through simple words, shared in a room brimming with listening hearts.

In a KidSpirit Helping Hands article, teen writer Varshini Arunachalam explores the impact of helping younger students write and perform poetry.

 Striking Chords Through Words

Lyla Cheary

Inspired by the song “Piano Man” by Billy Joel

He let his long, nimble fingers feel each crevice, counting each key as he moved. G, A, B, C, D, he counted. He breathed loudly, and as he did, he felt the air fuel his intestines and vocal cords; he felt it echo around the large hollow tavern, creating a joyfully melancholic release that seeped into the room walls. A room, after all these years, he couldn’t quite picture. He didn’t know where the windows lay, how large each wooden tile was, or where the chandeliers above him swayed. But this piano, his piano, he knew very well. He felt the piano’s dust catch his fingers, and he imagined that the dust would collect under his fingernails as they moved. He could feel the faint movement of the dust find safety under his cracked and yellowed fingernails. He brushed at it slightly, feeling the air rush in to fill the gap in his nails as the dust escaped and landed on the complexity of his fingerprint. The quiet, he thought, allowed him to feel this way and notice these things. The abandoned smell of the bar and the feeling of silence when he was expecting someone's arrival were some of his favorite feelings. 

He noticed the dust that covered each key as if the piano had not been played before. He imagined that if he were to play a ballad, the dust would lift magically, majestically, from the keyboard and float into the path of light that seeped in from the windows. He watched it dance in his mind's eye. It swung in the light to melodies that struck sadness in the throat and stung tears in the ducts of the eyes. If he danced, too, this dust would rise and fall with the grace of his arms, and the ballad of sadness and tarnished tranquility would continue to go on behind him as he played. He imagined how it would feel: the muscles in his arms powerful with the strength of music, the way his small, skinny arms burned with a need to slam, pound, and defeat the following key to tackle each and every inconvenience he had ever experienced. But he knew, to some extent, he must resist to make it sound alright, melodic, even dull. 

This thought disappointed him. It left a reminiscence of shame in his stomach, as if the acid in his stomach was made of that very feeling. Thus, he let the power he once had leave. The energetic rush left his vocal cords, and the passion drained from his lungs. A sense of dread, loneliness, and fear was left exposed, as if excitement were a blanket that inevitably hid the astounding feeling of weeping terror. 

“Sing us a song, Piano Man,” said the waitress. “Are you going to sing us a song tonight?” The regular crowd shuffled in* in abundance, and he heard the hum that expectant heartbeats create when in masses. He didn’t turn; he didn’t bother. He imagined wrinkly black suits that were representative of a Thursday afternoon, the regret of five-inch heels, the unbuttoning of button-downs. The piano loomed in front of him. He knew he needed to play but, somehow, had forgotten how. 

There's an old man sitting next to him, making love to his tonic and gin.* He says, "Son, can you play me a memory? I'm not really sure how it goes. But it's sad and it's sweet and I knew it complete, when I wore a younger man's clothes." And then, there, it struck him. You could see it in his face. You could see the glow of passion, strength, intuition, familiarity, carnage, and need coursing through his body to slam the keys on his keyboard. 

The crowd hushed as the melody played, fingers bred with pressure and feverish emotion. And he screamed: 

"Bill, I believe this is killing me.
As the smile ran away from his face
Well, I'm sure that I could be a movie star
If I could get out of this place."

*These lines, and all lines in quotation marks, are lyrics from “Piano Man” by Billy Joel.

In a KidSpirit Fiction piece, teen writer Lyla Cheary re-imagines Billy Joel's famous song "Piano Man." 

The Blind Piano Man

Sarah Alhisa

Some thoughts are expressed by music and art ,
no  matter how but through the heart.
We showcase feelings we develop every day
whether we’re feeling happy, bored, or even grey!

We evoke our emotions through a brush,
we confess why we slightly blush.
We draw when we feel as gold as light,
we sing how we’re feeling as dark as night.

As we create art we relieve our stress.
Our thoughts begin to flow, acting as a dress.
Singing and drawing greatly affects our mind,
giving it the time and freedom to truly unwind.

Writing  endlessly  with  a pencil,
pushes our creativity to our full potential.
Singing proudly into a microphone,
fully sets the rhythm and tone.

In a KidSpirit poem, teen poet Sarah Alhisa showcases how art, music, and poetry can express complex emotions.

 Rhythm in Strokes

Oleksandr Herasymchuk

Music is the best way to wake up 
You also can add a cacao cup.
Singing is a quick way to distress —
You are just a button “play” to press.

With songs and whistles I go to school
Don’t you think itʼs cool?
I’m in the mood, it’s sensitivity
I do charge my friends with positivity.

I wish you are happy and okay!
Make yourself a good day. 
Music is with me all the time. 
Do you like my first English rhyme?

In a KidSpirit poem, teen poet Oleksandr Herasymchuk celebrates music's positive effects on his mood. 

Music All the Time

Yevhenia Vasylchyshyna

All people have a special period in their life that makes them happier. For me it started one or two years ago, when I was only 11.

My grandfather was going to celebrate his 60th birthday. I was pretty young, but I knew that it was a very important date for my dear relative. As a big fan of cakes, he had asked me a couple of times to bake something special for him. For a little while I had been a bit shy, but for this occasion I asked my mom to suggest a good recipe. 

My mother is an excellent cook with numerous books and a lot of experience. She picked two different cakes that my granddad would like the most: a honey cake and a chocolate one. I definitely knew that the last cake was my grandpa's favorite, so it was easy for me to make a choice.

Since we needed to get some ingredients from the supermarket, my mother and I went shopping together to buy the best products. I always enjoy going to the stores with her because she often gives me useful advice. There was no doubt that all these lessons have been tremendous for my future. For example, I would never have guessed to check the expiration date of the eggs, milk, butter, or cocoa powder. 

Anyway, at 10:00 am, as soon as I had everything I needed, an incredible magic in my life started. First, I mixed the eggs and condensed milk. Then I added flour and cacao powder, which filled the whole room with the wonderful scent of something sweet. It cheered me up because I like this dessert most of all. After that, I poured some vinegar onto one teaspoon of soda and it fizzed right away. I enjoyed listening to the sound of the bubbles burst. It reminded me of holidays and the sea waves splashing. It all made the cooking process more fun! The whole mixture had to sit for 10 minutes. Finally, I baked two slices of the future cake. Not only the kitchen but the whole flat was filled with the delicious smell of chocolate. 

Now it was time to make the cream, which I was looking forward to the most since I could taste it right away. This part of the cake is always easy and fascinating. I combined milk, an egg, and some flour, and cooked the mixture until it got thick. Then I let it cool while I was enjoying the scent of vanilla (which always reminds me of my grandma, who loved this spice most of all) and making other parts of the cake. I whipped sugar, butter, and cocoa powder and then added it to the cream, which I couldn’t help trying. That was actually a good thing to do, because sometimes different producers of fructose make it more or less sweet. As a result, I had to add some more sugar than the recipe suggested. 

To make the icing, I boiled milk, cocoa powder, sugar, and butter until it was of the same consistency. From time to time I peeked into the oven and consistently wondered how everything had been changing there (the size and the color of the dough were so different each time). Since the cake slices were high enough, I cut them in half, so I had four pieces onto which I put the cream. I added some sour cherries into each of the layers to make the dessert a bit more surprising. At the end, I poured the glaze over the top and sides of the cake to straighten some edges and make it look prettier. 

My first cooking project was finished at about 5:00 pm. I felt a bit tired, but so satisfied that I didn't want to stop. My kitchen needed some cleaning after my art with the cake, so my enthusiasm helped me a lot. 

An hour or two later, my family and I went to greet my grandpa on his birthday. A funny fact is that we all live in the same block of flats, so we needed to go only one floor down. All of us were enjoying the incredible smell of the freshly baked cake while we were going down the stairs. My family and I rang the doorbell and my grandmother opened the door very quickly. She looked at my first masterpiece and smiled with sincere pleasure. We rushed into the living room to sing a Happy Birthday song to my grandfather. The hero of the day was extremely happy to enjoy the taste of his favorite cake made by his only granddaughter.

This day became the first day of my successful cooking experiment. Nobody expected that this kind of art in the kitchen could turn into one of my favorite hobbies. Whenever I have free time, I enjoy doing new experiments with food. There are no family holidays without my cooking masterpieces. I am fond of making such surprises. It's so fun to treat my relatives with unexpected dishes.

In a KidSpirit Awesome Moments article, teen writer Yevhenia Vasylchyshyna remembers baking a chocolate cake that sparked a lasting passion for cooking. 

Art in The Kitchen

Konrad Tittel

Inspired by the painting "Near Louveciennes" by Alfred Sisley, 1873

I feel Winter silently creeping in,
Hear Spring’s voice slowly fading away in 
Each soft, helpless shriek of
Each fragile leaf below my feet,
Like a final, desperate breath,
A clarion call for life,
Escaping unanswered into the crisp air of dusk.
I cover my ears,
For I’ve heard enough of the knell
In my days,
And steer my gaze
Back home.

Its silhouette stands still,
Firm among the
Carelessly blissful pirouette
Of red, of orange, of blue,
Its worn planks like wrinkles
Eroded by the all-too-swift passage of time.
It no longer has energy
To dance.
There’s a bitter-sweetness in that image,
In that amalgam of 
the sweet, the sour, the pungent memories,
And its 
Too much for me to handle,
Right now.

So instead I
Navigate my head back on course,
Into the sweet Spring air,
Let my gaze wander past along the infinite meadows of
Of wheat,
Slouching under the weight of the night sky.

The casual observer
Might think me greedy,
With my gaze there
Devouring the thin wisps of 
Dwindling sunlight,
Indulging on 
The silent, secretive whispers of the wind,
Inhaling the fresh air
As if it were my last breath.
And it's true,
I am greedy.
Greedy for life,
For the vitality
That might escape me at any moment,
That left my home barren
That left my embrace barren.

I used to share this scent,
This view,
This silence.
This life.
But alas,
Winter is coming,
Again.

In a KidSpirit poem, teen poet Konrad Tittel conjures the onset of winter.

Winter’s Silhouette

Iván Delgado

Over the loudspeaker: “Dear senior students, your principal Ms. Smith is speaking, to remind you to bring home the brochure and decide on your future and perfect university. Enjoy your weekend.”

When I was leaving school, I heard a distant voice shouting my name. It was my friend, Mike.

“Michael what happened, I thought that somebody was jumping me,” I said, afraid. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Nat, I only want to know if I can accompany you home?” he asked.

“Yes, sure you can, but my house isn’t a little far from your home.”

“No it's far enough to accompany you home,” he said, sure of himself.

We were five minutes from my house when he asked: 

“What university do you want to go to, Nat?”

“I don’t know, I mean I don’t really want to go to university; I want to paint and be free to express myself,” I answered.

“Hahaha you're joking, no? Universities are the future. I don't know a person that paints flowers and doesn't live under a bridge.” 

“Hey, I don’t paint flowers, but look at van Gogh, he painted flowers and didn't live under a bridge,” I protested.

And when I realized we were home, I thanked Mike for accompanying me home, and with no time to blink I entered inside.

In that moment, I felt the tension of my parents, because of one of lots of fights. That fight always affected me negatively.

The first thing that I do when I get home is remove my shoes and say hello to the best person in this house, my cat Emilly. Then I prepare for the daily scolding of my mum.

“Natasha Williams, where have you been ? Your dad and I are so mad at you for being late. What do you want to say about that?” my mum shouted.

“Sorry mum, I am late because I came home with a friend,” I responded gently.

“Don’t shout at me and mostly with lies, I don’t care where you've been, now go to your room and don’t come downstairs until you have a good reason for coming late,” my mum shouted at me again.

Ironic, no? My mum is like that all day, blaming me for no reason. Wait until I tell her that I don’t want to go to university!

After my mum’s scolding, I went upstairs to my room, the only place that I can draw and be free or talk with real friends, not like Mike (he has had a crush on me since seventh grade). At that moment, my computer was ringing.

Quickly, I took my computer, laid in bed, and picked up the call.

“Hey Nay, you look really good, how is it going in Birmingham?” Elli asked.

“Thanks, you too, and you know, it was like every day, Mike always following me and my mum saying that drawing is a waste of time and that it has no future,” I answer in a bored tone. “And how is it going at the art university?”

“Oh I love it, you need to come one day to visit me and see the campus,” she answered.

“I wish, but my mum doesn't have a moment in her schedule to drive me to London or spend time with her daughter.”

“My campus is doing an art competition, and the first prize is a grant for the four grades, you should participate,” Elli recommended.

“Yeah I would love to, but only in my dreams would my mum let me, and how would I get to London?”

“I can drive you to London but the true problem is your mum, she would control you until your 40s,” Elli responded.

“Natasha, dinner is ready! If you don’t come downstairs in five minutes you don’t eat until tomorrow,” my mum shouted at me through all the house.

“I have to go, my mum called me for dinner,” I said with a sad tone.

“Ok, I don’t want Sharon to be mad at me,” Elli said with a joking tone.

“Ok bye, but think about the competition,” Elli reminded me.

“I promise you I will. See you tomorrow,” I answered quickly, because I knew that five minutes for my mum was really 30 seconds.

When I went downstairs, my mum wasn’t waiting with the dinner like other mums. No, my mum is always so mad at me that she was in the position like when someone is doing a presentation and she was the classmate that needed to concentrate, like that.

In a KidSpirit Fiction piece, teen writer Iván Delgado asks how we can fulfill our artistic dreams when our parents have other ideas for our future.

The Contest

A universal language, a tool for change, a social mirror, a bridge between worlds. Art and music are all around us, connecting us with each other and ourselves in a vital human experience. Embrace creativity and imagine the beautiful possibilities of expression alongside KidSpirit writers and artists this season. 

Reflections and Echoes

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