1

Editor’s Note

3

In Mobility we follow the story of nine people whose lives couldn’t be more different, yet are subtly connected through their enrollment in the same online university courses. While some of the students take the courses for fun, other students seek to use the knowledge gained from the classes as a tool to achieve upward mobility; to shake the shackles of poverty and achieve their goals in life. Our magazine seeks to illustrate how the internet connects people beyond the scope of social media, and how this revolutionary new way of spreading knowledge is a key tool in helping people achieve their dreams.

—The Editors

Table of Contents A Passage to Success 6-7 Prateek Paul

Field of Flowers 8-9 Jason Sutterley

Modern Nomad 10-11 Calvin Kam

Tuvaluan Warrior 12-13 William Durr

The Perils of the Internet 14-15 Stephan Marsh

Inundation 16-17 Patrick Krisko

An After School Swim 18-19 Jake McCright

<title> Idle </title> 20-21 Neel Kaul

Colophon/Staff Credit 22

The rooster crowed at 6:15 am. Fifteen year old Bulbul woke up and headed to the backyard to milk the cows and then quickly dressed up for school. He combed his hair and ran into the kitchen to tell him mom good-bye and grab his lunch box. However, he noticed that his lunch box was not in its normal spot. “Mama, where is my lunch box?” “Talk to your father,” she said with sadness. Bulbul walked over to the farm to find his dad hard at work. He was really the hardest working man that Bulbul had seen, and he aspired to be like him one day. “Papa, why didn’t Mama make me a lunch today?” “Bulbul, I know this will be tough for you, but I have decided that you will no lon-ger be going to school. There is just too much work to do around the farm and I really need your help. We also can’t afford for the bus fare to school every day.” “But Papa, I love school! I am very good at math and physics and my teacher tells me that one day I will become an engineer. How will I do that if I don’t go to school?” “Bulbul!” Papa yelled angrily. “My decision is final. Now change your clothes and help me with these crops!” Bulbul could tell that this wasn’t easy for Papa, who had a strong value for a com-plete education. Nevertheless, Bulbul was furious. He decided that he would not help his dad in the farm under any circumstances. He went to the local Internet café to vent out his anger. It was a small room with 2 computers that had high speed internet access, a new addition to the village. It was very crowded in the evening times, but at this time of the day, everyone was busy either working in the fields or going to school. Bulbul spent the day playing games on his favorite website, Funbrain. His cousin who lives in America, Viraj, showed him the website. Viraj and his family were coming to visit them in a month. That’s the only thought that excited him now that he could no longer go to school. He really enjoyed talking to Viraj about America. Viraj’s life was so different from his life in the village, but Bulbul liked to believe that the internet café was his escape into America. Viraj, showed him the website. Viraj and his family were coming to visit them in a month.

A Passage to Success Prateek Paul

Image © Google

That’s the only thought that excited him now that he could no longer go to school. He real-ly enjoyed talking to Viraj about America. Viraj’s life was so different from his life in the village, but Bulbul liked to believe that the internet café was his escape into America. Bulbul got home in the late afternoon to find his dad standing in the front door. “Where were you in the fields?” He then slapped Bulbul across the face for disobeying his orders. From the next day onwards, Bulbul went to the fields and worked long hours. Each day felt like an eternity and he really missed the school. The month crawled away and Viraj and his family came to visit Bulbul’s village. Viraj was in 12th grade and was on his way to college. This seemed incredible to Bulbul as he only knew one person who ever went to college. Viraj went on to explain that all of his friends were going to college. That’s when Bulbul told Viraj that he was forced to drop out of school. Viraj looked at him with shock. He knew that Bulbul was an extremely bright stu-dent. That’s when he came up with a mastermind idea. “Bulbul! Have you ever heard of online education?” “No I haven’t,” replied Bulbul, confused. “It’s when you take classes on the internet! It doesn’t require you to go for a full day of school, but you can get a similar education. You can work at your own pace and still reach your goal of going to college and becoming an engineer.” This seemed great! Bulbul could go to the internet café early in the morning for a few hours and work on his classes, then help his dad in the fields after that, and review content and do homework at night when there was no farm work to be done. He proposed the idea to his father. His father pondered it for a long time, and even-tually said that he would see. The next day, Viraj, Bulbul and his dad went to the Internet café. Viraj showed them websites which they could use. Bulbul’s father selected the most affordable one and when they got home, gave Bulbul the executive permission to take the online course. Bulbul, extremely excited, looked at Viraj and gave him a high five. His future wasn’t bleak after all, thanks to the internet!!

“Are you SERIOUS,” said Lexi, frustrated as another person upstreamed her as she searched for a taxi. She had just arrived in Brussels and nothing seemed to be going right for her. She was already late for her meeting with the manager of online education and had no patience for other people’s uncourteous actions. As she looked farther down the busy downtown avenue, she spots a Toyota Prius with the taxi sym-bol lit up, a sign that it was available for service. The driver pulled over, got out of the car and came around the back of the car to place her bags in the trunk for her. Lexi, taken aback by the drivers disheveled ap-pearance punctuated by grease stains and the stench of cigarettes, debated whether it was smart to get in the car with him. But she had no other options and could spend no more time waiting for another taxi, so she climbed in the back of “Antoine’s” 2011 Toyota Prius. “Technology District please,” said Lexi. Immediately her head is jerked and slammed into the headrest; Antoine had no qualms with flooring his Toyota Prius. He begins to weave in and out of the traffic, repeatedly scaring the living daylights out of her. She had watched her nephew play crazy taxi, a popular arcade game back in their hometown in New York, but she never thought that the game could come to life as it currently was.

Field of Flowers Jason Sutterley

Image © Brussels-Belgium-Travel-Guide.com

“Where are you from?” said Antoine. “New York,” said Lexi, “and I hope to go back so please calm down!” “Don’t worry, its been three months since my last crash!” Her stomach hit rock bottom. Out of the window she saw a speed sign go flying by; “50 kph.” She took a glance at the speedometer, which read a blood curling “88 kph.” What was the point of driving a prius if you drive it like its a Ferrari 458! she thought to herself. “Look to the left,” said Antoine. “It’s the Grand Palace.” What she saw next absolutely took her breath away. Laid out before her was a magnificent palace and the most articulate and vivid flower garden she had ever seen. It wasn’t until they were right up beside it did she realize how massive the flower garden was. “You like the flower carpet?” said Antoine, as he turned and looked back at her. As he turned around, the car began to drift to the right, slowly moving into oncoming traffic. Except, now there was a real Ferrari 458 there; and it was coming in the oppo-site direction. “Look out!” screamed Lexi, as Antoine whipped his head around. He jerked the wheel to the left, but over compensated and went across the entire left lane, crashing into the barrier. What happened from then on was a blur to Lexi. The sound of shear-ing and twisting metal was all she noticed behind her clamped shut eyelids as the car tore through the metal barrier. The whole time Antoine is screaming like a little girl, not even attempting to regain control of possibly the most abused Toyota Prius to ever prowl the streets of Brussels. Lexi’s head slammed into the seat in front of her and all went dark. Waking up to the sound of approaching ambulances, Lexi took a look outside the window; it was a field of beautiful flowers. Not only were they all around her, but they were everywhere; they were all over the car and all over her legs. Is this what heaven is like?

Image © airtravelinfo.kr

Arman woke up far from well rested. His eyelids felt like the heavy barrels of grain he has to tote day after day. He looked lazily around his cramped and uncomfortably hot room and then at his small and stained bed, longing for another hour of sleep. But there was no time to feel tired; there never was. From the vast and full yet somehow barren grain fields to the large pastures of cattle and horses, Arman cannot afford to think about anything else. Just like the day before, and the day before that, Arman could not waste a single moment of the day. And so like the nomads of his past, Arman is bound to a life of constant movement. But at the same time that Arman must perform his duties, he is dreaming. And in these dreams Arman is not caring for the cattle, or harvesting the grains for his family. No, Arman is dreaming the American dream, where he lives an easy and carefree life, away from the binding responsibilities of his current life. “Arman, what are you doing? Pay attention!” Yet Arman kept on walking, not noticing the grain trailing behind him. Serik shouted again, this time a little louder ion hopes that Arman would hear, but it was hopeless because Arman was already caught in one of his daydreams about a much easier life. It wasn’t until they were back at the mill that Arman noticed his barrel con-tained only half of the grain. “Do you know how much grain you wasted? This isn’t even the first time!” Arman could only look down at the ground, half in shame and half still absorbed in his fantasies. “It’s not my fault, I don’t even want to be doing this” Arman muttered under his breath.

Modern Nomad

By Calvin Kam

Arman hoped that his dad wouldn’t hear, but also hoped that somebody would hear him and take him away on the fantasy he desperately clings on to. But Serik has heard Arman’s dreams time after time again, each time rebutting it with a different reason of why it is so un-realistic. Serik was not born in the modern times that Arman has been absorbed by. Ser-ik still believes in the old traditions that have worked so well in the past. Serik was raised to believe in the wheat farms and the livestock that have supported his family for so long. Why can’t his son see his way, the right way? But Arman cannot see his way because he knows that there is something better out there.

“Arman was a planner and a dreamer, refusing to settle for the ancient traditions of his family.”

Still lost in his thoughts, he absent-ly nodded to the same lecture Serik gave him every day. Arman sees a future that Ser-ik’s close-minded views could never see. Today will be different than the rest, because today, his small village will be getting the Internet Arman has been waiting for. And while Arman received the basic education nec-essary, he was denied the college education he so desperately wanted for his dreams in America. The Internet is the next best thing.Arman sat down in the creaking rickety chair. The splintering wood irritated Arman but that doesn’t matter because in front of him is the small computer that Arman had saving for.

Arman had already known what he want-ed to study since before the Internet arrived. Arman was a planner and a dreamer, re-fusing to settle for the ancient traditions of his family. “Arman, why can’t you put this much effort into working with the sheep?”

But Arman knew his dad wouldn’t un-derstand. He knew he dad couldn’t understand because he is too deeply set into the tradi-tions of the old. If Arman wanted to become something in this world, he had to adapt, and change with the world. Arman knew he had the vision needed to move past his village, un-like Serik who focuses too much on the old.

Landscape Kazakhstan (opposite page) - Faisal IqbalUntitled (above) - Sergei Rzhevsky

As I sat out on the dock awaiting my brothers return from Funfati, the capital of Tuvalu, I monoto-nously counted fishermen and pretended as if I knew each and everyone of their life stories. The nearest one to Nui, the island that my family and I live on, was not really a fishermen but a surveyor instead sent here by a multinational hotel corporation to scout lands for a new resort. However, this was only wishful thinking as the tourism presence on Tuvalu is next to none. This is probably due to the fact that there is only one Coca Cola vendor on all of the nine islands and an apparent lack in hotels and restaurants. The man just beyond the “surveyor” was a true Tuvaluan fisherman; whatever he brings home is on the dinner table in a manner of hours and anything leftover will be sold for clothes and school supplies for his children. He is a true Tuvaluan warrior and unlike many of the peo-ple here, he has no wish to one day move to Auckland.

The next vessel to appear on the horizon was a tiny one man fishing boat, no longer than the average door and no more buoyant than one either. It was my brother Isaiah. He was puttering along and it would be another eight minutes or so until he would reach the dock where I was still sitting. As I counted the seconds in my head, I began to wonder what Isaiah had learned that day? Ever since my fa-ther was hired as a fisherman on a Japanese vessel a few months ago, Isaiah had become the man of the house at just 16 years-old. Mother sends him to Funfati every day to take online courses at the only internet service provider station on all the islands. It is mother’s hope that one day Isaiah will land a job in Auckland so that we can move away before the island slips below sea level. To me, this was primitive thinking mostly held by mother’s gener-ation. The islands will sink, but not for some time.

Tuvaluan Warrior William Durr

As Isaiah neared closer and closer, I wondered if I should instead be frustrated by his going to school. After all, the money father sends back is all devoted to buying the necessities and send-ing Isaiah to school with none left over so that I can go to school. What then happens if we do eventually move to Auckland? Will I just be the completely uneducated daughter with no real use outside Tuvalu? Sure I can sew a blanket and cook coconut rice and even do a little fishing but what use will that be off the island? Isaiah finally reached a stones throw distance and the mounting frustration turned to resentment and my face began to turn bright red. As he tied his boat to the dock, his boat that, if sold, could send me to school, I prepared for confrontation. “Hope you didn’t wait too long” he said to me as if I was some little girl anxiously awaiting his return like a hero from battle. “It took me longer to get back today because when I saw this I thought of you Ivy”, he pulled a two liter bottle of Coca Cola from his school bag and handed it to me. “What’s wrong, you look a little flushed?” he asked. “Nothing” I said, “Nothing at all”.

Image Copyright Stefan Lins

Cycling through Groningen, Peter was anxious to make it back to his home. After a long day at University, he unhitched his bike from the rack in front of the four-hundred year old building which housed his English class. Despite being Dutch and living in the Netherlands, he was required to learn English in high school, a skill that is invaluable in current society where globalization is making what used to be the far reaches of the world accessible with a computer-- which reminded him, his online class was meeting that night.

As he continued to cycle through the cobblestone streets, he arrived at the central market. Despite the approaching evening, the square was bustling with activity; stalls lined the perimeter of the square, stemming from the dominating gothic Martinitoren all the way to the 300 year old town hall that was gutted and now serves as a modern grocery store. Checking his watch, there was plenty of time to stop and pick up some essentials. As he walked back to his bike, Pe-ter groaned with dismay as he realized he forgot to attach his carrying case to his bike. Despite being proficient at biking one-handed, Peter had a sinking suspicion that the bundle would be problematic in the heavy crowds.

An After School Swim Jake McCright

The late afternoon sun was setting as he began to make his way further and further away from the square and the buildings became more modern. Groningen, like many Dutch cities, grew like a tree; with the oldest buildings in the middle, and the more modern ones forming rings around the center. Also, as is the case with many of the cities in Holland, the roads in Groningen are accompanied by a web of canals that run parallel and perpendicular to the roads. It is at one of these crossings that a drawbridge was being raised to allow a large ship access into the inner city.

Stopping at the edge of the canal, Peter checked his watch and found that his cycle through the city took longer than he planned, but it was no matter to him; he still had many hours before his online class started. The classes always fascinated him; people from all over the world learning the same thing at the same time, often sharing many similarities. Just the other day he discovered that a Samoan student shared his interest in American football- which re-minded him, he needed to wake up early the next day to watch his recorded game at 7.

By then, the drawbridge was being lowered, and he adjusted his pedals and began to push off. As the cars sped by him, Peter struggled to keep his balance as the swarm of bikes surged forward. When he continued down the road he looked out into the canal and was surprised to see a garbage boat. These boats periodically patrol the canals, using an onboard crane to fish various pieces of debris out of the water. As he cycled towards the boat he chuckled at the all too familiar site of a grime-covered bicycle being pulled out muck, marveling at how someone could be so careless. Dutch boys and girls learn to cycle when they walk, or just about, and thusly any bike-related accidents were looked upon with scorn and amusement.

The sun was setting fast now, and he was becoming more anxious to get home. Fumbling one-handed with the gear shift, he accelerated through the wobbled streets, rattling and wob-bling almost precariously as he struggled to get home on time. As Peter went faster and faster he could not help but drift towards the left of the path and towards the canal. As he moved his hand to shift his bike into top gear, the front wheel of his bike entered a puddle that was deeper than it looked. The splash and sudden dip of the bike surprised him, causing him to temporar-ily lose control of the bike, and even worse, distract his eyes from what was in front of him. By the time he regained control and looked up, it was too late, the edge of the road had disappeared from under his bike, and as he pitched forward he felt a rush of embarrassment-tinged fear as he splashed into the water, losing his groceries and bike.

Sputtering and threading water with all his might he grabbed towards his bike that was tangled with his feet and dragging him down. With one hand on the edge of the street, he hoist-ed his bike out of the depths and unceremoniously tossed it back onto the street. As he crawled out after the bike, a small circle gathered to watch. Already overcome with embarrassment, he remounted his bike and cycled off, leaving a trail of water to remind him of his shame. With that fall, he lost his groceries and his dignity. However, he couldn’t help but smile as he thought forward to his class, where now he had an interesting story to tell his friends from around the world.

InundationPatrick Krisko

Image © One Step 4Ward

The boat was tethered to the shore,Well kempt and up to the captain’s code.

Port side of the boat, an endless sea,The starboard with hurried men busy to trade.

Thoughts adrift, the fisherman stood in placeReady to end work and begin his class.

Education was uncommon for a man of his class,But for a new future, he knew education would be his shore.

An ocean’s daylight over, he hurried back to his place,Abandoning sailing thoughts, focused on code.

Speaking the language of computers would be his new trade,Keystrokes and determination for only his eyes to see.

Recording ended, a quick night’s rest before a day at sea.At sunrise he rejoined the fishermen of his class,

Haggard, but dressed appropriately for the trade.Completely drained, yet his boat trudged persistently off the shore.

He knew that he committed himself for work and code,He just wished he could do it all in one place

Tiny numbers swimming in his mind on a floating place,The code was all he could see.

Or perhaps it was the dream to live life by a new code:A large office flooded with people of class,

A tall building with a crowded sidewalk shore,Next to the market full of trade.

Exchanging an engulfed life now for that would be a fair trade,He’s only waiting for his tired life to switch place.

He knew this was what he wanted, he had to be sure,People around him might doubt him but soon they’ll see;

Determination sees no social class.One only needs to drown doubt and keep a strict code.

So after work, he submerged himself in his codeEnvisioning each online lesson as a lock to a new trade.

Only a few weeks left of class,Maybe then he’ll have a new study place.

For now its just visualizing the swimming numbers in the sea,Even when off of the shore.

He knew he was sure, that one day his work would be code.Soon they would all see, that inundation of his time was a worthy trade.

He would be in a happier place, all made possible by his class.

Attention citizens of the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea, it has re-cently come to our attention that the barbarous peoples of the United States and other pathetic countries have re-sorted to using the Internet for their education. These nations lack the com-plex education system of the Dem-ocratic Peoples Republic of Korea. They are unable to ensure that their citizens are properly educated with-in their physical school systems, so they have outsourced to other means.

The North Korea News Agency re-cently interviewed a previous Ameri-can internet user named Sydney Mc-Coy. This gives us an inside look at the dangers of the internet, and the weaknesses of these archaic nations.

McCoy states, “after graduating high school I wanted to take some more classes to help prepare me for a job. That’s why I chose to use the MIT internet classes.”

Clearly this illustrates that the Unit-ed States public education system cannot adequately prepare its stu-dents for the future world. Even our sworn enemies the South Ko-reans can manage this simple task.

We asked McCoy why she felt the

instead of a traditional education system. McCoy said, “Education in America is very expensive, which forced me to use Internet classes in-stead of going to an actual school.”

The developing Internet education programs are obviously destined to fail considering that many of the so-called best schools in the United States do not offer degrees from their Internet education programs. This is particularly pitiful considering that the United States is so poorly ranked in the fields of math and science, which the extraordinary leader Kim Jung-un has ensured the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea excels at.

The United States is currently under-going an economic crisis, which is a problem utterly foreign to the strong economy of North Korea. This has put their job market in jeopardy, which makes Internet education even more worthless. After taking many Internet classes, McCoy was still unable to obtain a secure job. In other countries, a job is not guaran-teed to each citizen, and the Internet was unable to provide for McCoy.

In addition to this problem, the Internet itself comes with its own risks. As McCoy notes,

The Perils of the Internet

there is always the danger of contract-ing a virus while using the internet. This problem proves that the United States is incapable of protecting its citizens and looking after the interests of its coun-try. The people of North Korea should avoid using the Internet because even a single user could contract a virus that would endanger the rest of the country.

Based on this information the North Korea News Agency believes that the benefits of the Internet are not worth its risks. When such an amazing edu-cation system already exists within our country, the citizens of the Democrat-ic People’s Republic of Korea have no need to seek out alternate education in the form of the Internet. Kim Jung-un will provide all of the information that you need, and protect you from the dangers of the less-civilized world.

Clearly, the Democratic Peoples Republic of Korea is a superior governing body, posses a superior education system, and, most importantly, has a superior citizenship.

By Gun-woo Lee, for the glory of Kim Jung-un.

“Education in America is very expensive, which forced me to use Internet classes instead of going to an actual school.”

North Korean citizen gains first-hand experience of the dangers of the Internet.

Republished by Stephan Marsh

Rising early in the morning, Jason Solomona, looks around at the twelve oth-er family members, still sound asleep, surrounding him on the ground of their liv-ing quarters. He sits and looks outward towards the landscape, past the open spaces where walls of a modern house might otherwise be. Still living in a traditional fale, Jason feels the breeze roll into the open space under the domed roof; however he doesn’t pause for long to feel it and is on his way.

Grabbing his supplies, Jason heads out with a steady stride, towards the fields. Working on a farm isn’t a lowly lifestyle; it’s just not where Jason thought he’d end up. Ambitious always, he sees life beyond this island. Top in his class since primary school, Jason envisioned himself at the National University of Samoa, studying Business and eventually moving to America to find a career. Getting accepted there was never the concern, however the elders of the house urged him to put a halt to his own interests and consider the needs of the ‘aiga,’ the family.

Jason enters the fields and makes his way to the crops, passing several familiar faces but too deep in thought to greet any of them. He wastes no time and quickly gets to work. Daydreaming about Wall Street, Jason works steadily and the day passes.

Wall Street FarmerLeon Tsai

Realizing that it is time to return home, Jason remembers that it’s Friday. It isn’t just that his week is over; it’s the Sunday Umu that excites him most. If there’s one aspect of Samoan culture that Jason can appreciate, it’s the afternoon meal that his family and many others share together. Whole pig and crayfish and so much great food; Jason realizes that maybe there actually is some stuff he’d miss if he left this country.

Back in the comfort of his home, Jason finds a quiet room and opens up his laptop. He signs in to his email account and checks around, but only expects the usual emails: job opportunities, spam, and the occasional letter from a friend. Scroll-ing down, he notices “Online Business and Management courses! Enroll now!” Jason raises an eyebrow and hesitates from a moment. He has his doubts, but dreaming about Wall Street, he clicks the link.

©Michael A. Stecker

Rising early in the morning, Jason Solomona, looks around at the twelve oth-er family members, still sound asleep, surrounding him on the ground of their liv-ing quarters. He sits and looks outward towards the landscape, past the open spaces where walls of a modern house might otherwise be. Still living in a traditional fale, Jason feels the breeze roll into the open space under the domed roof; however he doesn’t pause for long to feel it and is on his way.

Grabbing his supplies, Jason heads out with a steady stride, towards the fields. Working on a farm isn’t a lowly lifestyle; it’s just not where Jason thought he’d end up. Ambitious always, he sees life beyond this island. Top in his class since primary school, Jason envisioned himself at the National University of Samoa, studying Business and eventually moving to America to find a career. Getting accepted there was never the concern, however the elders of the house urged him to put a halt to his own interests and consider the needs of the ‘aiga,’ the family.

Jason enters the fields and makes his way to the crops, passing several familiar faces but too deep in thought to greet any of them. He wastes no time and quickly gets to work. Daydreaming about Wall Street, Jason works steadily and the day passes.

<!DOCTYPE html> <html> <head> <link type=”text/css” rel=”stylesheet” href=”stylesheet.css” /> <title>Idle</title> </head> <body> <table> <thead> hai·ku

nouna Japanese poem of seventeen syllables,

in three lines of five, seven, and five, traditionally evoking images of the natural world.

</thead> <th> Kiribati </th><p>

</p> </body> </tr> </table> </body></html>

Idle

Blink, Blink, Type, Erase Open course, closeted mind Screen teaches, New Age No. No. Try Again. Anote couldn’t give up. Click. Click. “Next Lesson.”

<!--“ANOTE” Mom yells. “What did I tell you! Don’t touchyour father’s laptop.”-->

Shut down, put it back. Screen slowly fades back to black Unfinished lessons <!--Outside the rain pours. Typical yet ominous Tarawa sinking.-->

Planes occasional Boats float, Fish Trapped, Disgraced Schools Mormons thumping loud<!--Experts clamoringGlobal Warming, Rising TidesTarawa sinking.-->

Most days, underplayed The shoreline closer to us Mom says, no worries.

Laptop is freedom Far from palm trees and Twinkies The only way out

MIT classes Professors teach a way outA helpful java

No growing or farms Code: Upward mobility Tarawa Sinking

<!DOCTYPE html> <html> <head> <link type=”text/css” rel=”stylesheet” href=”stylesheet.css” /> <title>Idle</title> </head> <body> <table> <thead> hai·ku

nouna Japanese poem of seventeen syllables,

in three lines of five, seven, and five, traditionally evoking images of the natural world.

</thead> <th> Kiribati </th><p>

</p> </body> </tr> </table> </body></html>

Idle

COLOPHON

Mobility is Poolesville High School’s Humanities House first literary magazine centered around the concepts of Online Education. It is composed entirely of student produced work, including fiction, poetry, and photography. The staff of Mobility is entirely comprised of Humanities House seniors that chose a myriad of countries to represent and voice in this magazine.

Members of the staff meet biweekly during the month of May to discuss theme ideas, edit submissions, and design layouts. All artwork, photography, and page layouts were edited using Adobe InDesign CS4. The final magazine was both published online and printed using Issuu.com.

Editor-In-Chief Saransh Neel Kaul

Assistant to the Editor-in-Chief Patrick William Krisko

William Martin Durr

Calvin Theodore Kam

StephanWilliam Marsh

JakeConnorMcCright

PrateekBallaPaul

Jason LiSutterley

Leon QTsai

Staff