AMPERS&MONTHLY Issue I

October, November 2011 | Issue 1

AMPERS&MONTHLY ARTS&SCIENCE@MCGILL

THISISSUE SUMMERSYNC ARTSVSSCIENCE

October & November 2011theampersandjournal.com

At the third annual McGills Cognitive Science Research Day, the speakers present in-cluded Thomas Shultz (Psychology and Com-puter Science), Emily Carson and Ian Gold (Philosophy), Debra Titone (Psychology), Yosef Grodzinsky (Linguistics), Doina Precup (Computer Science), Erik Cook and David Rasgale (Neuroscience). This article will focus on the talks given by Thomas Shultz, Doina Precup, Erik Cook, and David Rasgale.

Computer science is arguably driving the field of cognitive science today. Thomas Shultz, as a professor of Psychology and associate member of the School of Computer Science, is currently doing research on the evolution of cooperation by simulating humans tenden-cies toward selfish, traitorous, humanitarian, or ethnocentric behavior. Unsurprisingly, the agent-based computer models have unveiled us to be of the ethnocentric variety, meaning that we have a propensity of favoring our own group over others.

In the prisoners dilemma of life, we can either universally defect (indicating selfish behavior), cooperate only with people who arent in our group (traitorous behavior), uni-versally cooperate (humanitarian), or defect against extra-group members and cooperate with intra-group members. The latter strategy reflects our current ethnocentric behavior and has been employed in response to variables like cost of cooperation and population density.

Shultzs models found that at a certain population saturation (around 300 cycles), humanitarians and ethnocentrics equally predominate. Furthermore, a humanitarian predilection will dominate both selfish and traitorous behaviors. In other words, we are just as likely to be humanitarian or ethno-centric at pre-300 levels. Shultz also found that increasing the costs of defection might reorient us to humanitarianism. This trans-forms the prisoners dilemma into a mating game, where being cooperative when it comes to inter-ethnic mating is the best strategy to

is the neural representation of an object or event that lasts longer in our minds. Experi-ments involving monkey electrophysiology have suggested that this second theory may be the right one, and Cook thinks that it is neural activity that mimics perceptions of duration - neural mechanisms determine if time is contracted or expanded.

David Rasgale, an associate professor in the Department of Neurology and Neu-rosurgery and an associate director of the McGill Integrative Program in Neurosci-ence, focused his talk on the question: How does the brain make decisions?

He notes that rational decision-making that has been touted as a unique character-istic of human beings is actually emotional and impulsive, with much of our decision-making really just a function of visceral emotions. In fact, scientists have found that the brain is ready to make a move before the conscious thought of making that move actually enters the operants mind. Action is not necessarily a movement that is preceded by intention. Instead, the brain rolls the dice to make decisions, Rasgale says. This is where economic theory collides with neu-roscience, Neuroeconomics predicts that networks of neurons in the nervous system of animals are capable of encoding and inte-grating probability and value and choosing an optimal action.

These speakers offered their insights on the field of Cognitive Science to an in-terested and inquisitive student audience. The interdisciplinary nature of Cognitive Science lent itself to a diverse collection of participants who spanned the spectrum of academic disciplines.

make our behavior humanitarian rather than ethnocentric.

Doina Precup, an associate professor in the School of Computer Science, delves right into the heart of computer sciences apical role in cognition: artificial intelligence. She believes that computers like IBMs Deep Blue and Watson have simulated human intel-ligence only superficially. Brute computing force isnt the most important aspect of intel-ligence - learning is.

Deep Blue was operating under super-vised learning, it was given examples to emu-late, so that it operates with predetermined knowledge. Precup believes that different learning mechanisms that express what hap-pens earlier in development need to be used. Early development in infants and animal learning use reinforcement, or unsupervised, learning, which is essentially learning by trial and error. Precup and her team attempted to mimic this type of learning by creating computer algorithms that allowed a robot to perceive its environment, do things in the environment, and then receive a reward or punishment after wrong or correct moves. The key is that the robot can never be told why the move it has chosen was a bad one - its simply given a low number and must learn from its errors, thereby replicating learning as it is really carried out in humans.

Erik Cook, a Canada Research Chair in the Physiology of Visual Perception and a faculty member in the Department of Physiology, is interested in the intersection of time and our brains. Cook does have an inkling about what goes on with our brains perception of time. One test in particular, where an object is flashed on a screen, has provided neurosci-entists with insight on this matter. The same object is flashed repeatedly, but there will randomly appear an oddball object that subjects perceive as lingering on the screen for a longer duration of time. Two major hypotheses vie to explain this observation. One is that when an oddball is perceived, our internal clock runs faster. The other, that it

Cognitive Science Research DayMorgane CiotContributor

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October & November 2011 theampersandjournal.com

Query: can anyone draw some-thing he knows nothing about? Does there not exist a high ridge where the mountainside of scientific knowledge joins the opposite slope of artistic imagination?

This is a question perhaps seldom asked. It comes courtesy of an entomological paper by Vladimir Nabokov, a man who straddled the imaginary fence between artistry and science.

As an esteemed lepidopterist and man of letters par excellence, Nabokovs integrative example should encourage us to think on the complementary nature of the creative arts and the unequivocal sciences.

In short, science is perhaps best considered not as a corpus of facts, but as a re-evaluation of existing and established claims in response to novel speculation. Conjecture is the pulse of the academic organism. It is dangerously easy to associate science with its graven and some-

either side. All that separates them is the personal decision of under which faculty they choose to release and tame the oh-so-human heretical urge.

On the subject of conciliation, I would like to end with a mod-est proposal. We, as students, are resigned to sharing corridors and cafeterias with one another; perhaps our seemingly dissimilar courses are more imprecated, at least in terms of method and rigor, than we like to believe. We should not automati-cally assume that all engineers are philistines, or that those in Honours Physics have ceased to emote and begun to dream in numbers, in cryptic calculus nightmares, or that English students have found the most expensive way to ignore science, not to mention upward mobility.

Let us then return to Nabokov and a succinct quatrain of poetry and the thought that we need not abide those who would enjoin us to choose one or the other.

times arrogant immutability, its tendency (required for first years) to inculcate axioms and pontificate, rather than brook the criticisms of a master of string theory on YouTube. With the laughable and saddening controversies affixed to Evolution and Climate Change, it is imperative that science is not held as a monument before which one prostrates themselves, but a living creature nursed on imagination. To be a contributing member on the still burgeoning cusp of science requires creative faculties, occasion-ally indistinguishable from insanity. And if my dalliances in Arts courses have taught me anything, its that few things are more conducive to the creation of art than a suspicion of the sane. I would not have trusted either Isaac Newtown or Ezra Pound with my children, nor turned my back on them for a second, but per-haps the same craziness that draws one to hobbies such as alchemy cultivates the type of unbridled and tangential mind capable of discover-ing considered preposterous by more stable individuals.

But some of this may be neither here nor anywhere. The main point is that artists and scientists preside over creative forms too similar to allow contempt to justly spring from

Few things are more conducive to the creation of art than a suspicion of the sane."

On insanity and integration

Artists and scientists preside over creative forms too similar to allow contempt to justly spring from either side."

Joseph KidneyColumnist

I found it and I named it, being versedin taxonomic Latin; thus becamegodfather to an insect and its first describer - and I want no other fame. from On Discovering a Butterfly (1941)

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Welcome to a column of some-what extemporaneous descanting and exaggerated expatiations, without rodomontade or thrasonical bombast. That was a joke, and Im sorry - I have no desire to be pedantic; perhaps it is impossible to avoid pretentiousness entirely, but that is a risk Im willing to take for the opportunity to write about the wonderful world of words we have to work with - the English language.

It is impossible to know exactly how many words there are in the English language, however the general con-sensus seems to be that there are, in fact, quite a lot of them. And with the ticking of time, English continues to

pretty, pleasing and pulchritudinous words at our disposal, and the fact that so many times were willing to settle for the word nice simply isnt good.

My goal in writing this column, for however long it may last, is simply to try to encourage people to use as many assets of the English language as possi-ble. Im not going to tell you to stop say-ing like out of context, or complain about obscure misuses of grammar; I simply would like to open the gates to a linguistic world that perhaps you wouldnt otherwise travel to. So grab your favourite edition of the Oxford English Dictionary, and lets go explor-ing!

morph, meld and modify itself with new additions always arriving. We are privileged to have it, and to let language go to waste by using it as a purely utili-tarian means of communicating would be an absolute calamity.

We have an incredible medium at our disposal, quite literally on the tips of our tongues. A well-crafted sentence or an entrancingly complicated word is a pleasure for me to hear or read; it can be as melodious or mellifluous as music itself, and it is somewhat disappoint-ing to me that society has decided to take the general stance that using these types of words is elitist, or pretentious, and therefore a bad thing. Certainly, there are pretentious contexts for sesquipedalian sentences, but there is something to be said about the genuine fun to be had from spicing up your vo-cabulary, and no one wishing to use re-splendent in lieu of beautiful should ever have to feel uncomfortable about doing so. We have a dazzling array of

We have an incredible medium at our disposal, quite literally on the tips of our tongues."

For the love of language

To let language go to waste as a purely utilitarian means of communicating would be an absolute calamity."

Zach Berge-BeckerColumnist

Here at the top of the worldI sit above the clouds as the last of

the sunlight dips below the horizon, nine hours after departing from McLe-odGanj, in the foothills of the Himala-yas. I listen to the thunder rumbling far below us as we gather around the fire, none of us moving until little but the fading embers remain. I can hear Hindi folk songs sung into the wind as I lie down and stare at the velvet mid-night above, lit up by a myriad of stars. In this moment, I am immersed in the

darkness and suddenly humbled by the sheer vastness of the mountain wilder-ness that engulfs me.

The next morning, I find myself walking in what feels like a precarious bubble. Enveloped in cloud, the world

around me seems to end, and the im-mense beyond of last night is forgot-ten. Humility remains, but now there is peace safety - a small place in the world set aside especially for me. Phone signals are long since lost, and the internet has been left in the cafe miles below, but I feel no isolation. Instead, I feel a comforting freedom - in my clouded bubble, it is just me and the ground beneath me. And finally, I begin to understand the meaning of escapism.

Francesca MitchellContributor

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I am immersed in the darkness and suddenly humbled by the sheer vastness of the mountain wilderness that engulfs me


Walking is an integral part of the vast majority of our daily lives, and its something that is even regarded as a chore. We are one of the few truly bipedal species, since even most other primates are technically knuckle-walkers. However, we as a spe-cies have evolved a system of locomotion so refined and energetically efficient, that we are capable of traversing vast distances at greater speeds than most other land animals. I am, of course, referring not to walking but to running; specifically, endurance running. Indeed, humans are equipped with certain characteristics that render them one of the greatest cursorial animals.

It seems farfetched to suggest that a hu-man can outrun an animal such as a horse, deer, or gazelle, though this has in fact been documented, and it was not a one-time achievement by an elite athlete. No, humans have long used their evolutionary advantage of long-distance running as a tool for hunt-ing (appropriately termed endurance, or cursorial hunting). Endurance hunting is quite simple in practice. Essentially, a group of hunters would use basic hunting tactics (such as targeting the weak, old, or sick) to choose their prey, and proceed to pursue it on foot. Initially, the quadrupedal animal had a distinct and undeniable speed advan-tage over the human bipeds. Though with time, the animal began to tire, and began to slow down. Due to the markedly different running style of the bipedal hunters, they were able to maintain a moderate speed for much longer distances than the quadrupeds they hunted. Eventually, the prey would be able to continue no further, and the hunters would overtake it. Interestingly enough, this practice is still employed by some Kalahari bush men. Also, there is an annual Man vs. Horse race in Wales, where participants are

spring-based energy storage system, not pre-sent in most quadrupeds. This spring-based energy return system is loaded each time the runner lands, placing weight on the system, and the stored energy is returned in some part when the runner pushes off with their toes. This keeps the energetic demands for locomo-tion lower than they would be for a purely rigid system such as quadrupeds and less developed primates. Whereas the metabolic cost of trans-port for quadrupeds increases sharply as their speed increases (figure 1), humans show very little change regardless of the speed at which they are running (for moderate speeds, 3-6 m/s).

All of this taken into consideration has lead anthropologists, anatomists, and physiologists to suggest that running may have been respon-sible for the rapid increases in neural develop-ment of early Man. It would have provided a way to hunt, scavenge, and forage that had never been exploited by other animals. Poten-tially, these new sources of foodstuffs maybe have been responsible for the rapid increase in neural development in early H. sapiens.

(as the name would suggest) both human and equine.

Of course, the question must arise: why are we so much better at endurance running than many other animals? There are many factors to consider, but two major areas of interest are thermoregulation and energetics.

Thermoregulation is the process by which the body can dissipate heat. The human body is relatively hairless (when compared to other species), which is important since less insulating hair means less heat build up. Sweating is another crucial thermoregulat-ing process, and the human body produces copious amounts of sweat. Since the vapori-zation of water is an endothermic process (a process which absorbs heat energy) is coupled with a lack of insulating fur, humans are able to maintain a reasonably stable body temperature despite the increased metabolic demands.

Energetics also plays an important role in running efficiency. The tendinous regions of the lower leg, when combined with the plantar arch of the foot, allows for a sort of

Do the locomotionMathew SebastioColumnist

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5 PHOTOESSAY October & November 2011 theampersandjournal.com

PHOTOESSAY 6


When one thinks of Hong Kong, images of the citys conspicuously futuristic skyline usually come to mind. What many would be sur-prised to learn is that 80 % of the city consists of green space. Tucked

away with the other hundreds of small islands that surround the city central is this gem Lamma Island. Just a ferry ride away from the busy beehive of Central, this petite trea-sure is known for its seafood res-taurants, local cafes and shops, and insanely cute and colourful wharf.

You may notice a lot of bikes in these photos there are no cars on Lamma! After exploring the bulk of Hong Kong, this island was definitely one of my favourite spots- a perfect hideout from the hustle and bustle of the city.

The unconventional touristJane ZhangContributor

Fifteen, helpless, and alone, she lay in the bed, her newborn infant next to her. She held out her hand, and I squeezed it for an indeterminate amount of time. It could have been two minutes or thirty, I couldnt tell, because time stopped when I looked into her eyes I was engulfed into a world of pain and fear, my only window into her precarious situation. One of the relatively few women in the region to make it to the ninth grade, she still had hopes of becom-ing a software engineer. But she knew that

countrys health minister. Shanties lined the streets, which were often made of dirt and caked with garbage. If you looked carefully enough, you could see backyard ponds of raw sewage seeping out of overflowing privies and into open ditches that lined the streets and emptied directly into the river - the primary source of their boiled yet unpurified water. My nose was sweaty and chafing under my red rubber one, but I barely noticed, distract-ed by the joy of the children playing in the streets, carefree, under the auspices of many mothers, three-quarters of which had no part-ner to support them. Some of these mothers

as a single mother with a baby to care for on her own, without any resources such as in-school daycare services, this dream could only be hers in the comfort of her own mind.

Finish high school, I told her, in bro-ken Spanish, Its good for your future. She smiled at me and said she would, even though I knew based on her worried eyes alone that she truly doubted it, despite want-ing it more than anything. This instance marked one of the many moments I felt I had truly made a difference in someones life during my time in Beln, the notorious slum in Iquitios called The Hell of Peru by the

A summer of blursFrancesca MitchellContributor

The best medicine

It was a summer of blurs. Six cities, five addresses, four countries, three jobs, two suitcases, one girl. A student summer when its not spent wasting away in front of the TV in that new-found post-finals freedom gen-erally consists of one or more of the follow-ing: job, internship, or travel. This summer, my last in Europe before coming to Montreal as an exchange student, I decided to try my hand at all three.

First on my list was Edinburgh. Ive lived there for two years, and yet in my post-exams freedom, it struck me anew just how beauti-ful the city it is the domes and steeples, bathed in light, tripping over history in the streets. A short flight later and its on to Oslo, in all its artistic grunge and glory, set against the clear and pristine glass surface of the fjords. When we heard about the shootings there two months later, the memory became inexplicably more sombre the peacefulness we remembered was so distant, as if im-mersed in a mile of water.

By that point, I was back in England, having braved the five hour drive between Edinburgh and Birmingham. By British standards, thats something of a long journey.

A few weeks later, I had spent a few days in Nottingham and was living in London, reminded daily to mind the gap as I left the tube. The London life was everything I could have imagined a magazine in-ternship, dinner on the South Bank of the Thames, underground cocktails - and the photocopying, book-logging and coffee-runs at the office. I remember struggling down the street with six cups of coffee in hand (I say in hand I mean cradled pre-cariously in my ungainly arms) prompting a passer-by to yell Intern? with a look of simultaneous amusement and pity.

Regardless, interning in London was more glamorous than the jobs that fol-lowed it in my attempts to save up for the year ahead of me. Having received rejec-tions almost everywhere from Selfridges to Starbucks (and Starbucks in Selfridges,

come to think of it), I found work as a cleaner for a little old woman in Staffordshire who took rather too keen an interest in my love life. Many, many hours of vacuuming and in-numerable cups of coffee later, I left to work in Edinburgh for the Festival. The atmos-phere was astonishing. Each day, when I left my job as a kindergarten worker, let my hair down and changed out of my uniform, I was struck anew by the vibrancy and life of the city around me. People swarmed in masses of colour as singers, dancers and mimes per-formed in the streets, offices, pubs, parks, and alleyways.

And all too soon, it was the last week of August. Several trains, two flights and a few minor immigration issues later, my two suitcases and I found ourselves in Montreal for my exchange year. And so begins another blurry adventure.

Alexandra MarkusContributor


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love conquered all, judgments were kept at a minimum, and weird and wacky were most peoples default settings.

Patch and John spoke eloquently of a love revolution - the creation of a world where everyone feels cared for and appreci-ated for their strengths, wherein the walls that separate us from opening our hearts fall down, revealing a cohesive community where freedom and feelings of comfort to be oneself reign. This was accomplished through roundtable family meetings, ac-tivities and discussions with Patch, John, a family physician and acupuncturist, the renowned psychiatrist Carl Hammerschlag (a.k.a. The Healing Doc). My horizons opened up to a new form of medical care based on hollistic practices: the responsible healing of the mind and spirit along with the body. When the French clown-psychi-atrist Daniel broke his arm, he was sent lov-ing and caring vibes in a ceremony follow-ing the administration of prompt modern medical care, nourished by the cohesive-ness of a community working together for the common good and injecting warmth and humanity into all its endeavours. These veteran doctors understood that healing is facilitated when the mind and spirit are engaged in the process as well as the body. There is some truth to the expression mind over matter.

Our mornings were mostly spent clown-ing and organizing workshops in schools, hospitals, womens shelters, orphanages, and homes for the mentally ill and the disa-bled. We brought brightness and laughter where its so seldom seen, in the form of face painting, music, dance, skits, acrobatics, improv, and mime. The spirit was always high among the clowns, even when they werent performing. The bus rides that took us to and from locations were testaments

If the world does not change from valuing money and power to valuing love, human beings will be extinct."

- Patch Adams -


SUMMERSYNC 8were selling tropical fruits, juices and other provisions to scrape out a living as the sole providers of their families. Many made less than a dollar a day. I was a clown, one of the 100 or so who were flown in by the Peruvian air force to bring light, humor, warmth, and humanity to those immersed in the grim daily reality of Beln life.

I had no idea what I was getting myself into when my boyfriend and I stepped off that plane from Lima at the ungodly hour of 5 oclock in the morning, greeted by a woman in the craziest, most colorful clown costume we had ever seen outside of a circus. By the end of the trip, we would have considered her costume as plainclothes compared to what we got used to. We had unknowingly immersed ourselves in an alternate universe, where it was completely socially acceptable to hug strangers, dance and sing in the streets in a neon rainbow of clothes that dont technically match, with white go-go boots, shoes made out of wreaths, sparkly gold fairy wings, blue and LED-lit hair, ballerina tutus (on guys!) and of course, various forms of fla-mingo paraphernalia. Organizers John Glick, Patch Adams, and a host of other veteran-clown moms and dads did what I had hitherto thought impossible - they created a community where everyone felt cherished,

to our enthusiasm, which rivaled that which we exhibited around the people of Iquitos (we probably ruined the busses suspension forever). During the afternoons we painted the often decrepit wooden abodes bright colours, bringing a boost of morale. With the gracious help of the citizens of Beln, we managed to paint the town red - and orange, and yellow, and green, and blue, and pink - to the tune of over 150 houses! In the evenings, we celebrated Peruvian culture - we attended fashion shows, concerts, and festivals star-ring the people of Beln, who felt empowered for a change. We helped host and facilitate a health awareness fair with a free walk-in clinic, several workshops aimed at creating social change and breaking the cycle of abuse and poverty in Beln, the painting of a mu-ral in the courtyard of a nearby elementary school, and two parades that gave not only us but the people of Beln the chance to shine!

The people of Beln were not only gra-cious, but inspiring. They are among the most loving, happy, and nurturing people I have ever encountered. When I suffered from heat exhaustion while painting a house and nearly passed out, the female head of the household rubbed cold water on my forehead while my boyfriend ran to get the nurse. Several women gathered around, all with the goal of helping a fellow creature in pain, providing words of encouragement and kind wishes. They then helped walk me to the motor taxi that drove me back to the hotel - and to a bottle of much-needed gatorade. For people who suffered so much injustice, who struggle so much to scrape by, they were not bitter; they showed me nothing but compassion. In a way, I learned more from Beln than anywhere else, not only of the inequities that unfairly plague much of society on a daily basis. but also the enormous potential and capacity of human-ity to love and nurture each other uncondi-tionally. Now home with a lot of wonderful friends I will definitely be staying in touch with, I strive to sprinkle as much of Patch and Belns spirit of peace, kindness, warmth, and humanity as I could into a society that I feel has lost sense of what it means to be a true community of human beings living on earth.

Hey, were leaving now! Well meet you back at the boats!

I open my eyes and I see Harriets back dis-appearing into the jungle, her towel lagging be-hind her. Fuck. How am I supposed to find my way back now? Me, with no sense of direction; me, who gets lost in her own neighbourhood.

I close my eyes again, enjoying the water for another moment. This place is beautiful. The gentle pounding of the waterfall a sort of rhythm, the very pulse of the jungle. My body floats in the water and the golden mud, suspended betweenthe surrounding cliffs coloured by minerals that made both it and the water a shining orange-gold. With a sigh, I open my eyes once again, the slow shimmering of the water making me even more unwilling to leave.

I look around; the rest of the group is gone, already walking towards the boats somewhere in the middle of the vast jungle. I look around at the towering orange cliffs, the clear crystal clear waterfall bleeding into the golden mineral water, at the mouth of the reservoir where the water runs clear again and where the girl with

Why was I here building toilets when our own streets needed help? Why was I 4800 kilometers away from home?

As the bright light hit my eyes, I realize that we are already out of the dense jungle. The girl leads me to the edge of a stream where she picks up a straw basket half her height. She sets it on top of her head easily, holding it steady with her arms. She turns and gives me a quick smile, then walks ahead. I follow , my mind racing again: was she just washing clothes? When I was 9, what was I doing? Not laundry, thats for sure. She should be playing games with her friends, talking about boys, enjoying the most carefree time of her life. Instead, this girl is working like an adult. I wonder what my life would have been like if I grew up here instead. Would I also be doing my familys laundry at the age of nine? And what about now, at the age of 18? The potential differences were endless and so unfathomable. Growing up here, I would not be myself at all, but a completely different person.

We continue walking on a lightly beaten path, her shoes the only sound between us. Every once in a while she turns , making sure that Im still there, still following and still okay Soon enough, we walk into a vil-lage. The houses are strange, scattered about a general region that makes up the village instead of our rigid rows. Built on top of tall wooden stilts, the buildings look like rectan-gular shacks. The girl puts her basket down and takes a large cloth from a woman, then walks towards a little boy who looked like he hadnt showered in days. I suppose he hadnt, though, because there are no showers in this area, only the river to bathe in. She carries the

the yellow rain boots stood, at the edge of the jungle. Wait someone is still here: the girl that appeared after we arrived, the girl that just sat and watched. She stares at me now, brown eyes light against her tanned skin, her dark hair cascading messily around her shoulders: a local. Shes probably eight or nine, but its hard to tell with the children around here, theyre all small.

The girl walks towards foliage, her bright yellow rain boots squeaking. After a few steps, she turns around and looks at me.

I follow her into the jungle, through the trees, through the river, through the silence. But the jungle is never really silent, is it? Day or night, theres always noise: birds calling, bugs singing, rivers gurgling. The tall canopy, the enormous leaves, the exotic air of the place leave you feeling that maybe youd travelled back to a prehistoric time where there was no rush to do anything or to be anywhere. I thought about all the problems I had back home, how I failed my driving exam, how my boss hated me, how school would started soon. Coming down here on a humanitarian mission is pointless; who am I to try saving the world? We have our own problems galore.

4800 kilometres away

Time stood still here, maybe even dragged you backwards. There was no rush to do anything or to be anywhere. Everyone lived at their own pace.

Nancy ShieContributor


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boy to one of the huts and sets him on the top step. Cleaning off some dirt with the cloth, she nudges the boy into the building. She has so many burdens at such a young age. Surely she had time to play her friends, to be the child she is, Thinking back, though, I realize I havent seen any other houses around here, no one else lives in this isolated area of the jungle. The girl, touching my arm, jolting me from my thoughts, gestures at the path to the jungle.

We walk side by side this time on another lightly trodden path. A few minutes into the forest, she takes my hand. We look at eachoth-er, then she smiles.

Cmo te llamas? It is the first time I hear the girl speak. Her

is quiet, almost afraid, as if she might disturb the jungle. My mind rummages through eve-rything I knows about Spanish. Llamas thats name, right?

Nancy, I reply as I point to myself, And your name?

The girl continues to stare at me without

understanding my words. Ahhh, I start with hesitation. My knowl-

edge of Spanish is almost non-existent. I point to the girl and give another try. Te Llamas?

The girl smiles, Katarina. Finally I dont have to think of her as the girl anymore.

Thats a pretty name, I tell Katarina, but my words are lost between us.

Cuntos aos tienes?Uh oh, more Spanish. But I recognized

this one. Aos was age. However, I can only count up to ten in Spanish. Letting go of her hand, I start signing to her. I hold up 10 fingers and then 8 fingers, and point to myself.

Eighteen, I say. Eighteen! Diez, ocho. I am quite a sight, jabbing myself in the chest re-peatedly. Im not even sure if she understands me, maybe she thinks I dont know whether Im ten or eight, but she smiles and points to herself.

Nueve. Youre nine, are you? I smile, Youre pret-

ty small for a nine year old you know that?

As we walk towards the shore where my friends are waiting, Katarina starts to talk. I can only nod and smile as she rattles off in

I can only nod and smile as she rattles off in Spanish, but she doesnt seem to care. Our communication now goes beyond languages."

We share the same earth, the same world, and were the same species."

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Spanish, but she doesnt seem to care. Our communication now goes beyond languages. She holds my hand tighter, not wanting to lose me and I realize that she is only a child, a child with responsibilities, but a child nonetheless. It cannot be often she can feel so carefree. This is the difference that I came down here to make, the reason I travelled Misahualli, Ecuador, in the middle of the Napo Riviera. They may not live next door, or the street over, or even in the country beside mine, but we share the Earth, the same world, and were the same species. The feeling that Ive made all the difference in the world, if only to this girl and at this one small moment, makes everything worthwhile.

I recognize where we are as we come to a stop, maybe 10-15 meters away from the shore. Katarina says something in Spanish, gesturing for me to stay before she sprints into the trees. She walks back after a few minutes, carrying a spiky, softball sized grey ball speckled with black spots. As she hands this strange object to me, I spot white flesh where it was picked off the tree and realize its a fruit. A gift from her to me. Not knowing exactly what to do with it, I simply take it from her and wrap my arms around her small body.

Thank you, I whisper in her ear, Gracias.


Larry & Claire Comic by Jane Zhang A typical Monday

8:05 AM

10:10AM

12:00 PM

9:45 PM

4:35 PM

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF Elena Ponte

EXTERNALVP Zhizhen Qin

EDITORS Samantha Allen Anju Bansal Zach Berge-Becker Stephanie Butera Jenny Han Caleb Harrison Joseph Kidney Isabella Liu Nayab Malik Tea Rosic

LAYOUT Emily Coffey Francesca Mitchell Belle Wu Jane Zhang

CONTRIBUTORS Morgane Ciot Alexandra Markus Mathew Sebastiao Nancy Shie

SUBMIT&PUBLISHWhimsical musings, stirring debates, insightful

ideas: all integrative work -written, drawn, or de-veloped- has a home in the AMPERS&MONTHLY

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11 EDITORIAL

AMPERS&MONTHLY Issue I

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