About
River An


Peddie School 27’

CREATIVE WRITING 
& PUBLICATIONS
Amphion Literary and Art Magazine — Editor-in-Chief, 2026–Present

Editorial leadership for Peddie’s century-old student-run literary and art magazine; curates 100+ annual submissions and mentors student contributors.

Creative Writing Signature Program — Selected Participant, 2025–2027

Two-year program in poetry, fiction, and graphic narrative; lead visual artist for a collaborative graphic narrative project.

Iowa Young Writers’ Studio — Selected Participant, Summer 2025

Two-week residential creative writing program in fiction and poetry.

Think of the Sea — Korean–English Screenplay Translator


Translated a short-film screenplay for international film festival submissions.
RESEARCH & LAW
Juvenile Miranda Rights Study — Independent Researcher, 2025–Present

Designed an IRB-approved study of 307 adolescents examining comprehension of Miranda warnings; authored a 20-page research paper and is developing a documentary based on the research.

New Jersey Student Ethics Conference — Presenter, 2025

Presented “Why Do Miranda Rights Fail to Protect Young People?” on false confessions, language barriers, and legal reform.

Columbia High School Law Institute — Participant, 2025–2026

Studied criminal procedure and constitutional law through Columbia Law School’s high school program.
LEADERSHIP & COMMUNITY
Student DEI Leadership Council — Co-Leader, 2025–Present

Organizes student programming and dialogue; designed and led a DEI Day workshop connecting the Heart Sutra and Five Skandhas with contemporary inclusion.

Arts Citizenship Committee — Elected Representative, 2024–Present
Represents theatre students in school arts planning and student-faculty dialogue.

Hartley’s Legacy — Co-President, 2025–Present

Organizes student performers for twice-monthly performances at Princeton CIEL Senior Center; launched an oral-history project documenting residents’ songs and life stories.
VISUAL ART
Independent Studio Art Portfolio — 2024–Present

Developing a 12–15 piece portfolio exploring storytelling and memory through digital and traditional media.

ULTRAVIOLET at BRIC House Gallery — Selected Artist, 2026

Selected for a juried youth contemporary art exhibition in Brooklyn.

Scholastic Art & Writing Awards
Gold Key — Poetry; Silver Key — Mixed Media; Honorable Mentions in visual art and writing.
PERFORMING ARTS
Musical Theatre — Peddie School, 2023–Present

Gloria Thorpe, Damn Yankees; Fiona, Shrek the Musical; ensemble in The Prom and Mamma Mia!; Assistant Stage Manager and onstage band singer in Romeo and Juliet.

Vocal Performance — Peddie School, 2023–Present

Lead Vocalist, Blair Day Band; soprano soloist for chapel services, alumni memorials, and school ceremonies; member of Peddie Singers and Treblemakers.

Private Voice & Acting Training
Voice study with David Gordon, Manhattan School of Music; acting and vocal coaching with Broadway performers Marina Kondo and Michelle Beck; New York Film Academy musical theatre intensive.
ATHLETICS
Varsity Girls Golf — Peddie School, Grades 9–10

Two-year varsity team member; 2025 Mid-Atlantic Prep League team champion.
HONORS & RECOGNITION
National Merit Commended Scholar, 2026

Scholastic Art & Writing Awards — Gold Key(Poetry, 2026), Silver Key & Honorable Mentions (Mixed Medea, Painting, 2024-2025)

CS Music Vocal Competition — National Live Second Round, Musical Theatre & Classical Voice, 2026

Peddie Declamation Contest — 2nd Place, 2026; Honorable Mention, 2024 & 2025





Writing

Poetry | Fiction | Essays | Research

2026 Scholastic Art & Writing
Gold Key

All of the Above
When your mother AND your father taught you how to use your knuckles
  1. to cook rice,
  2. to count the amount of days in a month,
  3. to fracture someone’s bones,


you had yet to learn neither their Eastern magic nor how
  1. rice absorbed water one-to-one regardless of the average adult-sized first phalanx.
  2. calendars could be Julian or Gregorian, very un-Eastern, and that it worked even if February is a little special.
  3. you should never punch with your thumb tucked in.


You were supposed to be a big girl, but you couldn’t help but cry, because
  1. all three times the rice came out wrong, so you tried to destroy the evidence, but the wrinkled flesh of your index finger pointed right back at you, 
  2. you had to count your index finger twice to account for both July and August. There were too many months, too many months until you could mother yourself,
  3. your hand throbbed, long before Philosophy 101 would teach you how to put a name to your pain, and your pride must have stung more than your palm.


Maybe your tears blurred your vision, or your memory fails you, but you think their eyes
  1. went to you before the crime scene beneath your mother’s feet, and neither of you knew where you went wrong, but she pardoned you anyway, humoring your self-incrimination. She never stopped pardoning herself, which is to say she never stopped turning herself in, and you wonder who she surrendered to without a mother of her own.
  2. crinkled as your mother peeled your fists open and smiled a little smugly like she understood time as an equation instead of a device of fate, like she folded laundry and caught up to her second-favorite soap drama before she changed your life every day and week and month and knuckle at a time.
  3. softened when you ran to your father’s side, and he held you very close like brass knuckles tight against your fingers, like a ribcage heavy on your heart,


but you rub your hands together on a brittle winter day and remember
  1. the warmth of your mother’s palm.
  2. the press of her thumb counting the months for you.

Director's Cut
In some photo I am a hundred days old.
Stuck between stacked rice cakes and a gold ring,
there I am. 백일잔치, they call it, my first debut,
already performing for the camera
        though no one asked if I wanted the part.
I’m sure the camera flashed, but in that white
blindness, I should have stayed
in the delivery room
               or my country
or my mother's hold.

But I will spend every debut,
every staged smile,
chasing the sun
which is to say the camera
which is to say the audience
to look my way just once.

But what does an audience want from a body
that flies too close to it?
I wish I were Icarus
because his dogma is more American than I
will ever be
but he wished too, before he fell,
and pipe dreamers pay more than they dream
               but maybe I can keep running
and just maybe, tripping over steaming asphalt
I'll get closer to the sun
inside, burning my gut.

Pebbles
When I was young, sometimes,
I would pick up pretty pebbles at the beach.
I don't remember who I was with,
but the feeling remains here, still,
making my hands ache.

The sunlight lay low across the horizon,
and my small fern-like hands,
wet with seawater,
were cold and hot at once.

The pebbles were small and round,
no edges, so they didn't hurt
even when I squeezed them tight.

That's why, I think, I held that stone
for quite some time, turning it over
and over in my palm.

My hand remembers.
As if my heart had nested in my palm.
It remembers what it held,
what temperatures it passed through.

Maybe those pebbles still exist
Somewhere,
slowly worn smooth by currents and sunlight.
I send my regards
to all those places I left behind,
to all the pockets that once held my hands,
to the small, round, warm pebbles:
Hello? How are you… or so.

Things That Come
비가 온다.
In Korean, rain comes.
Rain is a visitor,
knocking at your door.

In English, it rains.
Rain is an event
that happens.
I am the one watching,
standing apart
from what falls.

잠이 온다.
In Korean, sleep comes.
Sleep arrives like a guest
I've been waiting for.
I never fall.
I am found.

In English, I fall asleep.
I am the one falling,
gravity pulling me down
into unconsciousness.

슬픔이, 기쁨이, 불안이 온다.
Sadness, joy, anxiety come.
In Korean, feelings accompany me.
They visit and leave
and I am the receptacle
they pass through.

In English, I possess my feelings.
I have anxiety.
I have joy.
I have grief.

화가 난다.
In Korean, anger happens to me.
I am not the source.
I am the receptacle
where anger occurs.

In English, I am angry.
I am the subject.
Anger is a thing I contain.

마음이 생기다.
In Korean, my heart-mind arises.
생각이 나다.
A thought appears.

I don't possess them.
They come to me
like rain,
like sleep,
like spring after a long winter.

In English, I make decisions.
I am in control.
I choose, I want, I will.

My therapist asks:
What are you feeling?

In English, I say:
I am anxious.
In Korean, I would say:
불안이 나를 찾아 온다.

Anxiety comes
and finds me,
not when I summon it,
but when my body remembers
what my mind forgot.
It will leave
when it's ready.

And somewhere between 온다 and "comes,"
between possessing and being possessed,
I exist:
untranslatable,
bilingual,
made and unmade
by the languages
making me happen.

© RIVER AN 2025