“Ozymandias” by Percy Bysshe Shelley: I met a traveller from an antique land, Who said: “Two vast and trunkless legs of stone Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand, Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown, And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command, Tell that its sculptor well those passions read Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed; And on the pedestal, these words appear: “My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings; Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!” Nothing beside remains. Round the decay Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare The lone and level sands stretch far away. Romantic poet Percy Bysshe Shelley was well known for his deep critique of and opposition to authority. In a time of rampant and extreme class divide within Regency England, he carried a deep resentment for the corruption brought on by power and wealth. This is reflected in many of his works, with “Ozymandias” being no exception. In his 1818 poem “Ozymandias”, Percy Bysshe Shelley utilizes symbolism, juxtaposition, a framing device, and a purposefully manipulated poetic structure to proclaim that the authority of prideful, all-powerful rulers - such as Ozymandias - are ultimately insignificant and fickle against the force of time. Throughout “Ozymandias”, Shelley uses rich symbolism and imagery to paint a pathetic depiction of the titular Ozymandias. In the beginning, the traveler first encounters “two vast and trunkless legs of stone” (line 2). The reader is introduced to the pharaoh through his legs, which are the lowest portion of a person, reflecting how this once-powerful pharaoh is encountered at his lowest point. Ozymandias’ legs being separated from the rest of his body represents a disconnect between his past influence and inability to figuratively march forward. His legacy, like his body, cannot progress through time. Further emphasizing the role of time, Ozymandias’ face is also “half-sunk” in sand (line 4). Sand is a common metaphor for time, and it is implied that his empire is completely buried in sand by the time the traveler stumbles upon his statue, symbolizing how all his accomplishments have been lost to time, his achievements forgotten with him. These symbols serve to highlight the fleeting nature of power, an idea further shown by Ozymandias’ “shattered visage” lying on the ground (line 4). A face is a symbol of honor and command. Since his face is shattered, that symbolizes the cracks in his control. The pieces of the pharaoh are all that remains, depicting Ozymandias’ humiliation and loss of glory. Continuing to display Ozymandias as a piteous, insignificant figure, Shelley implements juxtaposition to evoke irony. As is prevalent in sonnets, Shelley’s poem contains tonal shifts. The first shift occurs between lines 8 and 9. Before this, Shelley’s imagery only describes humble, broken elements close to the ground - Ozymandias’ legs, Ozymandias’ half-sunken face, along with the sculptor and traveler. Suddenly,, Shelley mentions a pedestal, a tall structure that traditionally holds grand objects and implies prestigiousness. Readers would expect a pedestal to hold something powerful and breathtaking, but what is supposed to hold up is on the ground and in ruin. The juxtaposition between elevation and ground, along with prestige and decay, mimics the contrast between how Ozymandias perceived himself and the reality of his legacy. He quite literally placed himself on a pedestal, but now his pedestal - symbolizing his pride and arrogance - is the only object left intact. Another shift occurs between lines 10 and 11: “Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!’ / No thing beside remains. Round the decay”. Emphasizing the contrast, the irony is humorous and dramatic. Ozymandias is not aware that his empire - his “works” - is completely buried. There is nothing to look upon but his broken body and the pedestal. Shelley shows that all power is vulnerable to time’s weathering. Ozymandias is an example of how those in power often overestimate their influence. They fill their minds with ideas of grandeur, but Shelley shows that power is just an illusion. The poem begins with an interesting framing device that appears unimportant, but ultimately serves to emphasize the pitiful legacy of Ozymandias’ reign. In this poem, Shelley - as the narrator - recounts a fictional traveler he met as a framing device. Instead of beginning with the traveler’s journey, Shelley chooses to introduce himself, and then the traveler. By doing this, Shelley skillfully creates four degrees of separation between the reader and Ozymandias. The pharaoh’s direct word can no longer reach across land and time. Shelley demonstrates that Ozymandias - like all seemingly powerful figures - will be forgotten once they are no longer alive to force themselves upon their subjects. Similar to how Shelley uses a framing device to create distance between the reader and Ozymandias, Shelley manipulates poetic form to mirror Ozymandias’ former glory and his broken legacy. “Ozymandias” contains 14 lines and utilizes iambic pentameter, adhering to the structure of a Shakespearean sonnet. However, the poem does not follow the standard rhyme scheme of Shakespearean sonnets. Traditionally, Shakespearean sonnets follow an ABAB CDCD EFEF GG rhyme scheme, with each section chunking the poem into thematic and topical sections. Shelley appears to mirror this with an ABAB rhyme scheme in the first quatrain in “Ozymandias”. That stanza introduces the main topics of this poem: the traveler and the sunken statue. However, Shelley defies expectations in the fifth line, which contains an “A” rhyme instead of introducing a new rhyme (a “C”). Through this disruption, along with the usage of enjambed lines through lines 4 and 5, Shelley creates a sense of surprise and intrigue, entrancing the reader. This mimics the feelings the traveler in the poem experiences when stumbling upon the ruins of the statue. Furthermore, Shelley’s manipulation of traditional poetic form blends old and contemporary poetic styles. It reflects our place in time in relation to the past. We - the reader, the traveler, and Percy Bysshe Shelley - exist in the present, fixed between the past and future. Meanwhile, the great Ozymandias, who once ruled over the land, remains permanently fixed in the past. Shelley plays with established traditions, bringing his interpretation to old systems, such as how modern readers reinterpret the legacies of the past. This reflects the overall theme of the poem: everything, no matter how ubiquitous they may appear, are vulnerable to change and decay. “Ozymandias” is not just a reflection of Percy Shelley’s disdain for authority, but a timeless lesson on the consequences of arrogance and the illusion of power. Through symbolism, juxtaposition, framing device, and poetic form, Shelley reveals the fragility and fickleness of even the most powerful kings. Power, when looked through the lens of history, is ultimately insignificant. The corruption of power is a tale as old as civilization. Yet, Percy Bysshe Shelley reminds readers that no empire can last forever.

For the longest time, I had difficulty understanding a world that seemed to not understand me. As an Asian-American, mental health was something we rarely discussed in our family. There is a heavy stigma towards people with mental illness. We are often viewed as crazy, unreasonable, and weak. I struggle with both mental illness and mental disorders: generalized anxiety disorder, depression, and ADHD. Growing up, I was not given the resources to understand why my heart raced for no reason when I was in class, or why some days I refused to get out of bed, or why I could not sit still at church. I did not understand why my emotions swung like a wrecking ball. I felt like a monster because I got angry, got sad, or cried at things that did not seem to bother “normal people”. In retrospect, my anxiety was exacerbated by my ADHD’s intense emotions and emotional dysregulation. If I had known that earlier, I could have sought out proper resources to help regulate my emotions. It took me a while to understand my own mental illnesses. During my first year of community college, I was at my lowest. I loathed going to campus because anxiety attacks would make me freeze at the thought. I began skipping class, sabotaging my grades and drawing myself further into misery. Living at home, I began fighting with my family. In secret, I self-harmed but hid the scars to prevent judgment. I was anxious, easily irritated, unmotivated and - above all - afraid. I was afraid of what I could do to myself. My life no longer felt like mine. Then, one day, a school counselor recommended I seek therapy. Attending therapy regularly is what finally brought me out of my mental health crisis. My therapist helped me understand and process my emotions. I learned that I was self-sabotaging because of two reasons. On one hand, I subconsciously felt like I did not deserve to be successful. On the other, I felt like I had no control in my life anymore as a young adult, and self-sabotaging was a way to regain control. It took lots of healing to rebuild my relationship with my family, but now we are stronger than ever. However, they still chalk up my symptoms to just “stress” or “sadness”, not understanding the depth of what I went through even after I explain it to them. My experiences with depression, anxiety, and ADHD has made me a more empathetic person. I know how it feels to not be myself at my lowest point. I understand that mental illness is not a character flaw, but - as the name implies - illness. I would not wish debilitating depression or anxiety on my worst enemy. I wish to show the elders in my family that I am not weaker for showing symptoms of mental illness. We treat sick bodies with medication, so we should allow the same for sick brains. In the long run, I want to break the generations-long cycle of mental illness stigmatization. I want to show my children, nephews, and nieces that it is okay to ask for help. I will always be here to support them, not shun them. Therapy will not be seen as a last resort, or something to whisper about behind closed doors. I am grateful to live in the United States where mental health can be treated with therapy and medication, but there is still much work to be done in the Asian-American community. Most of the stigma surrounding mental illness is subconscious, but if we talk about it openly, that helps to break down negative stereotypes. I wish I was introduced to therapy earlier, but I cannot change the past. However, I can change the future for myself and others.

“It’s fine, it’s cool…” I sing to myself while strumming a G major chord on my acoustic guitar. My voice is shy and quiet. I have never considered myself a singer, but Chappell Roan has taught me that anything is possible. Chappell Roan’s career had a rocky beginning. Her label dropped her after her music underperformed, but that didn't deter her. She continued to release music independently and grow her craft. In a matter of years, her hard work and struggle paid off. She is now a global, award-winning pop star and an LGBT activist. To me, Chappell is a symbol of authenticity. I always found comfort in art, such as drawing or playing guitar. But when making art, I used to constrict myself so I didn’t come off as weird or strange. I lived in fear of others’ judgments. Chappell has inspired me to ignore the detractors and not let them knock me down. She has never diluted herself, always embracing her sexuality and never forgetting her rural roots, echoed in songs like “Pink Pony Club” and “The Giver”. She doesn’t fit into the mold that’s forced upon female music artists. Her bold, exaggerated makeup and theatrical dress style are inspired by drag queens, a homage to queer culture. Additionally, according to Chappell, her “clowncore” white makeup look is inspired by gay people being mocked and called “clowns” in her midwest hometown. “If you’re going to call me a clown, then I’m going to be the best clown you’ve ever seen,” she said in an interview with Gay Times. She takes the label thrown against her and embraces it as queer joy. Her style is not only an act of resistance, but a dedication to every LGBT person who’s grappling in an unsupportive environment. The song that speaks to me the most is “Good Luck, Babe!”. At one point, I was eerily similar to the girl Chappell is singing to—the “babe”. I was a young queer in a glass closet, struggling to accept that facet of my identity. I definitely needed a “good luck!” because those years of denial brought intense shame and confusion. When others listen to “Good Luck, Babe!”, they hear a masterfully crafted 80s-inspired pop song. When I listen to “Good Luck, Babe!”, I hear an anthem that screams “Have some damn self-respect!” Chappell speaks directly to my younger self. She voices a message that took my entire teen years to learn: I’d have to stop the world just to stop the feeling. The aspect I find most admirable about Chappell is her boldness. In 2025, Chappell stood on the biggest stage in the world—the Grammys—and asked for livable wages and health care access from music labels. Bravely, she opened up about the difficulties she faced after being dropped by her label. While she could have used her speech after winning “Best New Artist” to talk about herself, she decided to be a voice for the thousands of musicians who are fighting, yet may never be heard. In my personal musical journey, I want to take after Chappell’s unapologetic, authentic, determined, and bold attitude. I’m starting small right now, simply moving my fingers to form an A major chord, but I promise to never stay silent. Everything Chappell does is an act of resistance. She’s a shining beacon to every starving, LGBT artist, as if shouting to the industry that oppresses and silences women like her, “You can say that we are nothing, but you know the truth”.

In my senior year of high school, I vomited in the school bathrooms when we were rehearsing graduation. While my peers smiled, laughed, and celebrated, I silently shook with fear. I didn’t want to leave. I didn’t want a fresh start. These select few classmates were the people I was comfortable with, but now they would be scattering all over the world. Even though I was going to walk on stage with them, I still felt like I was being left behind. Change has always been difficult for me. Upon transitioning into middle school, I struggled with isolation and extreme loneliness in a big school. Countless tears were shed over colossal emotions I couldn’t explain. I was diagnosed with both social anxiety disorder and generalized anxiety disorder around that time, which helped me understand my predicament. Through therapy, I learned grounding techniques to cope with my GAD, like breathing techniques and meditation. However, social anxiety was still an issue. At the time, I escaped between the pages of books. The worlds of fiction provided solace and connection, and it was the only world where I didn’t feel out of place. This spurred my love of literature and creative writing, but it didn’t alleviate my social anxiety. To everyone else, I was the invisible person with my nose in a book at the back of the class, too scared to make a sound. In high school, I found a coping mechanism in a surprising place: theatre. I was terrified to be put in a theatre class, but I discovered that presenting a character was more comfortable than presenting myself in the skin in which I was born. Each performance pushed me out of my comfort zone, helping me build confidence to reach out to other classmates who were involved in theatre. Through this, I made my first close friends and learned the importance of supportive relationships. Like me, these people understood how it felt to be ‘invisible’ to others, but we saw, validated, and uplifted each other in our ambitions. For the first time, I didn’t feel alone. I still cried when graduating, fearing I would lose the friends I worked hard to forge. We promised we wouldn’t drift away, but we also encouraged each other to open up and find community in our new schools. Motivated by my experience in theatre, I helped start up a Drama Club at my community college. I desired to create a place where others could feel seen. In this club, we bonded over silly improvisation games. Even though I was still nervous before meetings, I always left them with the biggest smile. This year, I’ll experience the biggest change of my life: moving hours away to attend UC Berkeley and pursue my Bachelor’s in English. No parents, no friends, and no familiar faces. My challenges will extend beyond my classes as I’ll be thrust into a new environment like a fish out of water. Presenting my authentic self to others will be nerve-wracking, but I’ve learned that even in new intimidating environments, building connections is possible. No matter how isolated I feel, I know there are others who feel the same, waiting to be seen. I’m ready to take on this new life challenge with confidence and continue growing.