Hello! My name is Elaina.
I’m a high school senior from the California Bay Area.
Here you will find some of my writing and my published research.
Writing
These eight pieces are a selection from a larger portfolio.
Creative Nonfiction
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I often ran around the clear green pond full of tiny koi fish with my grandparents, past the playground with the purple and yellow swings, past the broad shouldered 梧桐 tree right in the middle of the community.
The Pond, the Lake, the Bay
Scholastic Silver Key, Short Story · 2025
There was chatter and cars and families taking leisurely walks throughout the neighborhood made up of 24 apartment buildings with 17 floors each. I often ran around the clear green pond full of tiny koi fish with my grandparents, past the playground with the purple and yellow swings, past the aunties gathering near the playground while swinging their arms to keep active, past the broad shouldered 梧桐 tree right in the middle of the community.
On days after preschool, my grandma and I biked to the nearby mall where the most delicious pastry in the world awaited me at my favorite bakery, BreadTalk: sausage buns. My grandma bought me one after preschool every time she visited, and she smiled fondly every time I gobbled the treat down at a table in the bakery. We biked back slowly, me sitting in the small seat attached to the back of her bike, and chatted comfortably about my day.
I’ll make you a warm cup of Longjing tea, she would say. I would giggle, feeling giddy. I loved tea, but most of all Longjing tea. And when we reached the light brown door of my apartment with a small peephole in the center, we would ring the doorbell, a pleasant ding dong reverberating. My grandpa would open the door easily, surprising me with his presence, and would smile his signature friendly grin, and make a goofy face at me and ask me how my sausage bun tasted.
好好吃！
So yummy! I would always reply.He would then ask me if I’m cold, if I needed a jacket, and I would say no, my heart was already overflowing with warmth. Grandpa and I would take a nice long walk by the pond right behind my apartment building and count how many spots each koi fish had, one two three four one two. And when we returned, Grandma’s Longjing tea awaited me on the welcoming dining table, accompanied by a rice cracker.
* * *
The bright neon signs, the sound of cars and motorcycles bustling, the fluorescent street lamps. I broke out of my stupor as I realized we were approaching the West Lake, Hangzhou’s shimmering gem. The willows on the edge swayed with the wind, as if to music. The broken bridge sparkled, and I was reminded of why Su Dong Po fell in love with this city thousands of years ago. I could see the eaves of the Lei Feng Pagoda peeking out above the lush green, the mountains sitting over the calm lake that seemed to shimmer in the moonlight. As I got older, the summers seemed to be shorter and shorter. I could have stayed in this city forever — I wished summer was all year long. I rolled down the window and couldn’t help but stick my hand out even though my mom scolded me, feeling the fresh air as it tickled my fingertips. It smelled salty, but will stay forever sweet to me.
The car skidded to a smooth stop at the red light next to a hotel. But it wasn’t just any hotel. The Sofitel stood before us, marking the three minute countdown to my Grandma’s apartment. Soon the car made a right, and we were on the familiar road lined with 梧桐 trees. I giddily hoped my Grandma had laid our blankets out in the sunroom. Later in the day when I would wrap myself up in one, they would be warm, cozy, smell of the sun, everything soft to me. The car had stopped and I had grabbed my suitcase and after a lifetime the elevator finally reached the sixth floor. We made our way to the light brown door with the red upside down blessing couplets. I rang the doorbell and heard its childhood tune as I fidgeted with the string of my denim shorts and suddenly I was longing for a warm cup of Longjing loose leaf tea. Promptly, the dark brown door of my grandparent’s apartment swung open and my Grandma’s smiling face filled my vision. 欢迎欢迎! Welcome, welcome! She pulled me in for a comforting hug, the scent of sweet and sour sauce of West Lake Tang Cu Fish washed over me, and I was home. I could revel in those carefree summer days filled with reunion, basking in the beauty of the nearby lake for ages.
* * *
Though barren in the winter, the lavender vines were intertwined delicately above the white garage door. The familiar sight greeted me each day when I returned home from high school. The curved limestone path led me to the dark brown front door, one that was heavy and hard to push open. It had taken me two years to even learn how to unlock the door using the key, something which I’m still a little embarrassed about. Well, more than a little. My parents taught me how to use the key, but it wasn’t the same as when my grandparents taught me how to unlock their old apartment door. Their apartment was old but familiar, like a worn yet sturdy water bottle that I’ve used for years. Luckily, my house in California had become increasingly familiar as well. Well, sort of.
I rang the doorbell and the motion detector played its little tune, the door swung open. My mom was playing peek-a-boo with me behind the door, pretending she wouldn’t let me in. It was all fun and jokes and laughter and warmth, like watching my comfort show Friends after a long day. But a little part of me missed the summer days by the West Lake, or my preschool days free of stress and pressure and filled with laughter and love by the pond, like a bell that never stops tinkling sweetly. I couldn’t see the San Francisco Bay from my house, but I knew it was simply a 25 minute drive away. There were no 梧桐 trees on the way though. The bay was in reach, but sadly not in my backyard. Too far – far far away.
I loved the greenish blue hue of my sanctuary, the roses and hydrangeas in my backyard, the trusty swirly chair I used to sit in everyday without fail while doing homework. I always hugged my mom and my dad would wave at me from the banister upstairs, and I would smile at them. I walked towards the kitchen table where I did all of my homework, and instinctively reached for the snack drawer where I would usually pull out a sausage bun, a staple from my preschool and teenage years, and how could I forget rice crackers, the best snack in my grandparents’ apartment and my house in California. I poured myself a cup of Longjing tea, extra hot to help warmth reach every corner of my body and soul. California was always unexpectedly cold, the quietly brisk mornings leaving a chill to the bone. Maybe a little bittersweet too.
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The monkeys at the zoo liked to eat rice crackers. So did I.
The Truth About Rice Crackers
Scholastic Silver Key, Humor · 2024
The monkeys at the zoo liked to eat rice crackers. So did I.
“Do you want a snack?” my grandmother had asked. She reached inside the pocket of her red coat, pulling out a plastic wrapped rice cracker. Four year old me could not have been happier. All the monkeys stared longingly through the glass as I gobbled it down in front of the primates exhibit. The rice crackers were absolutely scrumptious. The subtle saltiness and thin flakes of sugar that coated the cracker blended together wonderfully.
The zoo was everything colorful, loud, and crazy, some of my favorite attributes as a toddler. My grandma reminded me of the zoo, her big curls and bright outfits matching her personality. She was always ready to have some fun, and so she became my going-to-the-zoo companion.
“Bye Alana! I’ll make sure to bring extra rice crackers for you next time,” my grandma promised, her eyes twinkling as she dropped me back home.
Home from the zoo later that afternoon, I was still hungry. I was just about to reach for the wooden handle of the snack cabinet when a voice startled me.
“Alana, I was just going to talk to you about this. You have too many rice crackers everyday! Such a bad habit, it’s so unhealthy,” my mom scolded me, her brows furrowed.
“But—”
“No buts! Promise me that you’ll only eat one rice cracker per day. Pinky promise.”
Of course, the most sacred promise of all to my four year old self: the pinky promise. How dare she! Separating me from my beloved rice crackers? I have an unbreakable bond with them, I thought to myself grumpily. I could only nod, my pigtails swishing back and forth as I watched my mom head back to her room. In my opinion, one rice cracker was not sufficient at all. I mean, I was still growing! Mom always said that growing kids need lots of food and protein, whatever that means. She makes no sense. I bet rice crackers have lots of protein! The more I dwelled on it, the more unfair it seemed. How come I can have as much rice as I want, but only one rice cracker?
In my distress, only a rice cracker could possibly cheer me up. However, being the obedient kid I was, I still wanted to keep my promise. But I also wanted another rice cracker. My internal debate lasted for what seemed like ages. But you promised to only eat one! Pinky promised! You’re going to get caught! said the disciplined side of me. Wait…but Mom doesn’t know that I ate one at the zoo! Rice crackers are going to help me grow taller too…. I opened the wooden door of the snack cabinet and gingerly took a single rice cracker out of its pack. I thought my idea was ingenious.
I was munching on that second rice cracker in my mom’s bedroom when it happened. We were looking at pictures from my trip to the zoo earlier that day. My head was only a little taller than her desk, so my mom had to bring the computer lower every time for me. She glanced down at the snack and said, “This is your first one, right?” I stood frozen beside her wooden cabinet full of books, staring rigidly at the sleeve of her light pink sweater, forgetting how to talk normally. “Tell the truth, Alana, tell the truth” in my mom’s voice was the mantra replaying in my head.
“Y-eah.” Too late, it slipped out of my mouth. Had the rice crackers possessed me to say this?
My first ever lie.
My mom looked at me, a bit suspicious, but continued scrolling through pictures from the zoo. I felt my cheeks burn when we reached the one of me imitating a penguin. And next, there it was. A picture of me eating a rice cracker in front of the primates exhibit filled my vision. This was the rice crackers’ revenge, I was certain. Maybe they didn’t like to be eaten. Maybe they wanted to break our unbreakable bond. Just the thought that they didn’t reciprocate my love for them made me feel empty inside. I had thought there wasn’t any evidence of the lie, until my mom brought the computer to my eye level. Her expression was now one of disappointment, and my heart started pounding harder than ever.
I burst into tears. I could feel the rice crackers’ delight at their potential fate of becoming a forbidden snack for me. Had they been plotting against me all along? They were pure evil! My reasons, you may ask? Number one: Deception! They’re called rice crackers, but don’t taste like actual rice! Can you believe that?! Number two: Control! They clearly possessed me to tell my first ever lie. How come I’ve never told a lie before, but when it’s relating to rice crackers a lie slips right out of my mouth? Number three: Deception! Oh wait, I already said that.
To my great surprise, my mom burst out laughing, snapping me out of my thoughts. She isn’t mad at me? I’ve successfully thwarted the rice crackers’ plans! Turns out my idea of taking the second rice cracker was ingenious after all: my mom thinks I’m funny!
“So…can I have a third?”
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The basement of the hospital smelled of sterile metal and a stale scent that made me slightly nauseous. This isn’t the morgue, right? I asked myself, nervous for the week ahead.
Lessons from the Dead
Reflections from Stanford Clinical Anatomy Program · 2026
The basement of the hospital smelled of sterile metal and a stale scent that made me slightly nauseous. This isn’t the morgue, right? I asked myself, nervous for the week ahead. I had no idea what I had signed myself up for. I was scared of blood, organs, corpses and practically every living creature; how was I going to make it through anatomy camp? Was Stanford really going to let high school students dissect cadavers?
One of the student scholars opened the heavy orange doors to a room full of metal tubs similar to sinks. I peered left of the crowd gathering in front, and saw beige cloths covering lumpy objects; needless to say, I was terrified for what I was about to see…maybe even touch. Each small group, Teams Heart, Lung and Brain, gathered around three separate tubs, where a pre-med student was waiting to give us instructions. My group and I exchanged nervous glances, but before I was able to mentally prepare myself, the cloth was lifted. Underneath lay several organs, which all were the same dull brown, as well as limbs stripped down to the muscle and nerves. My mind went blank, terrified to process the blurry scenes in front of me. Was I even capable of being a doctor? I forced myself to carefully observe each organ and limb, and while they were still unnerving, I could now recognize what I was seeing.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my classmates starting to straighten their blue rubber gloves and roll up their sleeves. It was going to happen. I was actually going to touch that… thing. I watched warily as a few of my classmates began to poke and prod at everything, holding a heart (literally) in their hands. When the lung was passed around to me, I felt a little wheezy holding what felt like a cold, clammy, loaf of bread in my hands—but after a moment, I realized it wasn’t too bad. The more I observed each body part, handled the cadavers, and learned about the anatomy from the student scholars, the more I could feel my logic coming back to me and my fascination growing.
After that first morning in the basement, each day went by faster than the last. The lectures only became more fascinating; the workshops and activities amazing; the surgical demonstrations brain chemistry altering.
But when I look back on the week I spent at CASP, what I remember most is being with the bodies. As we were examining the cadavers, poking and prodding as well as passing organs around, I found myself wondering about the ethics of handling cadavers. Were we—inexperienced high school students—in a position to handle these bodies? How could we truly treat cadavers with respect when it was difficult to even wrap our heads around the fact that they were parts of former humans, rather than lifeless objects in a lab? The articles and books that I had read on medical ethics felt increasingly real at this moment. But it was hard to define what was morally right and wrong when it came to medicine, as what might initially seem questionable still benefits much of society and innovation. Although I still felt uneasy about touching and observing objects that had once been essential to a living, breathing human being, I know that a new generation of medical professionals wouldn’t be able to gain valuable, hands-on experience with the human body unless they handled cadavers. And I suppose the people who decided to donate their body to science knew what they signed up for. Thanks to these unbelievably brave people, the medical field is able to advance further, benefiting all of us.
Before this summer, I had been intimidated by everything I had heard about med-school and residency: the low acceptance rate, the long years of studying, the endless night shifts. But now when I think of the life of a doctor, I think about something else—someone else. From the earliest days of human dissection when cadavers were rare and scandalous, to modern Western Medicine, human remains offer invaluable insights to medical professionals and those who aspire to walk that same path. I won’t forget these cadavers, these men and women whose final wishes opened the door to the medical world for me. Their generosity and their belief in science make the future of medicine possible.
News & Features
- Teacher, Physicist, Farmer: James Dann Does It AllBest of SNO · 2025 Every weekend he drives two hours to a ranch in Vacaville to plant olive trees and wire up solar panels. During the week he teaches applied science, and some nights he waits tables to help a friend's restaurant get off the ground.
- Menlo Introduces Green Ride WednesdaysBest of SNO · 2025 An agreement with the town caps the school's morning traffic at 627 trips. Wednesdays were averaging 637. The first Green Ride Wednesday came in at 439.
- Closer Conversations or Missing PerspectivesScholastic Honorable Mention · 2026 Two electives, one with three students and one with five. Teachers and students describe the same tradeoff from opposite sides: the conversation gets closer, and the range of views in the room gets narrower.
Op-Eds
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There’s always that one kid who runs into first period having just rolled out of bed. I’m that kid. It’s not laziness; our biological clocks have been rewired.
Starting school at a later time is essential for teens
San Jose Mercury News · January 2026
There’s always that one kid who runs into first period having just rolled out of bed. I’m that kid. It’s not laziness; our biological clocks have been rewired. Only one in ten American teenagers sleeps enough, and I bet your teen isn’t one of them.
This isn’t just a feeling most of us have. Research backs up the negative effects early wake up times have on our growth. Conversely, later start times are associated with higher attendance, reduced risk of car accidents, and improvements in students’ physical and mental health.
Sleep is not a luxury. It’s a necessity. In 2022, a California law mandated that high schools start at 8:30am, but that’s not enough. Schools across the nation must follow what science has made clear: the school-day should reflect students’ natural sleep cycles. We must give teens the foundation they need to succeed, both in and beyond the classroom.
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You’ve purchased their new school supplies, new shoes and notebooks. But have you talked with your kids about body image?
Encourage a positive body image in the age of social media
San Jose Mercury News · September 2024
You’ve purchased their new school supplies, new shoes and notebooks. But have you talked with your kids about body image? As the new school year begins, it’s crucial that adults in students’ lives address this pressing issue. Today’s students are constantly bombarded with images of stereotypically attractive and seemingly flawless individuals on social media, far more than previous generations. When society only elevates a narrow definition of beauty, it leads us to fixate on our perceived imperfections, intensifying feelings of inadequacy. According to the Eating Disorders Resource Center, 30% of girls and 16% of boys in American high schools struggle with disordered eating.
But food is fuel and nourishment and community. As students return to school, let’s foster a culture of conversation about body image at our dinner tables. By encouraging our kids to embrace their unique qualities and strengths, we not only build resilience in mind and body but also equip them to tackle the demands of the new academic year.
Independent Research
Multiple Paths to Healing:
A Narrative Review of Hippocratic, Traditional Chinese, Ayurvedic, and Modern Western Medical Traditions
- Compares four traditions side by side: Hippocratic, Ayurvedic, Traditional Chinese, and modern Western.
- Asks the same three questions of each — what it values, what it expects of the doctor, what it expects of the patient.
- Finds Greek medicine is where the West gets its habits of observation and ethics; Ayurveda and Chinese medicine organize around balance and prevention.
- Closes by asking what the older traditions could still offer a clinic today.
- Author
- Elaina Huang
- Journal
- Scholarly Review Journal
- Issue
- Scholarly Debut, Spring 2026
- Published
- March 30, 2026
- DOI
- 10.70121/001c.158297