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I honestly do not know how to start a piece like this one, stuff and so I will do it just like this, salve in my own style, a style that was, and is, shaped by many things, prominent among them learning the arts of Boabom and Yanbao over the past three and a half years. Learning an art is not an unsubstantial thing, and these arts are the only ones that I have ever learned, and so I have tried, with varying degrees of success, to do as well as I can in absorbing the principals and elements. I have heard many people say that “Life is like a…”. Well, now I come up with one of my own, “Life is like a feather, that falls on and on and on, battered by the wind, shaken by the cold, bleached by the sun. And yet, it survives, with many great tales to tell, until finally it alights upon the ground, until someone who wants to know more about the world, bends down, and picks it up again.” One of the greatest sights that my feather has seen is the art of Boabom, and I remember every single second of my first encounter with my teacher, at a summer camp in Brookline high school. The camp was terrible, but I have never, for an instant, regretted attending it. My feather will continue to drift for a little longer, and the Boabom wind will always warm my feather when the sun goes down.

Theo (Boabom North)