Dear Asian Youth, The first time I saw a Studio Ghibli movie was during my primary school’s film club. I was eight years old at the time and had no idea what to expect when a teacher began to play Hayao Miyazaki’s “Spirited Away” (2001). I was instantly captivated by the beauty of the animation and felt a connection with the protagonist, Chihiro. An inquisitive and whiny child? She and I were one and the same! But then, around twelve minutes in, Chihiro’s parents turned into massive pigs, and I -- along with a few of the other younger children in the film club -- screamed. That night, I made sure to be on my best behaviour around my mum, praying that she wouldn’t encounter the same fate and that I wouldn’t need to rescue her from the spirit world. Until I was about eleven, I avoided Studio Ghibli films, but one day my sister showed me “My Neighbor Totoro” (1988) and I adored it. Were all the Studio Ghibli films about multifaceted young girls who come into contact with powerful spirits? My sister soon convinced me to watch “Spirited Away” in its entirety, and I was hooked. Since then, my comfort movies have been Studio Ghibli films. Whether it was an epic adventure like “Castle in the Sky” (1986) or something a little more domestic but equally magical like “Ponyo” (2008), Studio Ghibli’s signature animation and musical scores are enchanting, the plots enthralling, and the characters believable in their unbelievable settings. I especially loved “Howl’s Moving Castle” (2004). A tax-evading, anti-war, androgynous wizard? Did I want to date Howl or be Howl? The jury’s still out on that one. At eighteen, I love these films even more than I did when I was younger. It’s partly because I’m no longer afraid of the more scary concepts in these films, but mostly because of nostalgia. It’s being whisked back to that same feeling I had when I was eleven, absorbed in different magical worlds which felt so much larger than my own. To quote Sophie in “Howl’s Moving Castle”, “It all seems so familiar yet I know I’ve never been here before. I feel so at home.” During exam season this year, I repeatedly watched “Arrietty” (2010) in the evenings to relax. The film follows Arrietty, a borrower who lives with her parents beneath a large house in the countryside. Monika Gobaira, in her analysis of Studio Ghibli’s allure, notes that the films “make magic out of the most ordinary moments,” and this is certainly true of “Arrietty”.[1] It’s calming to watch Arrietty simply wander through a garden or hang her washing. Around day five of the exam week, I started wondering what it was about this film that made me come back to it every night, rather than any of the other films I loved. Perhaps the stakes in “Howl’s Moving Castle” were too high for my brain to process at that time, and slice-of-life films like “Ocean Waves” (1993) were not fantastical enough. I realised that I was so fixated on “Arrietty” because it is a continuously optimistic ecological fantasy. In “Howl’s Moving Castle” and “Princess Mononoke” (1997), we see nature under fire and must wait for its magical resolution once human wars have ended. In “Arrietty”, however, nature is unthreatened as far as we can tell. Indeed, Sho, a young boy who befriends Arrietty, travels to his grandmother’s house, with its magnificent, dream-like garden, for rest and tranquility. It’s no wonder that Studio Ghibli films have a renewed appeal to young people when our generation is growing up during the new wave of global climate activism. More and more young people are raising awareness about the climate crisis, speaking about how it has affected them and their families, donating to environmental causes around the world, and demanding that their representatives combat these issues with more than empty promises. Corporations put much of the onus on consumers to make eco-friendly choices (it was British Petroleum that popularised the concept of the individual “carbon footprint” [2]), rather than taking responsibility for the tonnes of waste and fumes they produce. In 2017, the Carbon Majors Report found that just 100 companies are responsible for more than 70% of global emissions since 1988, but we have yet to see a reduction in global emissions despite companies claiming to commit to a greener agenda.[3&4] Resultantly, individuals have become accustomed to environmental anxiety and guilt. It is true that we all have our part to play, but the average person should obviously not be held to a higher standard of accountability than oil giants or politicians who fly to environmental summits in private jets. So which young person wouldn’t yearn a little for escapism in a fantasy world with a hopeful ending? In 2020, environmental anxiety and a desire for escapism during a global pandemic manifested itself in different trends: for example, the increasing popularity of the “cottagecore” aesthetic. In their discussion of the aesthetic, Didi Aphra says that cottagecore “is a rural life romanticized. Think cottages in the woods, gardening, [...] baking bread, sustainability.”[5] It’s understandable why this might seem especially appealing to those locked down in cities during the pandemic. Turn to sub-genres of cottagecore such as “witchcore” and “fairycore”, and you’ll find cottages and forests with a more explicit magical touch, maybe some ancient scrolls and nature spirits here or there. Something out of a Studio Ghibli film. But whose rural life is being romanticised? If we were to try to live this fantasy, whose land becomes the pastoral backdrop? In their article, “Cottagecore, colonialism and the far-right”, Claire Ollivain notes that this “fantasy of escaping to an idyllic life on a farm has roots in the cultural division of the urban and the rural”, which has often been weaponised by the far-right and colonial regimes around the world.[6] Ollivain writes that this fantasy “carries with it the colonial assumption that land is “up for grabs””, and that “it is important that we are aware of its historical precedents and how it might be weaponised by the far-right, particularly given the rise of eco-fascist rhetoric in recent years.” In the article, Ollivain says that the cottagecore aesthetic evokes memories of watching Studio Ghibli films, which prompted me to reassess my own infatuation with animated eco-fantasies. Studio Ghibli films, though, often examine and challenge the utopic eco-fantasy, inviting viewers to face realities of environmental destruction through its magical epics. In “Princess Mononoke”, for example, we first meet the protagonist, Ashitaka, as he rides through lush green fields, which he must defend against a demon. This demon, born from a ball of iron, consumes and kills a nature god and Ashitaka. From its beginning, the film highlights the damaging impact of industrialisation on both nature and humans. “Howl’s Moving Castle” also presents us with stunning natural landscapes threatened by humans. There are shots of flowery fields, tranquil lakes and towering mountains, but these scenes are disturbed by warships, reminding the audience of the man-made destruction looming over nature. Howl is disgusted by the loss of life and destruction of land on both sides, and rightfully places blame on the ruling class -- royalty, their advisors, and politicians. As I stated previously, Howl’s sentiments about environmental responsibility are relevant to our world too. In 2015, research by Oxfam showed that the richest 10% of the world population are responsible for around half of all carbon emissions, while the poorest half of the world’s population is responsible for 10% of carbon emissions but are the worst affected by the climate crisis.[7] I am thankful that both “Princess Mononoke” and “Howl’s Moving Castle” have optimistic endings, where nature is magically healed. Rewatching these films has ultimately felt therapeutic because they are so hopeful. In the past year and a half, when everybody’s lives were changed, I have found some solace in revisiting these small snippets of my childhood and early adolescence. Most importantly, though, these films have encouraged me to face my own environmental anxieties rather than running from them, and think about what I can do to better protect the planet. – Uma Biswas-Whittaker References 1: Monika Gobaira. “Why Studio Ghibli Movies Feel Like a Dream.” Youtube. 9th July 2020. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kRrZb-YRWxg 2: Mark Kaufman. “The Carbon Footprint Sham.” Mashable. https://mashable.com/feature/carbon-footprint-pr-campaign-sham/?europe=true 3: Tess Riley, “Just 100 companies responsible for 71% of global emissions, study says.” Guardian. 10th July 2017. https://www.theguardian.com/sustainable-business/2017/jul/10/100-fossil-fuel-companies-investors-responsible-71-global-emissions-cdp-study-climate-change 4: Hannah Ritchie, Max Roser, “CO2 emissions.” Our World in Data. https://ourworldindata.org/co2-emissions 5: Didi Aphra, “Cultural Erasure in Cottagecore.” https://didiaphra.wordpress.com/2020/09/05/cultural-erasure-in-cottagecore/ 6: Claire Ollivain, “Cottagecore, colonialism and the far-right.” Honi Soit. https://honisoit.com/2020/09/cottagecore-colonialism-and-the-far-right/ 7: Simon Hernandez-Arthur et. al, “World’s richest 10% produce half of carbon emissions while poorest 3.5 billion account for just a tenth.” Oxfam. 2nd December 2015. https://www.oxfam.org/en/press-releases/worlds-richest-10-produce-half-carbon-emissions-while-poorest-35-billion-account Editors: Simran G, Joyce P, Maddy M-B Cover Photo Source: Sister Geeks

TW: Eating Disorders, Body Dysmorphia, Numbers woe betides patriarchy the day a woman feels comfortable in her own skin I feel as if I’m only able to talk about my story when the experience is over, when I’ve detached from the moment, leaving it in the past. I’ve never spoken up in the presence of the event because I feel unsafe in my skin. It’s terrible—that feeling—insecurity, self-consciousness, and smallness. A lump in your throat grows while your confidence shrinks. I hate that. I am not supposed to feel that way. Nobody deserves to feel the pain of having to wear their skin when they wake up in the morning. Nobody deserves the cold sweats of panic in the middle of the night when they realize that your nightmare might just become a reality. Maybe it already has. Nobody deserves to be told how to act when the other person doesn't understand you or when they have never heard your story, your sentences, your words. Fourth grade. My first crop top—big blue butterfly with green sparkles, sequins, and a polyester-cotton blend that stuck to my sweaty skin in the hot summer. Purple and teal tie-dye skirt. A colorful ensemble for a colorful girl. However, all it took was one comment about my body to drain the color from my heart and replace it with the reddest rouge of embarrassment on my cheeks. Red became my most dreaded color from then on, everywhere red. I got my period that same year; I was told to hush about it, though—God forbid a young boy would have his ears tainted by learning about the female reproductive system. Fifth grade. That school field trip was my first time without my mother. I kept my period so much of a secret that neither the school nurse nor my friends knew because what ten-year-old has a period? As I type this now, six years later, my fingers are stiff. My brain does not want me to write this down because I still feel embarrassed; I really do. I am scared that the people I know will find my words and invalidate my story, and it will all be for nothing. The same nothingness floods my brain five seconds after I cringe at the word “period”, knowing I was nurtured to reject my own womanhood. All these secrets I keep to myself; all these secrets that burned me down, all fire, all red, everything is done and still more to be said. I had never been insecure about my thighs before that Buzzfeed video came out, where "Men Say What They Secretly Think of Thigh Gaps.” The video was not particularly negative, and I suppose it was partly my fault for snooping around on Youtube in fifth grade. Still, the fact that the video now has over 12.5 million views shows how much we care about what men think of our bodies. Even I, a fifth grader who did not know what a thigh gap was, watched that Buzzfeed video and immediately googled how to get that desirable thigh gap. That’s where the sleepless nights started. I’d exercise in the night, in the morning, in the afternoon, and the evening. My family was overjoyed at the sudden increase in my physical activity; they mistook my insecurities for an effort to become healthy. They’d say I turned over a new leaf. In reality, I just burned all the leaves I owned for fuel. I starved myself and had nothing to run on, squat on, or do my ab crunches on. I counted my calories; at my lowest, I managed to average 600 kcals a day when my parents could not monitor everything I ate. I threw away food my mom worked hard to make. I threw away my happiness to have a tiny waist. In pictures, my posture was sickly as I bent my back forwards and pushed my knees backward to achieve any slight thigh gap. My parents wondered where all the cellophane wrap from the pantry went. Little did they know that underneath my jeans, my thighs were wrapped in the tight plastic, smeared with Vicks Vapor Rub, a cellulite reducing remedy I found on the internet (which didn’t work, by the way). I worked myself to the bone. I worked myself until I became nothing but bones. When I was in seventh grade, and my mother called me “too skinny” for the first time, I felt euphoria. Three years it took, from fourth grade when a girl one foot shorter than me would tell me that I was too big to play with her and her friends on the swingset, to seventh grade where girls would stick their hands into my collarbones and say they would die for a bone structure like mine. Three years it took, and my stomach stayed sucked into my ribcage. Three years it took, and I lost my period, my one tie to womanhood. I was called a self-diagnosed victim. I was gaslighted into thinking that I was wrong for feeling anger when boys would send pictures I did not ask for and test out phrases that I did not invite upon myself. I know boys and men who think women are objects and have said so themselves, yet they have mothers and sisters who fight this discrimination every day. They think it’s okay, and if they do end up reading these words, they’ll know who they are. Same to the people who say that 97% of all young women who are sexually harassed is an inaccurate percentage. It could be 97% or 79% or 17% or 99%; all we know is that it is not 0%. For those who say not all men, yeah, maybe. But it’s definitely almost all women. Such a high amount shouldn’t seem impossible anymore when it could include your family, friends, peers, and yourself. Because I know that it includes myself. I now sit criss-cross upon my bed; it’s three in the morning. Today is a Monday, and my alarm clock is set for 5:30 AM. I will wake up and exercise and eat a single egg for breakfast, but maybe today, I will add an extra teaspoon of olive oil to my egg when I cook it. - Prerna Kulkarni Cover Photo Source: The New York Times

TW // Racism, Death Dear Asian Youth, Over the past year and a half, the world has reawakened and ushered in a new light of hope and perseverance for equality. As a society, we have witnessed growth, appreciation, and most of all, justice. This has been most evident in racial groups, particularly with increased advocacy for Black and Asian lives across the globe. With the usage of widespread education, recognized power in individual voices, and the intolerance for injustice, numerous people have begun to understand why their racist actions will no longer be tolerated or accepted by those around them. We have had countless celebrities, influencers, authors, major companies, and other people with powerful positions explain why it is so crucial to care for everyone, especially Black and Asian people. It is also so refreshing to see many individuals who are not people of color come together and educate their target audience to not spread hate and violence to these racial groups and other people of color. Not only are they influencing how to combat hate, but also what to do and say in retaliation to those who continue to racially target people of color. The Instagram account @Soyouwanttotalkabout, one that was created in February 2020, with posts ranging in content to inform the general public of important issues going on in the world. The account gained much traction, shares, and likes in June 2020, during the uprising of retaliation against the police regarding the death of George Floyd. This account has brought much attention to racially-driven hate crimes, issues regarding race, and the trauma people of color face. More accounts have trailed in the footsteps of @Soyouwanttotalkabout, incorporating the same messages and lessons into their feeds as well, spreading the information further. Whether or not their original intention was to talk about race as a primary point of information, many powerful people in the media are coming together to spread awareness and acceptance of Asians and other people of color, and hold those who continue to spread hate crimes accountable. While the hate for Asian Americans and Pacific Islanders has surfaced more recently than that of the hate for Black lives, every group is being represented more and more every day. The world acknowledging their-our existence is vital. Our voices need to be heard, and it is a victory that many people of older generations are so happy to hear that we are doing. This is especially important since AAPI hate has been going on for decades, but it has not always been as obvious as the blatant racism that Black people have faced for centuries. Although we still have a long, long way to go, seeing the progress made by people every day is helping many people of color get through each day with a sense of hope. As mentioned before, many people — including those who are not AAPI — have been using their voices to speak up for the AAPI community. However, there have also been instances where Asian Americans, Pacific Islanders, and Black people and African Americans have done what I personally like to call “subtle representation.” What I have noticed on social media is that many people — the majority of whom are extremely supportive and advocate for AAPIs otherwise as well — tend to show more support for people of color than usual when it comes to “awards season.” For hugely popular award shows, such as the Golden Globes, the Grammy Awards, The Critics’ Choice Awards, and most notably, the Academy Awards, most commonly referred to as “The Oscars,” this is the most apparent. These shows happen when many people gather to celebrate their favorite actors, directors, and screenwriters alongside many others in the film industry to recognize the remarkable achievements made in film every year. These shows are also known highly for the glitz and glamour, and of course, the beautiful outfits. In years past, these shows have been labeled as “rigged” by a large percentage of people, as they began to realize that many people of color were not being recognized by the Major Motion Picture Association (MMPA), “The Academy” who counts the award nominees for the Academy Awards, and other boards who decide what and who will be nominated for these accolades. According to an article from Financial Times, “In 2019, ethnic minorities made up just over 40 percent of the US population, 33 percent of mainstream film roles, and just 17 percent of Oscars nominees in the five years since 2016 — an underrepresentation ratio of more than two to one.” This is a photo of the statistic from the article: Cont: “One of the reasons put forward for this is that the membership of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts & Sciences is itself overwhelmingly white and male. The Academy has more than 7,000 members, and even though it has ramped up its invitation rates and added a more diverse field every year in the past decade, the small number of new recruits relative to the existing membership means progress is slow.However, the problem goes beyond awards. Minorities are under-represented among all mainstream actors in Hollywood. The representation gap is closing, but at the current rate it would take about seven years for non-white actors to get lead roles in major movies in proportion to their share of the US population” (The Oscars diversity problem in charts, 2020). This has sparked outrage over the years that have led many people, including myself, to stop watching these hugely popular award shows altogether. Recently, however, many people of color have been recognized for their achievements in film and television, particularly actors and actresses. In terms of Academy Awards, these nominations include, but are not limited to: Viola Davis for Best Actress for “Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom” (2020), both Daniel Kaluuya and LaKeith Stanfield for Best Supporting Actor for “Judas and the Black Messiah” (2021), and Riz Ahmed for Best Actor for “Sound of Metal” (2019), as well as Steven Yeun for “Minari” (2020), and the late Chadwick Boseman for “Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom” (2020). Noticeably, there are many people of color being honored for their work in film. Although, that’s surprisingly not the end of the representation. Many may know about the film “Nomadland” (2020), which was recently nominated for the category of Best Feature Film at the Academy Awards. However, not many people think about the writer and director behind the film, Chloé Zhao. Zhao is a Chinese filmmaker who rose to fame after her debut film, “Songs my Brothers Taught Me” (2015), which is about a boy named Johnny and his sister Jashuan who live with their single mother on a reservation. This film showcased Zhao’s talent and ability to provide voices to underrepresented groups such as Indigenous people and Native Americans. According to an article from Vogue, titled, “How Chloé Zhao Reinvented the Western,” Zhao became known as the person who brought back the audience's love of Western films, after her next film, “Rider” (2017), about a cowboy who almost suffers a near-death experience after an accident while horseback riding. John Powers, the author of the Vogue article, stated “Indeed, what drives Zhao’s film forward is a question of identity: If he can’t ride—if he’s been stripped of the work that provides a sense of purpose and dignity to his life—who is he?” (Powers 2018). The success of these two films allowed Zhao to explore new territory. After shining the spotlight on Indigenous people and cowboys, she then presented audiences with her latest film, “Nomadland” (2020). “Nomadland” (2020) is a film about a woman in her sixties named Fern (portrayed by acclaimed actress Frances McDormand) who loses everything she has during the Great Recession and travels around in her van, living out her days as a modern-day nomad. This premise is quite interesting, as many modern-day audiences do not know about the lives of nomads, myself included. After watching the film, I learned a bit more about nomads and got to see how they live their daily lives. The character the film focuses on the most is that of Fern. As an audience member, you are treated to scenes where Fern goes through different environments and situations, with her head held high and always quick to explain why she lives the nomad lifestyle. While Frances McDormand is not a nomad herself in real life, Zhao casted real-life nomads, including Swankie, Bob Wells, and Linda May, all of whom make frequent appearances in the film, offering insight to Fern on the ways of living “the nomad life” and exploring your potential. Chloé Zhao has been able to make many films showcasing her range in subject matter and her attention to underrepresented groups. I had not heard of Zhao’s previous work prior to watching “Nomadland” (2020) for the first time. Upon a second viewing and additional research, I discovered that “Zhao shot the delicate road movie “Nomadland” in secret even as she tackled Hollywood’s biggest franchise machine,” according to an article from IndieWire in 2020 written by Eric Kohn. This proved Zhao’s passion for the subject and her drive to represent nomads in today’s modern day and age. After watching the film on Hulu a few times, I then made it a point to watch the Golden Globe awards this year and see what was in store for “Nomadland” (2020). Since the word about the amount of nominations for the film was going around, I thought I would check out the awards show, which I had not revisited for almost four years. It was then where I saw all of the nominees for each “huge” category, such as Best Actor, Best Actress, Best Director, and Best Motion Picture (in a specific category). I was excited to see Chloé Zhao win an award, no matter what category it was for. I watched through each category, one by one, and I couldn’t believe the amount of times I heard the words “Nomadland” and “Chloé Zhao” one after another. At the end of the award show, Chloé Zhao won three Golden Globe awards. One for Best Screenplay of a Motion Picture, one for Best Director of a Motion Picture, and the third for Best Motion Picture, Drama. The achievements Zhao has made so far in her life have led her to this point. These were her first major award wins, and since the Golden Globe award ceremony was filmed socially-distant from all of the stars, she accepted all of these awards in her pajamas, her hair donned in braids. At some points when the presenters called her name, Zhao was distracted almost entirely, looking at desktop and doing a double-take at her camera, her hand covering her agape mouth. Her reactions, which were quite innocent and child-like, ended up rather mature as she humbly accepted her awards, providing a speech for each win. During times of hate and injustice, it is important for modern day audiences and people of all walks of life to find common ground with one another and celebrate what makes us who we are. One of the most clever albeit sneaky methods of getting people to connect with one another in terms of ending hatred of racial groups, particularly AAPI, is through film and television. Many people have an affinity and appreciation for Asian culture, but understanding the roots of where people come from, the significance of what they are passionate about, and how we can all evolve no matter who we think we are or where we come from can truly change our perspective on one another. With a career led by passion, a power for representation and the ability to provide a voice for underrepresented groups, writer, director, producer, and filmmaker Chloé Zhao was able to provide representation for many people in her career, highlighting her passions and constantly evolving her strength as a filmmaker. Simultaneously, the advancements in her career and her success with “Nomadland” (2020) helped her become an unstoppable tour de force, and it provided representation for her and other Asian Americans as well, who really need a figure in their lives that they can look up to and represents them on and off screen. - Meghan Dhawan Cover Photo Source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nomadland_(film)

TW: Implied self harm i. dead night, hollow desk. your lamp is a tacit limelight, the paper in front of you is a death sentence in graphite, and you— a complacent paper puppeteer strung stung slumped over artificial light and a dull dull itch ii. in your veins, nausea, seasick, sickling selfish 1AMs, yeses, i love yous and of courses. retractable box cutter. liquid on the cold white tiles. – iii. top of the morning! routines keep you grounded: water fruit (fresh) eraser shavings yesterday’s trash to the unused side of the table iv. gratification? easy. eyes out for the green light in every nook and cranny— yes. excellent. of course! ‘well written’, ‘brilliant’,  ‘A*’ like morphine on a page. v. back pain past 3 PM – past the last ‘exit meeting’, the nausea oozes in, air dense with molding dusk. sedated static haunting gnawing up your spine. slow burn wading through feverish quicksand, the ceiling sinking into your wire sling neck— and the twisted spine that runs beneath you, holding you to attention, compelling you to feel the emptiness, look it in the eye. look at yourself. vi. st. andrews because you don’t dare ask for more. shy a euphemism for spineless. dead fish eyes chained to green lights: satisfaction of knowing the rules, even as the last summer that matters slips through your fingers. vii. deadbeat wire balladeer, how you long to break. like chalk, like release, till powder grates up your throat ix. to unfurl, like petals, soft, yielding, to yearn for nothing keeping you standing, to feel the searing, intoxicating emptiness of the wire’s leave from your flesh, to walk on burning sand, and dissolve when morning comes— spineless, fearless Senior year crept up silently, and graduation will soon. This piece is a collection of ruminations and little scenes so numbing that they become lasting states of mind: the light of the late night computer screen, the familiar neck ache, the papers and dust piling up. Is this really how the last years of highschool should be spent? Spineless – for being afraid to leave the toxic comfort zone you’ve created, being afraid to look for happiness outside routine validation and praise. Spineless – for killing your body over trivial years that span less than a fifth of your life. Or maybe, it’s not too late for the kind of spineless I’d like to be – unconfined by the rigid structures I’ve curled into, bent myself out of shape for. Maybe if we learn to let go, we’ll know how to be at peace after a long time. Cover Photo Source: https://www.lensculture.com/projects/1061076-synthetic-isolation

Content Warning: Mentions of r*pe, and incest On June 24, 2022, the United States Supreme Court overturned Roe v. Wade, effectively stripping women of their federal protection and right to abortion. This ruling came a month after Justice Samuel Alito's draft opinion was circulated, leaked, and eventually published on Politico. In his initial draft opinion, it was revealed that the court had voted to overturn the 1973 ruling calling Roe "egregiously wrong" and then writes saying that there is no constitutional right to seek an abortion. Based on the draft, it was evident that Alito's companions: Justices Clarence Thomas, Neil Gorsuch, Brett Kavanaugh, and Amy Coney Barrett were all in favor of throwing Roe out. Though draft opinions are not final decisions, the sweeping 6-3 conservative majority stayed true to the leaked document. Within the hour of the ruling, abortion opponents and supporters descended upon the Supreme Court's steps. Some denounced the ruling while others played celebratory music. Whether there are tears of joy, anger, or fear, many women in "trigger law" states had their right to an abortion stripped away. Now, women must look for alternatives and many of them are easier said than done. Adoption may be one of those alternatives, but it is not the solution. A common argument for anti-abortion supporters is that life begins at conception, and in the event, the mother cannot care for the child - just put the baby up for adoption. These advocates see adoption as the better alternative for women who cannot or do not want to support a baby. Elizabeth Bartholet, a law professor at Harvard University and an outspoken advocate of adoption, said, "It’s ridiculous to say it’s no problem to eliminate abortion — just place the kids for adoption." However, to just "place the kids for adoption" oversimplifies the implications of the process of forced childbirth and adoption. The act of carrying a pregnancy to term and giving birth isn't an easy task, and adoption isn't exactly an easy choice. Based on a 2017 study conducted by Gretchen Sisson, a sociologist at the University of California, San Francisco, 91% of women who were forced to carry to term decided to parent. Only 0.5% of births in the US currently end in adoption and birth mothers who chose to give their babies up report feeling anxiety, depression, and grief. According to that study, financial strain appears to be the major reason to give a child up for adoption, not because it was the first choice. Sisson discovered from adoption agencies that women who relinquished their babies for adoption were in their twenties, receiving public welfare, and earning less than $5000 a year. These women were also more likely to be people of color and unmarried. Another study that Sisson conducted in 2015 also supported the notion that women would have preferred to parent their babies but due to financial instability, they felt that adoption was the only viable option for them. Adoption may seem like a viable option for some women, and it will be, but it won't be one for all women. Contrary to Justice Amy Comey Barrett's beliefs, who is an adoptive mother herself, adoption isn't the end-all-be-all solution to prevent abortions. "It’s just not the reality," said Ashley Brink, manager of a clinic operated by the abortion-rights group Trust Women in Wichita, Kansas. "It’s undermining people’s decisions and choices and ability to control their lives and their futures." Pro-life supporters frame adoption as a win-win for mother and child, when in reality it is anything but. Adoption can be traumatic for birthmothers like Hunter or Bri C. and they experience extreme grief and anxiety after putting their child up for adoption. "It threw me completely off. I didn't know what to do with my life anymore. So many times after visits, I would go home and cry until I burst blood vessels in my eyes," she said. Not to mention, adoption can be a traumatic life-long experience for adoptees as well. "Relinquishment is traumatic for adoptees, even for adoptees who had a good adoption experience," said Joanne Bagshaw, a psychology professor at Montgomery College in Maryland who also works as a therapist with other adoptees. Her adoptee clients often tell her that they deal with "lifelong issues of feeling abandoned,” as well as “a lifelong search for identity." Women choose abortion over adoption because for some, carrying a pregnancy to term could be fatal, and for others, they believe that they shouldn't have to carry a child they do not want, especially in the instance of rape or incest. Some studies have even shown that for some women, abortion is safer than childbirth. Researchers discovered that women were about 14 times more likely to die during or after giving birth to a live baby than to die from complications of an abortion, and these findings directly contradict some state laws that imply that abortions are high-risk procedures. These findings are also significant because according to The Commonwealth Fund, the US has the highest maternal mortality rate among developed countries. Not only that, but another study from the Center for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) found that black women are also three to four times more likely to die during childbirth than their white counterparts. Although pregnancy discrimination is illegal, it remains widespread. Natalie Kitroeff and Jessica Silver-Greenberg wrote in a 2018 investigation, "Many of the country’s largest and most prestigious companies still systematically sideline pregnant women." Another study by Guttmacher conducted in the early 2000s revealed that one-third of women seeking abortions considered adoption taboo concluding that "it was a morally unconscionable option because giving one’s child away is wrong." I was adopted from China in 2005. The province that I was from, Jiangxi, restricted abortion access in 2018. Guidelines stated that women more than fourteen weeks into their pregnancy must get signatures from at least three medical professionals approving that an abortion is medically needed. Otherwise, those women must carry the pregnancy to term. These guidelines come after Chinese officials search for ways to deal with an aging population and low fertility rates as a result of China's decades-long one-child policy. Chinese women voiced concerns about these guidelines, one user on Weibo wrote, "What is the purpose and basis of this policy? The reproductive rights of women in this country seem to be a joke." These remarks eerily mirror what abortion advocates in the US have been saying since Alito's draft opinion was released. People sometimes ask me, "Aren't you happy that you were adopted?" or they tell me I should be grateful that my birth mother in China decided to carry out her pregnancy. In all reality, abortion and adoption aren’t black-and-white issues, and either choice isn't an easy one for a woman to make. "Adoption is a very hard decision, and I think a lot of women know that intuitively. And our research on women who do relinquish their parental rights shows that this is not an easy choice, and it has a lot of adverse outcomes," Sisson said. "We see a lot of grief, a lot of mourning, a lot of trauma for the women who go through relinquishments." My birth mother chose to give birth to me, and for that, I am grateful because I'm living an amazing life in America with my parents. However, if she chose to terminate her pregnancy, it wouldn't matter to me because I wouldn't be here and she would've made the best choice for herself. The root of this argument isn't about adoption versus abortion. It's based on women's personal autonomy and their right to privacy. A woman's choices about her body is her own business and no one else's. Women need more choices, not fewer. Both adoption and abortion are life-changing choices that shouldn't be dictated by anyone else but that woman. Whether a woman is willing to carry out a pregnancy to term, in any circumstance, or if she wants to get an abortion, it is her choice. The Guttermach study showed that 74 percent of women sought an abortion due to education or work responsibilities, 73 percent couldn't afford a child, and 48 percent didn't want to be a single mother. The reasons for a woman getting an abortion can be multiple, diverse, and often interrelated to each other based on that woman's situation. Women who choose adoption should have the power over their reproductive rights without financial limitations. Adoption will be the answer for some but, it won't and it can't be the only option. Either way, pro-life or pro-choice, political promotion of adoption in lieu of abortion is unfounded in the reality of a woman's bodily autonomy. Editors: Amshu V., Siyeon P., Chris Fong Chew, Hailey H. Photo Credits: Amanda Andrade-Rhoades / For The Washington Post via Getty Images file

My pillow is soaked. It’s Friday, March 5, 2021. The title credits are rolling, but a steady stream of tears blurs my vision. I’ve just finished watching Raya and the Last Dragon, and it shook me to my core. Throughout the movie’s progression, I had been updating some of my friends via text, sharing my reaction to the film through periodic, nonsensical messages: update: not even 20 minutes in and i’m crying OH MY GOD, I’M TORN APART RN this movie makes me so emotional I’M A MESS the tears are actually streaming down my face Inspired by my incomprehensible keyboard gibberish, one of my friends decided to open up Disney+ and see what all the hype was about. Sure enough, two hours—and one animated movie—later, she replied: ok, justine’s just soft Her brutal honesty made me laugh. She wasn’t wrong; the movie had beautiful animation and a compelling story, but it wasn’t perfect. I hadn’t expected it to elicit such a strong emotional response. Perhaps it was the incomprehensible joy of seeing visual representation on screen—after 18 years on this planet, gazing upon a screen and seeing a strong, multi-dimensional character who embodied more than a racial trope. For the first time in my life, I saw a character who actually looked like me: a character whose skin is the same shade of brown, whose nose slopes just like mine, and whose eyes are the same eyes that stare back at me whenever I view my reflection in the mirror. I know the power that representation holds, especially to those deprived of it their entire lives. However, I couldn’t shake a nagging feeling that the tears induced by watching Raya and the Last Dragon were more than just from representation in mainstream media. They reflected a much larger phenomenon, yet I couldn’t paint an accurate picture of what it was, no matter how hard I tried. For a while, the feeling went unplaced. As the days passed, the magic from Raya and the Last Dragon began to dissipate. After all, the world of Kumandra, filled with dragons, con babies, and cute, transportable pillbug/armadillo/pug hybrids—a world that celebrates Asian culture—is not our reality. I, a young Filipina surrounded by people with hair and skin lighter than mine, have to face the fact that very few of my friends could ever truly understand this film’s impact on my heart. Many of them aren’t Asian; they don’t have the cultural background to gain a deeper insight into Raya and the Last Dragon. They may understand its plot, but they can easily overlook the implications this movie holds for the world we live in. Have you ever heard about the hero’s journey? It’s the basis of any good Disney movie, including Raya and the Last Dragon. Every compelling story has several characteristics in common: The hero. The enemy. The motive. The quest. The triumph. The happy ending. Having grown up with an appreciation for animated films, I vicariously lived through such stories. After all, reality is boring. This universe doesn’t have Greek gods with flaming blue hair or demigods that can shapeshift into any creature with the assistance of a magical hook. Planet Earth doesn’t have witches, talking animals, or magical spells. There are no monsters or terrible entities that turn everything they touch into ash and stone, like the Druun from Raya and the Last Dragon. But what if the monsters of this world don’t necessarily have a physical form? Sure, Raya is skilled with a blade, but how can someone like me vanquish racism, a threat that doesn’t take on a tangible form? Racism is embedded in every aspect of society. This monster is all around us. It’s in the kids who squint their eyes and slant their eyelids on the playground. It’s in the students who invalidate the accomplishments of their Asian peers, chalking up their achievements to heritage instead of work ethic. It’s in the people who tell me my face is too flat, my food is too strange, and my heritage is too weird for me to ever fit in. Not even two weeks after Raya and the Last Dragon’s release date, a man murdered eight people at various Asian-run massage spas and parlors in Atlanta, Georgia—and six of the victims were Asian women. Eight bright lights were unjustly extinguished. Cherokee County sheriff Jay Baker tried to chalk it up to a “bad day.” The perpetrator attempted to play it off as a proactive measure to “eliminate” a “temptation” stemming from his “sex addiction.” But call it what it was: premeditated murder. A hate crime. An act of racism against the Asian community. The gunman who killed these innocent people wasn’t just having a “bad day.” He deliberately drove to each location and purposefully fired each fatal bullet. What if I’m next? In the middle of a global pandemic, I’m trying to navigate my senior year of high school. I’m scared of what COVID-19 bodes for the future. I’m scared of my loved ones being the next victims of Asian hate. I’m terrified of being a statistic, of having my life reduced to a number or a factoid, and of my humanity being taken away from me more than it already has been. On top of being a woman, I am Asian and thus must also battle being fetishized, alienized, and otherized by white males who view Asian women as sexual objects. Fetishization is still racism, and racism is never acceptable. Real-life is rarely as clear-cut as fiction. In the twenty-first century, we’ve learned to live alongside racism—even accept it. The people terrorized by it are too scared to fight back, and those unscathed may even benefit from it. Some people don’t want to see this monster defeated. Some people don’t even believe it exists. Some people cheer the monster on. Some people are fighting each other instead of the monster. One aspect of the hero’s journey that often goes overlooked is the ally. Within Raya and the Last Dragon, Raya meets many people along her quest to vanquish the Druun for good: Sisu, the last dragon of Kumandra; Boun, the young boat captain from the tribe of Tail; Tong, the last man from the village of Spine; and Noi, the young toddler from Talon who, despite her young age, resorted to theft to survive. However, the ally who stuck out to me the most was Namaari from Fang, a young woman who, six years earlier, betrayed Raya’s friendship and inadvertently unleashed the Druun upon the world. Raya and Namaari were born into a world that pitted them against each other from the moment they were born. Kumandra was divided into five different tribes: “Tail. A sweltering desert with sneaky mercenaries who fight dirty. Talon. A floating market famous for fast deals and fighters with even faster hands. Spine. A frigid bamboo forest guarded by exceptionally large warriors and their giant axes. Fang. A nation protected by angry assassins and their even angrier cats. Heart. A land filled with lush rainforests and a peace-loving community.” These lands were different entities, with their own respective cultures and ways of life. However, they had forgotten that they were once whole. They had forgotten what they used to be. Namaari had betrayed Raya because she cared about her people’s wellbeing. Yet in doing so, she forgot that Raya was one of “her people,” too. Conversely, Raya’s rage and resentment from Namaari’s betrayal almost blinded her to the true monster: the Druun, which had turned Raya’s father to stone. Ultimately, the cultural tension between Raya and Namaari highlights the dangers of a divided world, more than any Disney movie from the past. Raya and the Last Dragon is the first movie featuring a main character of Southeast Asian descent. Thus, it primarily focuses on showcasing the beauty and richness of Southeast Asian culture. Yet the story, to a deeper extent, mirrors the need for Asian and Black solidarity. The coronavirus pandemic helped me realize my privilege as an Asian American relative to African Americans. Now, I have begun to understand the pain that the Black community has undergone for centuries. Every time I see a headline on the news about yet another attack against Asians, every time I force myself to view the battered face of a man or woman brutally subjected to unjustified violence, I see the faces of my mom and dad. I see the faces of my aunts and uncles, cousins, and grandparents. I see my face. I can’t fool myself anymore. Each of the victims could have been me. It is essential to note the prevalence of anti-Blackness within the Asian community. Both Asian and African American groups have taken inspiration from each other in the past, working together to further collective racial justice. In 1968, UC Berkeley students coined the term “Asian American,” drawing from the Black Power Movement. Activists such as Yuri Kochiyama and Grace Lee Boggs actively advocated for Black social justice movements and incorporated Black radical frameworks into Asian American liberation. In the late ‘60s, Asian American students allied with Black student organizers, partaking in the Third World Liberation Front and paving the way for equal education opportunities and ethnic studies programs. However, the relationship between the Asian and Black communities is still fraught with tension. History reveals that we have had a hand in perpetuating racist sentiments against our Black brothers and sisters. In 1991, fifteen-year-old Latasha Harlins walked into Empire Liquor Market and Deli and never made it out alive. She was shot in the back of the head over a $1.79 bottle of orange juice. It didn’t matter that she had $2 in her hand. It didn’t matter that she had no intentions of stealing. What mattered was that she was Black. What matters is that the store owner who killed her—a Korean woman—was only given probation. In that same month, Rodney King, an African American man, was savagely beaten by four policemen before a crowd of onlookers. All four men were acquitted. The injustice of the American justice system was the tipping point for many: in attacks collectively known as the Los Angeles Riots of 1992, the Black community exploded in anger. For six days, they pillaged and looted, primarily laying waste to Korean businesses. Don’t misconstrue my words. There is no excusing this behavior, but I can empathize. It’s been thirty years since Latasha Harlins was killed. It’s been thirty years since Rodney King was repeatedly kicked and struck with batons in a public street, but Black men and women are still being killed. It’s been thirty years, and not much has changed. Racial inequality persists. The heart of the monster is still beating strong. The Black community is still hurting, and we—the “model minority”—have remained largely complicit. Many of us have stood by, watching from afar. When Derek Chauvin suffocated George Floyd in 2020, Tou Thao, a fellow police officer, did just that. He stood by. He watched. He enabled the monster, and in doing so, he allowed it to triumph. The model minority myth is yet another force that divides us. “Asians have experienced racism, but they’ve worked so hard, they’ve been able to overcome adversity and achieve the American Dream. Why can’t you?” Coined by sociologist William Petersen in 1966, this pervasive ideal promotes the notion that Asian Americans are the “good minority” and that we are more successful than any other non-white racial group. According to Bianca Mabute-Loui, an ethnic studies adjunct at Laney College, the model minority myth creates a devastating monolithic identity for Asian Americans based on perceived assimilation to white ideals. It drives a wedge between Asian Americans and other communities of color. Every day we don’t reverse the narrative of Asian/Black hostility, more of us are hurt. By focusing our energy upon the tensions between our communities, we fail to remember the true monster: white supremacy. According to Vox, “White supremacy is what caused segregation, policing, and scarcity of resources in low-income neighborhoods….and for Black and Asian communities to move forward, it is important to remember the root cause and fight together against it.” But how can we work together? How can we move forward from all of the ways white supremacy has tried to pit us against each other? Raya and the Last Dragon re-instilled my hope for a world built by intersectional unity. It’s only when all five tribes—Heart, Fang, Spin, Talon, and Tail—are united that the monster is defeated. It’s only when Raya places her life in the hands of the very person who she never thought she could forgive that Kumandra is restored. Like so, it is only when the Asian and Black communities work together that we can find ourselves in a new and better world. Our days of division are over. We must face the beast together to defeat it. Vanquishing racism isn’t the quest of just one person. It’s not the role of just one hero. We all are responsible for playing a part: unlearning our prejudices, speaking out against racism when we see it occur, standing up for those in other marginalized communities as well as our own, and trusting our allies. I will never know what it’s like to be a Black person. A Black person will never know what it’s like to walk in my shoes. But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t work together “We have a choice. We can tear each other apart, or we can come together and build a better world.” Raya’s journey has ended, but ours is only just getting started. - Justine Torres Links used: https://www.nytimes.com/2021/03/16/us/atlanta-shootings-massage-parlor.html https://www.dearasianyouth.org/post/why-covid-19-isn-t-an-excuse-to-be-racist-the-aggression-towards-asians https://www.dearasianyouth.org/post/sick-of-yellow-fever-the-sexualization-of-asian-women https://time.com/5837805/asian-american-history/ https://www.life.com https://www.npr.org/sections/codeswitch/2015/06/27/417175523/grace-lee-boggs-activist-and-american-revolutionary-turns-100 http://revolution.berkeley.edu/projects/twlf/ https://depts.washington.edu/sibl/Publications/Model%20Minority%20Section%20(2011).pdf https://www.vox.com/22321234/black-asian-american-tensions-solidarity-history https://time.com/5851792/asian-americans-black-solidarity-history/ https://www.latimes.com/california/story/2021-03-17/latasha-harlins-memorial-playground-black-lives-matter-south-los-angeles https://www.npr.org/2017/04/26/524744989/when-la-erupted-in-anger-a-look-back-at-the-rodney-king-riots https://www.nbcnews.com/news/asian-america/officer-who-stood-george-floyd-died-asian-american-we-need-n1221311 Cover Photo Source: https://www.indiewire.com/2021/03/raya-and-the-last-dragon-review-disney-1234619176/

dear asian youth, when i reminisce about my childhood old film photographs grainy video recordings i should be able to look upon my memories with nostalgia, fondness, happiness like looking through a snowglobe where time stands still yet, when i think back to the days where i’d play outside with my friends from noon till dawn i can only remember my mother and father saying, “you’re so dark.” “you need to stop going out in the sun, or you’ll be black!” “keep your skin fair, so people will think you’re beautiful and not dirty” i wondered for years why my mother slathered sunscreen onto my golden skin even though i had already applied some minutes before i pondered for years why my parents snickered when i came home with skin tarnished by the sun now, i realize it was because of the rays that tickled my melanocytes had triggered the oh-so-terrible melanin that dirtied my skin it was only recently that i found the words to describe what this was this irrational fear of the dark colorism i grew up in a colorist household but i’ve learned that it’s quite meaningless to be scared of such things go out and bask in the warm embrace of the sun appreciate the hue your skin radiates – black, tan, fair or light you are not tarnished you are sunkissed. - Julianne T. Cover Photo Source: https://www.vogue.com/article/makeup-skin-care-post-fenty-beauty-inclusivity

looking at their hands pressing at their callouses digging into their skin praying they’ll be gentle with you and that these hands will show mercy these hands won’t hurt you looking at their hands tracing their lines telling a story looking into their past and trying to figure what came before you these hands are still unfamiliar to you looking at their hands grasping them firmly clinging to them hopelessly clasping them in the mockery of a prayer and resisting the urge to make them your god these hands aren’t here to save you looking at their hands touching them lightly running over their brittle joints caressing their scars and loving their worst parts these hands need you too looking at their hands taking their hands into yours covering their hands with yours protecting them from a battered world and remembering to hold onto them forever these hands stand with you Cover Photo Source: Heidi Burton Illustration

Although childhood is a unique experience for every individual, some memories are universal: the crunch of buttered popcorn from the movie theater; the cold, wet splash of a water balloon on a hot summer day; Play-Doh and its musky vanilla scent as it clings to your fingertips. As a kid, I was well-acquainted with this last sensation. I often spent my younger days sculpting Play-Doh, shaping the colored substance into any design I wanted. The possibilities were endless. Although each yellow plastic container was a point of contention for my mother—who would inevitably spend the next hour furiously scrubbing the hardened remnants off of our carpet—I welcomed Play-Doh into my life with open arms. I was the potter, and the clay was at my disposal. The practice of ceramics is thought to have originated around the year 14,000 B.C.E. in East Asia (present-day China and Japan). Pottery has a long-rooted history, spanning thousands and thousands of years. This history manifests in each pot, fork, and spoon; a handmade bowl is far more than a vessel for food and drink. Pottery is the toil and labor that went into creating something so simple yet so essential—each indentation, fingerprint, and slight imperfection all amount to something that is so much more than a simple dish. A bowl is just an object until you give it meaning. Clay is just material until you give up a part of yourself. When I was younger, my mind was young and impressionable—fresh, like a mound of malleable clay waiting to be molded into something of value. The person I am today has been fashioned by both my inherent nature and nurture. Countless hands have formed my mind, their lives impacting my own in some shape or form. Dearest family, closest friends, and strangers I haven’t even met yet—endless fingers have molded me as an individual, leaving imprints without an outward mark. Clay eventually hardens, carrying the permanence of touch on its surface. Its future is set in stone. But clay is also fragile. It can crack under external pressure. It can break if it’s not handled with care. Could the same go for me? I’ve lived in central Florida my whole life. When I was younger, most—if not all—of my closest friends had hair that was lighter, skin that was paler, and eyes that were wider than mine. Even so, I never felt any different. My parents, family friends, and grandparents were the first potters to shape me, and I was proud of my history. Being Filipina was always a source of pride—which is why the memory of the first time someone made me feel ashamed of my heritage remains ingrained in my mind. When I was ten years old, my peers and I were scouring the World Wide Web, researching our family histories and the cultures we came from. I happened to pull up a picture of sinigang, a sour soup that’s widely beloved in the Philippines—and my favorite dish of all time. I remember showing the girl next to me. To this day, her response leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. “That looks disgusting.” This girl, with her blonde hair and blue eyes, likely doesn’t even remember she said it. Why would she? But her words will stick with me forever. It had been years since I had last used Play-Doh, but it was at this moment that the blissful innocence of my childhood came to an end. Whether she meant to or not, she was another person who left a deep imprint upon my character—but her hands tried to tear me apart instead of building me up. She hasn’t been the only one. Over the years, countless people have tried to shape me to fit their standards. Usually, their hands barely leave a mark: the subtle digs at my eyes, the attribution of my accomplishments to my heritage, and the offhand remarks about my food were simply normal. After all, how can I realize something is wrong if it’s the only thing I’ve ever known? However, amidst the pandemic, the hands have been especially rough and unwieldy. On the outside, I may be physically unaffected, but not everyone has been so lucky. My mother found out she was pregnant with twins in 2002; one boy, one girl. My father named my brother, and my mother named me. Justine. “Just.” “Righteous.” “Fair.” For the longest time, I was uncomfortable with my name. I didn’t fit the mold. After all, for the entirety of my life, other hands had shaped me, molding me to their expectations. I had to be quiet. I had to be passive. I had to play it safe. Thus, while I had grown up knowing the difference between right and wrong, I had always prioritized the preservation of my reputation over the call to justice. I didn’t live up to my name. But this past year, as racism against Asians has been amplified to a disturbing degree, I realized that if I wanted something to change, I would have to do my part. I would have to take back control. Is it “just” that there has been a more than 800 percent increase in racist incidents against Asians in the last few years, making me terrified to walk down the street? Is it “righteous” that my success in school is attributed solely to my race? Is it “fair” that people poke fun at my outward appearance, mocking the features I cannot control? This year, I realized that I’ve never truly been safe, and I won’t ever be unless I advocate for myself. In the year 2021, as racism against Asians runs rampant, it’s important now more than ever to honor my heritage. May is Asian American and Pacific Islander Heritage Month. It’s a month of making my voice heard and paying homage to the lives of those who came before me. It’s a month of being loud and proud and celebrating my culture, despite all of the hands that try to deface, demean, and diminish it. It’s a month of growing into myself and finally living up to my name. While racism fosters division, pain, and hate, speaking out against it facilitates unity, healing, and love. I am not soft. Unlike clay, no amount of molding and sculpting can change who I am. Unlike clay, I will not break. Links used: https://expandusceramics.com/qa/when-was-clay-first-used.html https://www.cbsnews.com/video/asian-americans-face-rise-in-racist-incidents/ Cover Photo Source: The Collector

my mother once told me when i speak chinese you can’t understand me when you speak english i can’t understand you and it struck my heart into two how did i not see this ever-growing chasm the fundamentals of language ripping and clawing, slashing, tearing, burning my tongue rolls in my mouth pebbles clashing in a cavernous rock tumbler trying to make each other smooth, fluent but i can’t spin it fast enough the rocks can’t smooth each other out and language has failed me what else can i do what tender touch, what loving words can i utter to fashion my own bridge if two architects design different plans how can i tell my mother that i love her without having to speak the words i build a different bridge i abandon words, fluency there is more to life than what we say instead we make every plank of the bridge a different form of love maybe today it’s a kind smile tomorrow it’ll be a bowl of fruit silently delivered and yesterday it was a walk in the park, just the two of us we build bridges in the best way we can imperfect, rickety, flawed bridges creaking, unstable, shaky but they are loving bridges and in that way we can understand each other making a bridge is no real test of love but walking the bridge is Cover Photo Source: iStock

isn’t it curious how desperately we try to leave ourselves behind our lives are nothing but filling up vessels hoping that something (someone) can contain us completely and us, the source, flowing until our very last breath what vessel do you choose today? is your paintbrush spreading oils, acrylics, watercolors is it depicting what you see? or is it your testament look, i was here i created remember me when you take your lover’s hand how tightly do you choose to hold it? remember me the way i laughed the way i smiled the way i hoped when we part, will you still remember this laugh? this smile, this hope will you laugh, smile, hope, cry, scream, run, dance, sing with traces of my life blending into yours? are we separate or just an accumulation of the other can we ever be separate? when you lay your head to sleep what dreams haunt you now do monsters lurk over you, envelop you in their shadowy, treacherous embraces or do they prefer to lie under your bed as if reenacting a fond episode from a childhood long forgotten, but maybe tonight is a good night and your dreams are free where flowers never wilt and nights never end when you go to transcribe these dreams how many details can you scribble down before they’re gone forever? i am always reminded of handprints desperately, eagerly plastered against rough walls red, black, white voidless silhouettes and infinite outlines proof we existed proof that when we become nothing proof that when we join the earth and the sky proof that when we remember nothing we walked this world, the same as you Cover photo/art source: https://mindfuldrawing.com/2017/09/21/prehistoric-hands-invite-and-confirm-communication-with-the-dead-by-paula-kuitenbrouwer/

hello class of 2025 hello class of bleary-eyed scholars hello class of masked wisdom, of disguised blessings hello class of unsettling change the world has asked much of you this year and it’s no good pretending otherwise you’ve been thrown upon the cliffs lovely Andromeda and i wish i could give you a Perseus to save you from a thousand sea monsters nipping at your toes or perhaps swallowing you whole? now you have demons you couldn’t even name before and it seems like everything is loss, loss, loss at first you hurled yourself against this acidic existence and picked off your scabs, ignoring the new ones forming just a second later ignoring your loss, loss, loss but what did you gain? did you gain anything at all? some simple things? or lovely things or horrid things or an appreciation for the brutality we exist in a reality that changes without care but a reality you can survive and finally everything became familiar again strawberries taste like strawberries and not the sting of disinfectant laughter rings out like laughter should no longer stifled by the gargle of poor internet connection grass is greener on the other side you hope you’re seeing the other side clearly now but this change was not due to some loving fairy godmother it was you standing stark like a deer in the headlights you, as stubborn as the roots of a finely weathered tree you, as relentless as a thawing spring river you, throwing yourself endlessly against change yes, you’ve lost and that loss is still there lingering, slithering into your sunshine, rotting your fruit it’s no good pretending otherwise but who you are now is not the same person who lost, lost, lost don’t pretend otherwise welcome to your new life of ever shifting change goodbye class of 2025 you’ve made it today, yesterday, and tomorrow that simple fact is enough Cover Photo Source: West Side Story