TW: murder and violence The 2022 Kazakh unrest, also known as the Bloody January, was a series of mass protests which began on January 2, 2022, turning into violent unrest fueled by rising dissatisfaction with the government, widespread poverty, and police neglect. According to Kazakh officials, 227 were killed and over 9,900 were arrested. On January 11th, 2022, in his speech to the parliament, President Kassym-Jomart Tokaev acknowledged the public's discontent, promised reform, and initiated a full public investigation on the events. As the first anniversary passes, the government has yet to be diligent or transparent in the construction of their new reform and the truth behind the violence. The repression against our civil and human rights continues. “it’s been January for months in both directions frost” - Kaveh Akbar It’s been January for months in both directions ash collapsed within the branches our lungs, tightened by hands gasping for a touch for a breath to scream, to wail, to howl, within the place we die to be our eternal home. The dirt eats from the cindered apple, it’s adam gripped by roots armored from the ash. The dirt warms the roots, gives it its final drop, nourishes it by its particles. So why do the roots not bear its silk-cocooned fruits? Alma grips the thin yarn around her fingers, January frost molds her wrinkled pathways. The blood embraces the barren thread, warms her before the pumice burial ‒ roots grip her deferred design. Soon enough they say, we’ll hear their whisper High up in the edges of the trees, we will see the Fruit which we so desire to be. But yet the bark pales with crystalized tears, formed the day in which you/ we decided to live with lungs embraced by ash. Or have the roots polluted their design since the crop? And the soot which collided with the snow that day, reflected the truth of the smoke ‒ the hidden incinerator. Editors: Danielle C., Joyce P., Cathay L., Claudia S., Erika Y., Lang D. Image Credits: Photo by Pascal Debrunner on Unsplash

Xiao Dan “And what did Principal Gagnon say?” “That I must’ve misheard. And that I shouldn’t eavesdrop on the boy’s locker room.” Xiao Dan’s feet kicked the pebbles and the red and orange leaves on the bridge. Her arms were crossed across her chest and she stared at Matilda. Matilda, who was watching the rushing river water below them, back straight and chin held high. Xiao Dan didn’t know what she expected. Maybe some screaming. Possibly tears– a lot of tears. But, then again, that was how Xiao Dan reacted. Some people, like Matilda, were more composed. Or, maybe Matilda was getting ready to slap Xiao Dan. Xiao Dan wouldn’t blame her. She did have a summer love affair with Matilda’s boyfriend. But Xiao Dan didn’t think that was their biggest problem anymore. Matilda finally turned around. There was a dark, piercing stare in Matilda Liú’s eyes. It was the look of a woman wronged. The look of somebody setting off to war. “What do you want to do about this?” Matilda asked. Xiao Dan’s mouth opened, then closed. “I… I don’t know. My plan sort of ended at telling you everything.” Matilda almost smiled. “But you want to expose them?” “I need to expose them,” Xiao Dan replied, stepping forward. “They can’t get away with this. They’re treating us like trophies to be collected. Like we’re a score during a game. I mean, I just saw Isaac flirting with Valeria at the grocery store. It’s disgusting.” When Isaac Atteberry approached Xiao Dan at the start of summer vacation, Xiao Dan thought: finally. It’s finally my turn. I get to fall in love. I get to be the girl that’s wanted. But summer ended. The sun set, the wind grew harsher, and the school bell rang. He returned to Matilda. He told them that his and Xiao Dan’s summer meant nothing. That he was angry that he and Matilda fought, so he went to someone else. Xiao Dan thought she was disposable. But, after hearing the conversation outside of the boy’s locker room, Xiao Dan wished she were disposable. Being disposable was better than being a score. Matilda nodded. “Then this is what we’ll do: you go into the boy’s locker room this week. That is likely where they have the paper that keeps track of everything. I will go to Isaac’s house tomorrow and get his text messages. Once we have all of that, we can ruin them.” Xiao Dan blinked. “Wait, really? You’re on board?” “Of course I am,” Matilda said. “I’m not letting Isaac make a fool out of me. Not again.” Xiao Dan tried not to take that personally. “Do you think it’s gonna be that easy?” Xiao Dan asked. “They’re the varsity hockey team. They bring in a lot of money. Principal Gagnon is gonna try to spin a narrative. He’s gonna say that they’re immature young men who have their whole future ahead of them. They sway any narrative we try to spew out. They-” “I don’t care. They will regret the day they decided to do this stupid bet,” Matilda said. “Every single college that’s scouting them will get the evidence. They’ll be blasted around town and on social media.” Xiao Dan’s eyes burned and her throat bobbed. “What if it doesn’t work?” “It has to,” Matilda said, unwavering. She breathed in and breathed out, then smoothed out her cardigan. “Anyway, thank you for telling me about this.” “Yeah, of course,” Xiao Dan’s voice cracked and she cringed at herself. Matilda turned to walk away, but Xiao Dan stepped forward and tugged on Matilda’s sleeve. “Wait. I just- I need to say that I’m sorry.” Matilda blinked. “Why?” “About Isaac. I thought you two had broken up. If I knew, then I wouldn’t have been with him. I’m sorry that everything turned out like this.” Matilda’s lips pressed into a thin line. She held Xiao Dan’s hand and shrugged. “I’m sorry that everything turned out like this too.” Matilda “Let me see your notes,” Isaac pouted, exaggerating his eyes for effect. “Please. You’re so smart and I’m not.” Matilda forced a smile. “Flattery won’t get you anywhere.” She brushed a hand through his hair. “You need to take your own notes. That’s how you study.” Isaac kissed Matilda’s cheek. “Have I told you how pretty you look today?” “Notes,” Matilda ordered, pointing at his textbook. “Our test is in four days.” Isaac groaned and looked back at his laptop. Matilda’s smile faded and she rolled her eyes. She needed to get to his phone or laptop. She needed the texts. She needed a miracle. If she couldn’t get that, she’d at least get him shaking. “So,” Matilda began. “Someone saw you talking to Valeria the other day.” “Valeria Soto? Yeah, I saw her at the store,” he said, unflinching. “Okay,” Matilda deadpanned. Isaac turned around. He tilted his head and poked Matilda’s nose. “You sound grumpy.” “I heard you were flirting with her.” “Flirting with her?” Isaac echoed his disbelief. “Jesus. All I did was talk to her. How did that get twisted as flirting? That’s ridiculous. You don’t believe it, do you?” Matilda stared at him. Isaac’s jaw dropped. “Milly, come on.” “This summer-” “Meant nothing,” Isaac interrupted. “I was sad about our fight and I went to someone else. It was the worst mistake I’ve ever made.” Isaac moved from his seat and squatted down to be at eye-level with Milly. “You know that, right?” “I can’t help but worry.” Isaac grabbed her hand. “I know, I know. That’s why I’m trying to win your trust back. You need to believe me, Milly. I wasn’t flirting with her. I love you, okay?” Isaac pushed her hair behind her ear. “Only you.” Matilda met Isaac’s eyes. She could see her reflection in his pupils. She could see that her eye bags and frown lines had deepened. The warm tones on her skin had been sucked out, leaving her a sickly pale. She used to be an arrow pointing in the right direction. She was a star to be admired. A wonder to marvel at. The girl who everyone thought could rule the world. She was perfect in every way. She didn’t think that meant also being the perfect prey. “Okay,” Matilda said. “Okay.” Isaac’s body relaxed. His head lowered onto her lap. “Thank God.” “Isaac!” His dad called from the basement. “Isaac, come help me move this!” “Alright,” Isaac shouted back. He stood and patted Matilda’s head. “I’ll be back.” Matilda’s body perked. She watched as Isaac opened the door and then waited for it to shut. When his footsteps going down the stairs faded, she bolted up. His laptop was still open. First, she clicked into his call logs. In the past four days he had called Matilda, his mom, his dad, Bryson Price, and Kayden Hubbard. And Valeria and Tamiko. No last names. He called each one at least four times. Matilda clicked into his conversation with the boy’s hockey team. She searched for the word ‘bet’. Matilda’s stomach dropped. Over forty mentions. “Go and open the door first, son,” Isaac’s dad ordered, his voice echoing up from the basement. Matilda jumped. She pulled out her chord and connected her phone to his laptop. She pressed ‘back up’, watching the download bar slowly fill. “Alright, but don’t drop that,” Isaac shouted. Matilda’s heart rate increased. 60% complete. Isaac’s footsteps loudened. 80% complete. The door opened. 100% complete. Matilda yanked her chord out from the laptop. She stuffed it inside her purse and pushed her phone away from his laptop. Matilda ran out of the living room and into the bathroom. She locked herself in, pressing her hands against her face as she processed what she had seen. Valeria and Tamiko. Xiao Dan, Mi-sook, Tori, and Jasmine were already on his list. As well as Matilda. Fuck. Matilda’s hands gripped the spotless, white sink. She was a pawn in his game. She let this happen. She hurled into the sink. Matilda coughed out the remaining chunks. She fell back against the wall and caught her breath. Finally, Matilda pulled out her phone. She clicked on Xiao Dan’s contact and sent a simple text. I have the messages. Editors: Hailey Hua,

Xiao Dan Xiao Dan had never smelled anything worse than the boy’s locker room. She stopped herself from gagging and sucked in a breath. She had to focus. She needed to find the papers. Xiao Dan always knew there was something wrong with this town. She knew that from when she was harassed about eating cats and dogs on the elementary school playground. From overhearing people in math class saying that they should ask Xiao Dan about the answers. From their shocked faces when Xiao Dan told them that she flunked the latest quizzes. But this? A bet? That’s something Xiao Dan never saw coming. Xiao Dan sifted through the blue lockers filled with backpacks, crinkled notebooks, and sneakers. She tore through the dog-eared textbooks and ripped jeans for hints. But all she found was herself coughing at the stench of clothing drenched in sweat and cologne. Nothing in the lockers. Xiao Dan put her hands on her hips. If she were a book used to keep a tally of girls, where would she be? If she were a vile teenage boy, where would she hide evidence? “And this is the boy’s locker room. We renovated it last summer. Our boy’s kept winning championships, so we figured they should at least have a nicer place to keep their stuff.” Xiao Dan’s hands balled into fists. Principal Gagnon. Xiao Dan ran into one of the showers and locked the door. She leaned against the white wall, squeezing her eyes shut and steadying her breath. “Yikes,” Principal Gagnon said. “I apologize for the smell. You know how teenage boys are.” “Oh, it is not an issue Dave,” a male voice said. “It’s only marginally better at the college level.” Principal Gagnon laughed. “Well, I am glad to know it’s not just us.” Xiao Dan rolled her eyes. Principal Gagnon was talking to a scout. She could picture Principal Gagnon now: his sweaty bald head, thinning eyebrows, and fake smile. He was forcing laughter and probably using too many hand gestures. “This is a great school you’ve built, Dave. I’m impressed,” the man said. “The numbers are incredible. Both varsity football and hockey winning the state championship for the past five years? And baseball and lacrosse the past three? You’re not giving other schools a chance.” “What can I say? Our kids have real talent. Have you looked at our test scores? We’re number one in the region and number four in the state. What’s fostered here is very special.” The man clicked his pen. “Yes, it is. But, Dave, you know that professionalism and attitude–” “Gregory, you don’t need to worry. The kids here are good. Everyone is friends. You know our town. The parents are working class people.” Xiao Dan stopped herself from laughing. Working class? Only a small percentage of families here were actually working class. In middle school, Xiao Dan got made fun of over the fact her parents owned a Chinese restaurant. Almost everyone in her school were children of CEOs, big real estate agents, doctors, and lawyers. “This is a very nice town, indeed,” the scout agreed. “Exactly,” Principal Gagnon said. “This isn’t like the city. We pride ourselves on our good behavior. Everyone has excellent manners. I can prove it to you. This Friday is homecoming. You and some other scouts can observe the school and then come to the game. You’ll see what I mean.” Good behavior. Did Principal Gagnon know he was kidding himself? Would the scouts believe that if they knew the truth? “This Friday?” “This Friday.” “Okay,” the scout said. “I’ll be here.” Principal Gagnon clapped. “Great! Now let’s go to the weight rooms. The varsity hockey team is spending their off-season training. They’re very dedicated.” The man chuckled as Principal Gagnon walked out of the locker room. The door slammed shut and Xiao Dan’s shoulders relaxed. Principal Gagnon was ready to suspend Xiao Dan after he found out she overheard conversation from the locker room. She didn’t want to imagine his reaction if he found her in here. Xiao Dan checked the time and swore. The boys would be coming back in ten minutes. Where the Hell was this book? She swung the door open and stepped forward. A tile cracked. Xiao Dan paused. She looked down. The tile was loose. Xiao Dan knelt. Her hands traced around the white and blue floor. She dug her nails under the ceramic tile and lifted it up. Inside were folded papers stapled together. Xiao Dan carefully opened them and smoothed out the crinkles. The first page was the contract. This year, the varsity boy’s hockey team will compete to see who can sleep with the most ethnic minority girls in school. The winner will get a $100 gift card to a place of their choice. The following pages were the team roster. Beside each boy were tally marks and the name of each girl. Xiao Dan pulled out her phone and called Matilda. Matilda answered after one ring. “Hello?” A tear slipped down Xiao Dan’s cheek. “I found the papers.” Matilda “Are you sure we’re allowed to use this much paper?” Xiao Dan asked. Matilda pressed the green button on her printer. “My parents barely use the home printer,” she said. “I’ll buy new paper tomorrow.” Matilda sat at her dad’s desk. In front of were two stacks of paper: one for the team’s text chain, and the other had the contract and tally marks. “Okay,” Xiao Dan said. “I made the social media pages. Everything will go public tomorrow.” “Beautiful.” Matilda grabbed the last chunk of printed paper. She sorted through it, unable to stop herself from reading through one of the text chains. Kayden I got with jasmine AND sophea at last night’s party Jonah Bro I bagged them ages ago Your slow Trent says the guy who took a month to get dominique Jonah It paid off The shy one’s always do Isaac You guys are stupid Brett Says the one who started DATING matilda Ur losing sight of the game Gfs werent part of the contract Isaac It’s not that deep dude matilda’s fun to hang out with I still got mi-sook in my pocket too I’m setting my sights on xiao dan next Jonah Bro just wants to get with all the asian girls Isaac They’re the prettiest imo Bryson U guys are crazy This is crazy Brett Crazy genius I haven’t had this much fun in a loooong time Deep down, Matilda knew that Isaac liked her because of her convenience. That’s why he didn’t disregard her like he did to Xiao Dan or the other’s. He liked doing homework with someone in his empty house. He liked exchanging pastries and holding hands. He liked having someone to watch his favorite movies with him and listen to his dissections. He liked dating someone who was also busy— the low commitment of seeing someone only a few times a week. Matilda was easy. Matilda didn’t make him feel so alone. Matilda made him feel wanted. And Matilda played along because she also liked feeling wanted. She liked laying her head on someone’s neck while watching movies. She liked being walked home after school. She liked dressing up to go out for dinner. She just liked having someone. Even though it was at the expense of herself. “Hey,” Xiao Dan’s voice snapped Matilda out of her thoughts. “I’m sorry about all this.” Matilda shrugged. “It’s not your fault.” “Yeah, but it still sucks.” Xiao Dan picked at her nail polish. “It’s a lot to process. I mean, we’ve grown up with these people. We went to each other’s birthday parties in elementary school.” “It proves that we never really know what goes on behind closed doors,” Matilda said. Last year, Matilda tutored Trent’s little sister in math. He was so grateful that, one evening, he bought dinner for Matilda and her family. So much for gratitude. “I’m sorry,” Xiao Dan. “You and Isaac dated for a while. I know it must hurt.” Matilda waved a hand in dismissal. “Something had to be wrong.” “That doesn’t mean everythings always has to be,” Xiao Dan replied. “I really don’t want this to make me stop believing in good people.” “You don’t have to stop believing in good people,” Matilda said. “You just have to protect yourself first.” Xiao Dan nodded. “Well, we’re protecting ourselves now.” “That we are,” Matilda said. She stood and grabbed the last printed papers. “The team isn’t going to know what hit them.” “And they can say goodbye to their athletics scholarships,” Xiao Dan smiled. The first genuine smile Matilda saw from her. Xiao Dan Xiao Dan slid several pages of text messages under a math classroom door. She taped the contract and tally marks along the white walls and spread them across the blue floors. She shoved them into lockers, posted them on bathroom mirrors, and put them in the teacher’s lounge. She tossed them down the main stairwell and watched them float down the third floor and to the first. Xiao Dan’s phone buzzed. Matilda First and second floor done. :) Xiao Dan Just finished third floor Posting everything on social media now! Xiao Dan logged onto the specially made, anonymous social media accounts. She had followed everyone in town, and now she switched the account from private to public. If people didn’t see this in school, they would online. Xiao Dan walked down the stairwell. She taped the last photos on the railings and entered the first floor. She passed the Principal's office and peered inside the glass. His secretary was holding up the papers and he was red-faced and yelling. Xiao Dan giggled and skipped down the hallway. Matilda had covered the walls, the doors, and the floors. She didn’t leave an inch of this school unscathed. Finally, Xiao Dan saw her standing in the main hallway. The hallway that connected to the exit for student parking, the cafeteria, the library, and the gymnasium. The hallway that got the most traffic. “You did a good job,” Xiao Dan said. Matilda winked at her. “So did you.” Then, the bell rang. The school was still as students packed their backpacks in the classroom but, when the doors opened, people picked up the papers. They stopped in the middle of the hallway to read them. They handed them to their friends. They opened their phones to look at the social media pages. They shouted at each other to look at the papers. “What is this?” and “Is this for real?” were repeated amongst friend groups. Teachers tried to snatch everything off the walls and out of the students' hands. “Did you see this?” A scout asked another. “So much for good behavior,” one scout remarked. “Just wait until the news gets a hold of this,” another scout said. “Goodbye to this school’s reputation.” “WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS,” Bryson Price boomed. He walked out of the gymnasium and to Kayden, who was tearing the papers into pieces. “How did this get out?” “Bro, I don’t know!” Kayden shouted. “Was it you? Our shit went missing a few days ago. Did you do this?” “No, you idiot!” “Well it had to be one of us.” Bryson shoved Kayden. “I’m not going down for this.” Someone tapped on Bryson’s shoulder. He turned around to see Jasmine Rajavi behind him, holding a cup of ice coffee. “You already have,” Jasmine said, and poured the coffee all over Bryson. “Where the fuck is the rest of the hockey team?” Tamiko Kobayashi asked. “Tammy, baby, calm down,” Kayden said, stroking her hair. Tamiko hit him in the face with a textbook. “What the Tell, Tammy?” “My name is TAMIKO!” She yelled. “Kayden, you asshole, you’re making this worse.” Jonah stomped over and grabbed Kayden and Bryson. “We have to get out of here.” “Oh, was this you?” Bryson asked. He puffed out his chest and stood face-to-face with Jonah. “You were the one most opposed.” “Stop fighting! You’re making a scene,” Jonah said. “Kayden’s right, we need to get the rest of the team and we need to leave.” Bryson glared at Trent. And then punched him in the face. Dominique Murphy pulled out her phone to record. “Smile, you boys are gonna go viral!” “This is some fucked up shit,” one guy said. “The hockey guys have always been jerks,” a girl replied. “It was only a matter of time until someone exposed them.” Xiao Dan was delighted at the sight in front of her: The hockey team shoving and yelling at one another to figure out who did this, the girl’s standing up for themselves, the student body reading the papers and watching the team destroy themselves, and the scouts shaking their heads and walking away. Principal Gagnon trying to decide between breaking up the team, or going to the scouts. Someone tugged on Xiao Dan’s arm. She and Matilda turned around to see Isaac. He was shaking. “Was this you two?” He asked, his eyes wide and veins popping out of his neck. “Did you guys do this?” “In case you haven’t figured it out,” Matilda said. “We’re done.” Hurt flashed across his face. “But I loved you. I really did.” He looked at Xiao Dan. “And I did have feelings for you! I swear. It’s just– this is a really complicated situation, okay?” Xiao Dan and Matilda looked at one another, then at him, and then at one another again. “Do you want to get ice cream?” Matilda asked. Xiao Dan smiled. “I would love ice cream.” Matilda hooked her arm around Xiao Dan’s. They waved goodbye to Isaac and walked out of school, leaving it in chaos. Editors: Katie Truong, Hailey Hua

In 2013, One Direction released their documentary-concert film “This Is Us”. Now, as a devoted fan (or directioner), I have seen that film over a dozen times (and I’m not exaggerating). However, there’s a specific scene in the film that just stands out for me every single time I watch the film. The scene opens with Simon Cowell charting the growing popularity of One Direction, from the X-Factor days up to the release of their first single. Cowell remarks, “These girls are crazy about One Direction. And I have no idea why.” The scene cuts to a neuroscientist (a real one), who takes over and explains how what happens to the fans when they see One Direction on stage, is not hysteria but a feeling of excessive joy and excitement resulting from the release of a brain chemical called dopamine. I always found the entire scene a bit overdone. Do people really need a neuroscientist to explain an obvious fact to them? This was until I realized that women’s experience of music is not so easily understood by everyone. To need a scientific explanation of how women feel when they listen to the music they like, is to indirectly say that their behavior is a peculiarity that needs to be examined. Women screaming the lyrics of Little Things at the top of their lungs is peculiar because a) sane women do not scream b) these women got to be crazy to burn their vocal cords over a cheesy love song. However, men blasting Kanye’s misogyny anthem Famous at full volume in their cars is never considered peculiar, nor are men screaming at the top of their lungs at every football game. Fangirls are routinely dismissed as hysterical women and teenage girls, driven by heedless infatuation as opposed to a sophisticated understanding of what constitutes good music. In a 2015 piece, Jonathan Heaf, a journalist for GQ, while talking about female fans of One Direction, wrote, “These women don't care about the Rolling Stones. They don't care about the meta-modernist cycle of cultural repetition. They don't care about history. All these female fans care about is their immediate vociferous reverence: the beatification of St Harry, St Zayn, St Niall, St Louis and St Liam.” However, this discrediting of pop music and its consumers does not stem from the so-called authenticity that popular music is said to lack, as music critics argue. On the contrary, the authenticity of a popular music record, is vetted against a gendered understanding of the consumer base. This can be best explained through the phenomenon of gender contamination. Gender contamination is more common in the case of consumer goods not necessarily related to the consumption of media. It refers to the threat or alarm created by the incursion of a female consumer base into a brand of consumer product stereotypically associated with males and vice versa. According to brand management expert and scholar Jill Avery, men are more likely to be averse to products associated with women than women are to products associated with men. Consider the case of diet coke. For a long time the zero-calorie cola with its quintessential white packaging had been a favourite among women. It was not until the company came up with a ‘Coke Zero’ with a striking black packaging and a marketing policy solely directed towards men that the brand caused some stir among its male consumers. Thus, there exists a clear dividing line between consumer products, based on a gendered understanding of the buyers. Now, apply this to the music and entertainment media industry. Fandoms can be understood as consumer pockets or networks consuming a particular “brand” of music. This brand, while being governed by specific genres, is loaded with gender stereotypes much like diet coke, cars, colours, and other things. This does not imply that certain genres can be designated as men’s music and the others as women’s. Gender, as Judith Butler argues, is performative. Therefore, the site of gendering in music is the performance. In a paper called ‘Young People’s Musical Taste: Relationship With Gender and Gender-Related Traits’, Ann Colley highlights that women’s approach to music is “instrumental” and “social” as opposed to the more “central” and “personal” approach of men. Another research in the United Kingdom, found that secondary schoolboys like heavy metal and rock more than girls, while girls prefer pop, reggae, jazz, classical, folk, and opera. The aim of this data is not to draw a gender binary in consumption, but to highlight how music embodies aspects of stereotypical femininity or masculinity, the conformity to which is governed by the degree of socialization of individuals into specific gender roles. For instance, the social and emotional aspects of pop music are stereotypically understood to cater more to young women. At the same time, heavy metal and heavy rock music embody the tendency for hypermasculine aggression, dominance, and rebellion traditionally expected from young men. Given these regressive binary gender roles, individuals feel more socially accepted and vindicated by listening to the music that best exemplifies the gender roles expected from them. Exceptions to this norm are numerous. For starters, according to my #spotifywrapped, I discovered 64 new genres in 2021. While that’s five times the number of music genres I can count on my finger-tips, Spotify’s algorithm vouches that I listen to more than just pop music. While transgressions do exist, with women finding comfort in music traditionally associated with men or vice versa, these are mostly met with sexist retorts. Men continually distance themselves from women’s tastes in an attempt to conform to a hegemonic masculine ideal. Thus, a dividing line surfaces between fan-spaces dominated by women and those dominated by men. At the same time, the music industry is dominated by men in terms of producers, singers, song-writers, record label managers, etc. Patricia Leavy and Adrienne Trier-Bieniek in their edited volume Gender and Pop Culture: A Text Reader argue that the media culture as well, is overwhelmingly produced by men, with 80% of key media positions being held by men. Therefore, in an industry constantly churning out content majorly created, vetted, and circulated by men, who are also consumers of gendered music in their own right, the preferences of the female consumer base, despite their overwhelming presence, is sidelined for male norm and preference. A peculiar phenomenon associated with gender contamination in the music industry is ‘mentrification’. To understand what mentrification is all about, it is necessary to look at the rise of your quintessential pop band: the Beatles. The rise of the Beatles coincided with a decade that was making and breaking social norms. The 1960s witnessed a clamour against racial segregation, the onset of the Red Scare coupled with public agitation against the Vietnam War and the beginning of the second wave of Feminism, among others. Before women took to the streets as a part of the Women’s liberation movement during the second wave, the “Beatlemania” embodied the first major mass outburst featuring women. Beatles concerts and fandom spaces at their outset were dominated by women and provided young girls and women safe spaces for expression. These spaces were free from the all-pervasive puritanical ideals of goodness and purity of women. Women could scream the lyrics at the top of their lungs, hoard, share, and wear merchandise that gave them a sense of conformity and connect with other women with similar experiences. Christine Feldman-Barrett, in her book A Women’s History of the Beatles, argues that the craze for the Beatles was passed on to us through the efforts of three generations of women who not only themselves listened to their music but also passed it on to their family members, friends, and acquaintances. However, the press coverage of the Beatles in this period tells a different story. Not only were these women dismissed as ‘hysterical’ and ‘dangerous’, the Beatles themselves were considered upstarts and likened to an epidemic. Noted New Statesman journalist Paul Johnson in his 1964 article “Menace of Beatlism” claimed that, “Those who flock round the Beatles, who scream themselves into hysteria, are the least fortunate of their generation, the dull, the idle, the failures.” This perception underwent a change in the 90s and the early 00s when Beatlemania was largely appropriated by men and transformed from a “mania” into a “cultural phenomenon.” This is evident from the fact that the historiography, publications, and expert discussions on the Beatles are now dominated by men. The same New Statesman, 56 years later, in 2020, published an article titled ‘How the Beatles changed the world in seven years’. At a more micro-level, I conducted a short survey among fifty people from my college, to double-check if men really ended up “appropriating” the Beatles. As per the survey, a majority of cishet men (50%) enjoyed listening to the Beatles over more recent pop bands like One Direction and BTS (16.6%). At the same time, in the non-cishet male category, the percentage of those who enjoy listening to the Beatles was 26.65% and those who enjoy the music of 1D and BTS was a massive 73.3%. Moreover, the majority concurred that more cishet males in their circle enjoy listening to the Beatles than the non-cishet male individuals. The gap between the time when the Beatles were heavily criticised as upstarts and the time when they came to be considered a cultural phenomenon was filled by a process that feminist critic Van Badham calls ‘mentrification’. A modification of the word “gentrification,” which means “improvement in the condition of an area, usually inhabited by lower or middle class people by the movement of upper class people,” the term refers to the male appropriation of female tastes and interests. Any cultural phenomenon, as long as it is enjoyed predominantly by women, is considered inferior. It is only when the said phenomenon is appropriated by men and the fandom becomes predominantly male that it is seen in a positive light. Thus, the phenomenon of gender contamination is not only governed by gender roles but also the understanding of sophistication and authenticity as qualities embodied by historic phenomena and appreciated primarily by men. Gender contamination in the music industry affects women and queer individuals the most, who are both ostracised from the communal experience of the music not in line with their expected gender roles as well as made to doubt the quality of the music in line with their gender roles, owing to rampant media prejudice. Quality labels on music genres based on their gendered appeal also end up marginalising artists associated with these genres. At the same time, a lot of music scenes like country, hip-hop, and rock, are dominated by male artists catering to a largely male audience. In such a scenario, female artists are routinely marginalised with biases operating not only in tabloids but also on the radio and streaming platforms like Spotify, Deezer, Apple Music, etc. The sole means of countering gender contamination is by, quite simply, allowing channels for contamination. Dismantling of gendered tastes associated with music can serve as groundwork for the reconstruction of individual identities and elimination of regressive notions of femininity or masculinity. Music, like other elements of culture, plays a significant role in determining one’s self-perception by the virtue of its capability of generating emotive responses to an array of ideas and possibilities tuned to a melody. Editors: Leah Canonizado, Megan Lin, Sophie Guo, and Joyce Paek

While the overturning of Roe vs. Wade was addressed with widespread public outrage in the US, it served as a reminder to the Indian public that something called The Medical Termination of Pregnancy Act exists in the country. Netizens took to social media to rejoice over the liberal abortion laws in India, allowing legal access to abortion up to 24 weeks. “Yay! We beat the US at progressiveness” became the focal point of discussion. The question of bodily autonomy under the law is hardly treated as a concern in its own right and often ends up becoming a minor parameter in measuring the Indian state’s triumph over the West in terms of modernity. The Medical Termination of Pregnancy (Amendment) Act, 2021, now allows legal and safe access to abortion to all women for upto 20 weeks of pregnancy and upto 24 weeks in cases of sexual assault, rape or incest; women being minors; widowhood or divorce during pregnancy; physical or mental disabilities; foetal malfunctions; humanitarian concerns and emergencies. However, looking back at the Act’s history, its cite of legislation lies in the socio-economic exigencies of the state and not in a serious concern for bodily autonomy. Population control has been a chief concern of the Indian state, with India being the first country to launch a National Programme for Family Planning in 1952. Under this programme, Accredited Social Health Activist (ASHA) workers were deployed in numerous rural and urban settings to increase awareness on the available methods of contraception. However, a study from last month concluded that over the past 70 years, ASHA workers have been closely promoting female sterilisation. This practice usually involved an initial session on available methods of contraception, followed by a number of formal and informal sessions with women on the benefits and necessities of sterilisation as a means of family planning. The panic around growing population results from the oft-quoted Malthusian Pessimism that the quantity of food available per head decreases with an increase in population. However, the Malthusian Model has lately been debunked and challenged on several grounds. Historically, food scarcity has not been a result of the increasing population, but one of negligent state policies and faulty resource allocation. The spectre of resource scarcity is more a product of capitalist accumulation than of increasing population. Family Planning programmes in India hardly ever incorporated any strategies for better resource management. As a result, there arises a need for more helping hands in the family – thereby placing the burden of reproducing the class of workers in the family on women. In a society where increased emphasis is placed on the need of a male heir, women are forced to reproduce despite giving birth to multiple female children or even in cases of major health risks - particularly when access to healthcare is limited. These Family Planning Programmes, instead of fighting the arbitrary burden of reproduction placed on women, made regular attempts at sterilisation of their bodies. When the Family Planning Schemes did not yield high results, many state governments resorted to economic and political restrictions on families having more than the state-mandated number of children. A recent bill in this direction being the Uttar Pradesh Population (Control, Stabilization and Welfare) Bill, 2021, which aims to limit government jobs and subsidies for families with more than two children. It also mandates additional benefits for families where either of the partners undergo voluntary sterilisation. This bill, if taken as a precedent, can spell disastrous consequences for women, such as forced sterilisation, non-consensual termination of pregnancy and unsafe home births to avoid documentation. But how does this tie up with MTP? MTP came into force in 1971 – in a decade when the state’s concerns with the rising population were mounting. The impetus for the Shantilal Shah Committee report, which formed the basis of the Act, was derived from a UN mission in 1965. The UN mission’sevaluation of India’s population control laws, suggested legalisation of abortion. Although the committee denied any relationship between population control and legalisation of abortion, a number of MPs in the parliament welcomed it as an effective addition to the family planning policies in place. It was suggested that access to abortion would put an end to the concept of giving birth until a male child is conceived. Sex-determination was still legal and would not be criminalised until 1994, when the Pre-Conception and Pre-Natal Diagnostic Techniques (PCPNDT) Act was passed to ban the use of ultrasound and amniocentesis for this purpose. However, PCPNDT places the entire onus of preventing sex-determination on the medical authorities, who are easily able to work their way around the act. Under the guise of liberal abortion laws, it is often difficult to determine whether the consent of the pregnant individual is their own or manufactured. Although the Act only explicitly asks for the consent of the woman for terminating a pregnancy, before the 2021 amendment, unmarried women engaging in consensual sex were exempted from a large chunk of abortion rights granted by the act. The law, for the longest time, viewed conception as something that is ‘done to’ women – legislating abortion only in cases of sexual abuse, rape, failure of contraception, etc. Thus, conception was categorised into two types – violent non-consensual or family-centric. Nowhere did the question of women’s autonomy or consent figure in the discourse. A debate on the same was generated by a recent Delhi High Court legislation that barred an unmarried pregnant woman from terminating a pregnancy of 24-weeks. The legislation was later overruled by The Supreme Court of India, but raised important questions on the association of reproductive rights with marital status in law. Moreover, abortion remains a heavily stigmatised issue, and doctors often end up actively denying patients an abortion on ‘moral grounds’. In pregnancies over 20 weeks, medical practitioners have a greater say in the matter than the pregnant individual. Moreover, the Act has no provisions for penalty or punishments for violating an individual’s right to abortion. MTP has evolved progressively over time, however, it refuses to address the crucial question of bodily autonomy. More issues with the act come up if one looks outside the binary. With the Transgender Persons (Protection of Rights) Act, 2019 requiring trans-persons to exclusively obtain a certification for their identity and the MTP act making no provisions to cover trans and non-binary individuals, their right to abortion under MTP remains ambiguous. So, did we really beat the US at progressiveness? Or did we play into a similar but more subtle dynamic of control over bodily autonomy? Editors: Maddy M, Sophie G, Joyce P

"My advice to any heartbroken young girl is to pay close attention to the study of theoretical physics, because one day there may well be proof of multiple universes. It would not be beyond the realms of possibility that somewhere outside of our own universe lies another different universe. And in that universe, Zayn is still in One Direction. This girl [in the audience] may like to know that in another possible universe, she and Zayn are happily married.” That’s actually Stephen Hawking. No seriously, I am not kidding. But since theoretical physics is yet to prove the existence of such a universe, let me ask you to pay close attention to the study of Wattpad. Teenage girls create alternate universes every day where the synonymous ‘Y/N’ is married to Zayn, who is still in One Direction. These universes exist in the digital archives of fanfictions on platforms like Wattpad, Archive of Our Own, Fanfiction.net, etc. I refer to teenage girls specifically because they dominate this genre of writing. Fanfictions are criminally underrated when it comes to analysing literary endeavours of women. They are barely considered literature to begin with in the mainstream media and are often relegated to genres like slash fiction, erotica, etc. We never stop to think about how millions of women across the globe are disguising in bits and pieces of themselves, their lives and their perception of the world into ‘ships’ and ‘imagines’ every single day. Fanfictions embody the transformative aspect of fandoms. It has been observed that most fandoms dominated by men tend to be curative or more inclined towards putting together a collection of paraphernalia associated with their favourite songs, movies, actors, artists, shows, etc. Women-dominated fandoms at the same time, while being curative, are also heavily inclined towards the transformative aspect. This involves moulding the original narratives or real-life accounts in a creative and meaningful way by writing fanfictions, making fancams, fanedits, etc. These alternate narratives not only explore a fun ‘what-if’ side of the reality or the original narratives but also the way one’s identity and lived experiences transform the existing narratives. One of the reasons why women-dominated fandoms are increasingly transformative is because popular media heavily caters to the cis-het white male interests, barely leaving room for material women can relate to. Even the female-gaze in media is constructed in terms of binaries – something opposite of the male gaze or as a by-product of the same. Platforms like Wattpad and AO3 provide spaces for experimentation and expression, free from the judgemental bounds of what constitutes as palatable for the majority of readers. Publishing industry, like any other form of media, is heavily governed by consumerist considerations. The largely male-dominated publication industry decides the rubrics of what counts as worthy of publication and what doesn’t. Fanfiction platforms, on the other hand, are free from the strict scrutiny of publication houses and establish a direct connection between the writer and the reader. Thus, we have a multiplicity of communities of women and queer individuals reading and writing together, and sharing their lived realities in due course. The ‘imagines’ genre of fanfiction is a prominent example of how fanfictions help establish connections between the lived experience of the writer and the reader, and the shared narrative employed. These fanfictions offer an avenue for considerable degree of personalisation by allowing the reader to step into the shoes of the protagonist. Writers do so by replacing the possible name for a protagonist with Y/N which stands for ‘your name’. In this way, imagines constitute a unique method of connecting with your cherished show, movie, artist, etc., and also personalising bits and pieces of the author’s world-view. Millicent Lovelock in her Master’s thesis You & I: One Direction, Fans and the Co-Construction of Identity, explores how fanfictions provide avenues for not only self-expression and acquiring a sense of connection but also navigating one’s own identity. Lovelock explores how a lot of homoerotic and slash fiction consciously or unconsciously aims at subverting the heterosexual binary one has to struggle with in real-life. Fanfic platforms guarantee both anonymity and audience – making it possible for queer individuals to feel safe and heard at the same time, thus guaranteeing a space for exploration and expression. Despite the safety and anonymity platforms like Wattpad, AO3, etc., guarantee, authors do not always extend the same to the subject of their work – especially when the work is centred around a real person. For instance, one of the episodes of Season One of HBO’s Euphoria featured a short scene on a fanfiction writer who particularly wrote Larry Stylinson (ship name for Louis Tomlinson and Harry Styles) fanfics. The scene featured explicit animated scenes centred around the two artists and garnered severe backlash. Louis Tomlinson also took to Twitter to state that he had not consented to the scene and was deeply unsettled by it. In one of the interviews, when asked about her thoughts on the ethical considerations surrounding the scene, Barbie Ferreira, who plays Kat or the fanfiction writer in Euphoria, stated that, “The show reflects reality in a way that gets people uncomfortable….I was in the fandom. I was fully aware of Larry Stylinson to the point where it was trending everyday and it was something that was so spoken of that it had a cultural impact, which I think was definitely topical.” This statement is testament to the fact that excessive use of certain tropes in fanfictions end up creating narratives that overpower the reality and overrule the comfort and consent of the individuals involved. The cultural impact of Larry Stylinson is a complicated territory. While the conspiracy that the two band members dated briefly and eventually ended up being star-crossed lovers given their management’s homophobia gives many closeted queer individuals a narrative to relate with, it totally neglects the consent, privacy and opinion of both Harry and Louis. As a result, Larry Stylinson fics end up creating a relatable and comforting narrative for some and an invasive conspiracy for others. Another example of the invasive nature of fanfictions is one of the most well-known One Direction fic – the After series by Anna Todd, which has not only been published but also made into a movie franchise. Although the names of the band-members were changed upon publication, the fanfic remains controversial for its hypersexualisation of Harry Styles, who was barely an adult at the time. The ethical boundaries concerning Real-Person Fanfictions on platforms like Wattpad thus remain flimsy, defeating the purpose of community-feeling and safety these spaces are expected to guarantee. At the same time, using ‘Wattpad’ and ‘AO3’ as synonyms for platforms associated with merely erotic fiction is highly reductive, for there’s much more to fanfictions than non-consensual hypersexualisation of real-life artists. These synonyms are not self-generating. They are manufactured in the light of the excessive spotlight lent to erotic fiction associated with these platforms by the mainstream media. Series such as After, The Kissing Booth, and Fifty Shades of Grey started as unassuming fanfictions, which were cherry-picked and highlighted in the mainstream print and television media as the flag bearers of fanfiction. There seems to be a trend towards cherry-picking a particular genre of literature from Wattpad and turning it into mainstream productions. This in turn, discredits the validity and authenticity of any other unproblematic work that may exist on the same platform. Fanfictions, despite their shortcomings, constitute a corpus of writing, mainly from women and queer individuals and are worthy of valuable analysis. If one were to compare the Wattpad version of a story with its published version, one would find that many hints and traces of self-expression are glossed over or subdued, giving the narrative a very mechanical or detached character. Fanfics walk the thin line between use and abuse, and demand a certain degree of regulation in order to make the space safer and more inclusive. Editors: Maddy Manning-Bi, Megan Lin, Lydia Lee, Cathay Lau

Content Warning: arson Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, Dear Asian Youth does not condone Bella left the gas station with two cans of gasoline and a box of matches. She sped through the backroads, blasting the anniversary playlist she made for him. He told her he loved it. He told her that he listened to it every night. He told her he loved her. How pathetic. Bella should’ve seen this coming. Him and the blonde girl always spent a little too much time together. Always looked at each other a little too long. And the blonde girl was always so patronizing. She thought that she was so special for being the only one that knew him and Bella were dating. She’d wink at Bella during football games and lunch. She’d tell Bella that she was so cool, so exotic, so smart. That he and Bella were such an unexpected pairing – she was surprised Bella was even his type – but they were a match made in heaven. Bella pressed on the accelerator. She honked at the cars taking too long to turn and scoffed at senile, old drivers. She only had an hour. He and his family would return from the local country club at eight thirty. Was she there with him? At the place Bella was never allowed in? Was she being the good girlfriend– being what Bella was never allowed to be? Laughing at his father’s jokes and telling his mom that she had great hair? Maybe the blonde girl would come over later (not in secret), and they would eat a pint of ice cream and listen to the latest episode of whatever shitty podcast he was obsessed with this week. She parked in the elementary school’s beat down parking lot. She slid on her long, crimson leather gloves and switched her white sneakers for black boots. She remained in her black cheer uniform– the outfit she wore when she met him, and when he ended everything. Bella descended into the forest. Twigs and leaves crunched under her boots. She tore the overgrown branches and prickly leaves away from her face. Gray clouds crowded the sky, casting a shadow over the small town. Bella lugged the gasoline cans through the hidden path. She used to take this trail to sneak into his house. He never wanted his parents to see her. He claimed that they were strict. They didn’t want him dating. He had to focus on sports and school. He didn’t have time for a girlfriend. They didn’t hold hands in the hallway. He wouldn’t even look at Bella in the class. That was just one of the many reasons why everything had to go. What a shame. Bella opened his window. His backyard-facing room made it easy to seamlessly sneak in and out. This window was like a badge of pride to her. He loved her so much that he wanted to protect her from his parents. He wanted to keep their relationship a secret. How pathetic. Bella glanced around the room and sat on his bed. This was a nice bed. Bella liked the bed. She used to fold the plaid sheets and fluff the pillows. What a shame it had to go. Bella also liked the desk. She used to sit on the black leather chair and organize his textbooks alphabetically. She’d wipe away the dust. The desk had to go too. Bella did not want to part with the closet. She would hang up fallen clothes and wash forgotten shoes. She’d dig out childhood comic books and put them on the nightstand, or rearrange old family photo albums. It’d suck to let that go. But he had this coming. First, she doused gasoline on the Polaroid photos of him and the blonde girl. On the love letters the blonde girl wrote him and their prom tickets. Bella used to write him love letters. She’d sneak them into his locker. Every. Single. Morning. And he’d leave coffee inside her locker. Sometimes a pastry, too. Before his adoration ran out, he was good to her. But did he ever adore Bella? Did he truly ‘protect her’? Maybe he just didn’t want people to know he was dating the girl with the homework answers. It was a good thing she wore the leather gloves. Gasoline was a messy, messy thing. She’d have to buy new boots after this, too. The liquid soaked and saturated her shoes. “This will do,” Bella grinned. “Yes, this will do.” She dropped the rose red tin and wiped her hands. She climbed out the window and into the backyard. Then she’d take that same trail back to her car. Drive back home and swim in her pool. Or bake chocolate chip cookies. Hot chocolate sounded great too. Bella toyed with the match in her hands. In a quick movement, she slid the wooden material against the box. Heat from the blue-orange flame radiated onto her cheeks and she sucked in a breath. What a shame. Bella hurled the match through the window and jumped back. The initial shock swiftly transformed to joy. Everything burst into beautiful, raging flames. The fire engulfed the bedroom and spread across the first floor. Glass shattered and the structure collapsed. Bella watched the blaze in awe. She hadn’t smiled this wide in months. She jumped, clapped, and skipped into the woods. She twirled through the dandelions and shrubs and sang nursery rhymes to the trees. She cackled at the chipmunks and befriended the birds. She didn’t notice the sirens humming in the distance or the tears rolling down her cheeks. Editors: Leandra S., Nadine R, Zoe L. Image Credit: Link

summer of returning from slumber again and again. summer of bleached hair and gap-mouthed soda bottles, caps skittering from our hands like lost green beetles, tiny jewels. the pier flooding with weeds. we peeled open like a sunburn, or a body of water with only the moon inside it; then remembered when we were gods, which is to say, in some kind of childhood. grabbing fistfuls of sky, breathing without having to teach ourselves how. our screams more prayer than prayer. unashamed when we hit the water, our bodies still shedding their secret winter skins, every ripple a new thing invented only to return home. Editors: Uzayer M., Luna Y., Blenda Y.

松柏后凋 The pine and the cypress are the last to wither Pine and cypress are the last to wither Even when winter’s cold comes hither Their age is seen in delicate lace Jutting outwards like feathers, Filling frost’s cold space. Pine and cypress raise fruits of bronze Feeding even the smallest birds of song Layered scales protect their seeds Hanging like ornaments Richness they feed Pine and cypress record the past With rings of wood made to long last Every challenge they’re forced to face Selfishness or chance They persevere with grace Even when hellfire turns to fall Pine and cypress will always stand tall For when the blankets lay, Their endurance and character Will always stay. Editors: Joyce S., Nicole O.

love when sought for will never be found, because when you look amongst the withering trees, you will most definitely find, not the broken heart nor the manic mind, but dandelions carrying the faintest of messages that you shall choose to ignore. these lies will keep you alive for a night or maybe two until the seeds disperse along the settled soil that will soon be the grave of your burden. you'll watch lovers trample the earth around your eventual sepulcher, glowing with bliss and smiles dancing upon their lips, skipping across with intricate rhythm, as if composing their own ballads of affection. you'll look over your shoulder but whatever will you do, when it is time for your grave to be dug? for your hatred dines within your eyes and your demons feast upon the happiness that comes from your heart you reread paper napkins of ink and promises, tearing at the grass in contempt and the dandelions that have already grown above your home, the earth. dandelions whisper and you muffle them by blowing, blowing away their seeds of truth for silencing is what you have always known but you both know, that you will never be destined for love. Editors: Blenda Y., Uzayer M. Photo Credits: La Douleur (Sorrow) (1868-1869) by Paul Cézanne

Dirge for an Immigrant grief flew across the Atlantic on an isolated journey to plummet down like a dysfunction into the heart of a nation of stripes and stars of promise beautiful land, 美國， that’s what we call the soaring landscapes, tumbling hills tapped like monsoon water flowing into green-grass pastures, just a mile away are effervescent desires, a high-rise hedonistic Hail Mary for those back East who the rich ones called farmers back home, they scrambled for plows and axes, afternoon sun or dusky rain a trace of dirt underneath fingernails, hoping that it would promise grain when mouths in a family were ravenous but there is nothing but bark to peel from elmwood, no bite, only the gratuitous grit that begs a migration so a 爺爺 packs his bags in 1849, shuts his suitcase full of pickaxes tool primed to chip away at stone for months on end, waiting for that golden glimmer of gluttony he may never see his 太太 or his 孩子 again, this he knows, but as he sails off into the grand blue he thinks of how he could’ve made a living fishing, if only the opportunity didn’t dive back into the murk slithering away like a lodged farewell grief sailed over from Angel Island downtown in 1906, to the Santa Ana streets where markets rustle with leaves and lantern paper, warm golden glow against white fog until one day the haze ruptured may 25 somebody had declared a Chinese man in town sick, said he had leprosy, like his skin was crawling with disease, said he had spread it to every other yellow one in town Excerpt from a 1895 map of Santa Ana, California: “Turn-of-the-century fire insurers considered Chinese people a potential fire hazard, so they marked Chinese residences.” “burn it,” they said. “burn it,” the onlookers cry as sailboats of smoke stream, screaming up to sky pale-faced firefighters grin at their own ruins, a remedy for a “contaminated” town, like yellow warning signs promising danger with their very existence just a few blocks away in a pen enclosed with barb wire a 婆婆 holds her grandchildren tight, clutches her draped 漢服 like a futile prayer, watches wide-eyed as her second home crumples like burnt bast paper a 爸爸 falls to his feet, incredulous as his tailoring shop, the one he had worked night and day for the past decade, leaps into flames suits and dresses reduced to ashes , enough soot for solemn funerals a 弟弟 clings to his brother sobbing, “why us? why us?” but all the whites will hear is the babbling of another China-boy taken from his motherland too soon. Editors: Hailey Hua, Katie Truong Referece: Lewinnek, Elaine. “When Santa Ana Burned down Its Own Chinatown.” KCET, 21 June 2022, https://www.kcet.org/shows/lost-la/when-santa-ana-burned-down-its-own-chinatown.

Amma doesn’t look at me the same way. She used to love my hair. It was long Natural It used to curl a little at the end and form little waves It was deep and dark, almost a perfect black And she would oil it to make it even richer weaving Love and Tradition Into my hair. Now that’s dead. Last Saturday, I was determined. Nothing could stop me Because that hair That hair she loved I loathed. While she saw waves, I felt weight. A weight on my back A weight, omnipresent A weight within myself. It was like a little seed Planted in my brain, I don’t know when But I had cared for it Watered it Let it grow. Its roots Permeating my thoughts. It was persistent. It became a passion. A poison. But I had ignored it. I was scared of it. What it said about me. What it changed about me. And what it would expose About me. Because now, my hair speaks volumes. I see their eyes Their realization Their recognition of that seed That shame, seared deep within myself Scarred my family. Amma is now careful around me. Our conversations are fragile. They stretch and bend Twist and twine Are careful to not touch Anything that would collapse. Beneath them, Embedded in them Hiding in them, Is a fear both of us have. They dangle They are a measure Of the person I have become And the person she has lost. We both don’t know how to escape From the superficiality. We are both lost. I thought cutting my hair would be liberating It was. But now that weight consumes her And so, it consumes me. Editor: Cydney V., Joyce S., Charlotte C.