The Wasp - Volume IV Spring 2017 by The WASP

Amalgamation, Imponderabilia, & Other Difficult Words

Piece of the Month:

â&#x20AC;&#x153;Challenging the Bechdel-Wallace Testâ&#x20AC;? by Marta Anchim

wasp /wɒsp/ AmE /wɑsp/ noun [C] 1 a black and yellow flying insect which can sting you: There’s a wasps’ nest in that old tree! 2 when translated into the language of the country where the weather is schizophrenic and where even refugees do not wish to go (see: Poland), it becomes an osa – a place where all meanings collapse: Yesterday, I spent an amazing day at OSA! (here: an abbreviation for Ośrodek Studiów Amerykańskich, English: American Studies Center) LILLA ORLY Editor-in-chief ALEKSANDRA BARCISZEWSKA NATALIA OGÓREK Associate editors KAMILA MARIA WYSZYŃSKA PAWEŁ PAŃCZYK DTP TERESA BAKALARSKA Illustrations: pages 9, 26, 27 EDDA CHAVES Illustrations: page 28 MAŁGORZATA DUDO Illustration: page 11 PAULINA NIEWIADOMSKA Illustration: page 15 KLAUDIA WANAT Illustration: page 21 PAULINA FRELEK Illustration: page 22 MAGDALENA KRZEMIŃSKA Front and back cover MARTA RAPACKA Caricatures: pages 30-31 NADIA BŁASZCZYK PR 2

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#&$?! (Retiring in Onomatopoeia) Lilla Orly 4 ARTICLES FICTION Challenging the Bechdel-Wallace Test Fort/Da, Fox/Trot, Faux/Pas Marta Anchim Aleksandra Barciszewska & Lilla Orly 7 18 Generation X – Struggling Caregivers Au Revoir Natalia Hebda Dominika Nadolna 9 22 How New Media Influence Politics and Social Life Natalia Hebda POETRY 11 Omissions Performativity: or Why We’re All Acting Teresa Bakalarksa Ada Rachfalska 26 14 How to Un-Drown Teresa Bakalarska 27 Difficulty Mateusz Boczkiewicz 28

The next issue’s theme: TO BE ANNOUNCED We’re still recruiting! If you’re interested in writing for The Wasp, please contact us: thewaspjournal@gmail.com Facebook: facebook.com/thewaspjournal American Studies Center: asc.uw.edu.pl The WASP | Volume IV | Spring 2017

#&$?!* For the past several months, The Wasp has been taking on the responsibility of writing about nothing but big, scary words: Sin, Love, Time, etc. But for this not so final, final issue we’re clamoring over the consonants and vowels of massive words like circumlocution (the use of many words where fewer would do, especially in a deliberate attempt to be vague or evasive). Standards cannot be set without contrast, thus there cannot be small words or even average words without sesquipedalians (someone prone to using long words) who use lengthy nominalizations just for the fun of it. Nevertheless, it’s important to excogitate (to think out; devise; invent) carefully as it’s incredibly easy to become redundant when being parsimonious (displaying extreme stinginess) with enriching everyday talk. The cynosure (a person or thing that is the center of attention or admiration) of this issue challenges the challenger of female representation in film: the Bechdel-Wallace test. In her article, Marta Anchim poignantly picks apart the quantification of gender equality in media and questions just what makes a movie feminist (advocating social, political, legal, and economic rights for women equal to those of men). By putting this examination to the test in the face of true cinema staples like Woody Allen’s repertoire and a conglomeration of Disney flicks, this piece allows the reader to think in a more perspicacious (having keen mental perception and understanding) manner. This is our last hurrah! for this school year. It’s truly been a joy and an honor to weave, to command, to mold all sorts of phrases for the interest and entertainment of our audience and we cannot wait to charm letters to do our bidding, once more. I would personally like to thank Aleksandra Barciszewska for putting her faith in a fledgling first-year student who just really liked playing with words; please stand for an ovation of the original wordsmith [clapping ensues]. The Wasp will renew its duty in the fall, but we still encourage our readers to spread the buzz for those saxicolous (living or growing among or beneath rocks) among the population. And so the time has come to say the most difficult word of all, the excruciating means to an end; for now, we must bid you farewell! *Retiring in Onomatopoeia

Lilla Orly Newly-minted editor-in-chief. BA student at the ASC who finds catharsis in drumming. Dabbles in miscellaneous pastimes when not scribbling nonsense furiously into notebooks, on pavement or walls… any surface where writing is possible.

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ARTICLES

The WASP | Volume IV | Spring 2017

Piece of the month

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Challenging the Bechdel-Wallace Test In 1985 a cartoonist named Alice Bechdel created a “little lesbian joke,” which would have quite an impact on the critical review of cinematography some 20 years later. In her alternative feminist comic strip Dykes to Watch Out For, she featured a situation in which two women talk about movies and one of them explains that she watches only those that meet the three following requirements: 1. The movie has to have at least two women in it, 2. who talk to each other, 3. about something besides a man. The story ends with the two protagonists failing to find a movie that comply with all three rules. Surprising? In 1985 maybe not, but in 2017 definitely yes. Half of the movies nominated for Best Picture this year fail the test. Victories from three previous years are also disputable. Even though the protagonist in last year’s winner, Spotlight, is female, she fails to conduct a merit conversation with any other woman. A year before, in Birdman, the characters of Naomi Watts and Andrea Riseborough only briefly talk about the behavior of the main protagonist, and in the powerful 12 Years a Slave the only female-female interaction occurs when cruel Ms. Epps abuses Patsy—a slave played by Lupita Nyong'o. However, the Bechdel-Wallace test should not be regarded as a measurement of a film’s quality. The above mentioned winners were granted the Academy Award due to the outstanding sum total of many aspects including screenplay, directing, cinematography, and other significant factors. Often, the failure to pass the test stems from the movie’s specific subject, and while the female audience might wish to see more women protagonists holding power and independence, it would prove difficult to do so without jeopardizing the authenticity of the movie’s idea. The test aims rather to draw the viewers’ attention to the underrepresentation of women in popular culture and to ponder upon their portrayal in a sexualized and stereotyped manner.

Before picking a movie on a Friday night, many of us never really wonder if it will feature strong female characters. Yet, maybe after discovering what the Bechdel-Wallace test is, you started wondering which of your favorite movies would, in fact, pass it; or which directors could be associated with a feminist representation of their heroines. You know which movies often pass? Disney movies. That’s right, princesses in shiny gowns will teach your daughters the power of the woman. The classic Disney movies feature princesses who deal with matters much more important than men, even if the happy ending cannot be achieved without one. Even though some argue that a portion of movies fail the test only because a given character is not properly named, I would strongly disagree due to the fact that the particularity in animated movies lays in a clear and transparent depiction of their characters and thus, if the Evil Queen is named so, it is because this title describes her figure precisely. And so, even in such a situation it is visible how the application of the Bechdel test could sometimes lead to misunderstandings and an underestimation of a given movie. Nevertheless, with the omission

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of the rule of naming the conversing females, most of the Disney classics pass the test: Cinderella talks to the Fairy Godmother about not losing faith in her dreams, Sleeping Beauty’s fairies save the Prince, Alice talks to the Queen of Hearts about the size of her head, Pocahontas and Mulan talk to their grandmothers, and Snow White is not particularly resistant to a bucket full of shiny apples from the Evil Queen. The heroines from more recent Disney productions tend to be even more independent and resolute; Brave, Tangled, The Princess and the Frog, Frozen, and even Toy Story 3 all pass the Bechdel test. Still, some critics observed a curious thing about Disney female protagonists; it turns out that a great majority of them share the same facial structure. Even with some diversity in race representation, such as Mulan, The Princess and the Frog, and Lilo and Stitch, the heroines usually have small button-shaped noses and big, shiny eyes while the diversification of male characters is significantly greater. Thus, here emerges another flaw of the Bechdel test. Would you say Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part II is anti-feminist? The movie does not feature even one female-female conversation, but is Hermione without agency? Is her femininity exploited? No. Her bravery and intellect often surpass those of Harry and Ron, saving the three from trouble. The last part of the Harry Potter series features quite a range of strong women. Mrs. Weasley protects her family, Prof. McGonagall rebels to defend all students and even Bellatrix Lestrange is portrayed as a fearful, sharp character. From Annie Hall to Blue Jasmine—you would think that Woody Allen who so often positions the female character in the center of his movies would be a feminist filmmaker, but even some of his pictures fail the test. Allen is both fascinated and scared of women and, even though he tends to use their sexuality, he indulges into their complexity and inscrutability. So what happened in Manhattan, Radio Days, Sleeper, but also the more recent, To Rome With Love? Moreover, the Bechdel-Wallace test may righteously reveal the misrepresentation of females in commercial movies, but does it not negate the topic revolving around men in women’s conversations? The test can be also viewed as a method to reveal the audience’s preferences in regard to what they want to see. In that case, could we deem a significant part of excellent cinema as ultimately anti-feminist?

Women have always been talking about men, that is just what we do. The fact that we give that idea more thought than a man would is because it is a female tendency to care more—or at least longer and more thoroughly—about human interactions. This fact does not make us more vulnerable nor complicated, it just makes us different. Being more able—or at least willing—to express our thoughts and feelings, we find a method in discussing our problems out loud. Sharing and exchanging worries, concerns, but also joys with female friends creates a unique part of each woman’s individuality and influences her view on the world. Thus, when we go see a movie, there is nothing wrong in choosing the one that resembles our daily life, or at least one part of it. In fact, many films that fail the Bechdel-Wallace test are profoundly feminist. In a critical view on a given picture, one needs to remember the basic concept of the movie. The questions of a test deeming a particular piece feminist or not should be extended. How many of the overall characters are female? Are these women diverse in physical and psychological terms? Are they driving the plot or do they merely serve as causalities for male action? Does the story recognize their agency and, if so, does it tend to award or punish them for it? Even if the women talk about men, do they seek equality? Are they inferior, superior, or parallel to men? The representation and depiction of women depends on many factors spanning from genre or intended audience, to budget and the moviemaker’s gender. Thus, weighing the many factors and questions will lead us to conclude more justly whether a given movie works up to a feminist standard or not before giving a final verdict.

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Marta Anchim Completely mental about cooking, but if she ever leaves the kitchen, she spends time watching movies, reading Agatha Christie novels, and complaining about life. Works in fashion industry and tries not to feel guilty about eating pizza so often.

Generation X – Struggling Caregivers

‘Generation X’ is the segment of the population with birth dates ranging from the early 1960s to the early 1980s; the Western post-World War II baby-boom. According to Signe-Mary McKernan—senior fellow and economist at the Urban Institute, a nonprofit organization that focuses on social and economic policy—“In the U.S. the expectation is that every generation does better than the last one, but that has not been the case for Generation X.” First of all, ‘Xers’ have less wealth than their parents did at their age. Members of Generation X have been through the most economic changes compared to other generations. This includes 9/11 and the Great Recession, which led to their financial instability and inability to save any larger amounts of money in order to ensure their peaceful retirement.

As mentioned before, the second fact that does not bode well for the X’s futures is how much they are behind on retirement savings—7% hadn’t started saving, and 11% said they had no retirement goals. This large chunk of a generation having ‘no retirement goals’ proves an important point about their current situation. This in itself is enough to prevent them from making any sort of plans concerning their future, even very important ones. Another factor playing an important role in Xers’ bad economic shape is the major mortgage debt which on average reaches around 122% of an income. Most of them purchased their first houses between 2000 and 2006, which was right before the housing market crash during which prices fell by nearly half. This way, not only their prospective plans for earning money through real estate trade were made impossible but it also left them with major debt that cannot be covered through selling property at its current value. This way, a large chunk of their earnings is being taken away from them monthly; the part that otherwise could be going towards their current—often non-existent—retirement savings.

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What causes even more anxiety amongst citizens in their 30s and 40s is a growing competition in the workplace. Most often it can be observed between Gen X and Gen Y members—the generation following the Xers, which consists of their mostly ambitious but often also highly privileged children. A major advantage of Generation Y over Generation X is their fluency in all things digital and being far more tech savvy. On top of that, after the recession, Xers are being held responsible for what went wrong, which causes the heads of many companies to look at the new generation as a ‘clean slate’ and a chance for a new beginning, whilst treating the generation of their parents as ‘ghosts of the past’—ones they would much rather leave behind. Continuing the subject of rivalry between Gen X and Gen Y, Xers happen to be ignored by the marketers who tend to extend their offers towards Millennials, who are far more able to spend larger amounts of money on their hobbies, gadgets, and entertainment due to their much better economic situation than that of their often struggling parents, who don’t have much funds or time for such distractions. Another burden put on the Xers by the generation of their children is their continuous need for support from their parents, even well into adulthood as they continue their education. Generation X is often being called the 'sandwich generation,' as they are forced to support both parents AND adult children. Caring for older relatives while funding adult children only adds to their financial struggles preventing them from, for instance, saving for their retirement, often even forcing them to work extra hours and take on second jobs to fund their relatives.

On top of all the economic issues that Xers have to face, another important matter that has to be considered is their quite common lack of identity and a ‘sense of self,’ both on the personal field. They are always busy caring and providing for others, simply left with no time to focus on themselves. Their cluelessness also is visible on the political field because of their willingness to vote for whomever—simply anyone who could possibly help in improving their financial situation, which results in them having no affiliation with any specific political party whatsoever. All of the factors mentioned above have caused the Xers to be highly cynical about the concept of the ‘American Dream.’ Whether considering educational opportunities, home ownership, making their dreams come true, or a matter as basic as simple day-today stability and peace of mind, none of the above seem to have been fulfilled for this generation. As their lives ended up revolving mostly around caring for others— whether it being their parents, their children, or both— there has not been much space, time or, not to mention, financial means, that could be utilized towards fulfilling personal goals and dreams.

Natalia Hebda 21, architecture and interior design enthusiast, in love with love, 'sociable introvert', trying to keep up with her 15 years younger sister. 10

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How New Media Influence Politics and Social Life

‘New media’ is a broad term that refers to the means of mass communication directly tied to the use of digital technologies. Because of its incredibly far, worldwide reach, media such as the Internet have become one of the most influential platforms, allowing people to access an abundance of information—whether it be true or false. The Internet also provides everyone with a platform to directly share their opinions and discuss with others without leaving the safety of their home. Whilst—when used in a thoughtful way—it may create an opportunity for a meaningful exchange of thoughts, more often than not this is, sadly, not the case. Due to the fact that many individuals feel anonymous and unpunishable when not physically faced with another human being, they lose a sense of responsibility for their own words. Social media is an inseparable part of the new media, gathering billions of users who share their videos, pictures, thoughts, and overall lives online. When used responsibly, it may create great opportunities and can be used as a means of keeping in touch with one’s friends and family if seeing them in person isn’t possible. Yet, more and more often, it tends to become a replacement for face-to-face contact. Due to tiredness, being busy[Symbol]or simply lazy[Symbol]people very often choose asking their friends about their day through an online message rather than seeing them personally. However, not everyone realizes that not enough social interaction can lead to a rapid decrease of quality of one’s life due to the lack of balance between social and work life, causing feelings of loneliness and even depression.

However, a lack of meaningful human contact isn’t the only way excessive usage of social media can cause depression. Another factor that doesn’t seem to be discussed often enough is the way in which people are prone to evaluate themselves through the prism of other people’s lives. People tend to compare themselves to others—their jobs, families, relationships, and overall happiness—however, what they often seem to forget is that nobody necessarily likes sharing their less fortunate moments. So whilst everyone might be excited to share a picture of themselves on their lovely summer vacation, very few are willing to share pictures from their stay at the hospital due to a serious illness. As mentioned in one of Forbes magazine’s articles about the links between social media and depression, “[t]he exposure to highly idealized representations of peers on social media elicits feelings of envy and the distorted belief that others lead happier, more successful lives. […] It's important that people take interactions on social media seriously and don't think of it as somehow less impactful because it's a virtual experience as opposed to an in-person experience, it’s a different forum that has real emotional consequences.” To sum it up—it’s important to pay attention to the consequences of using social media regularly and the effects it has on our mental and emotional state.

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Regardless of the negative effects, new media also brings many—unheard of in any before-the-Internet era—opportunities. Social media allows us to befriend a person far out of our physical reach, one living in another country or even continent. Even though such a person may not be able to provide support and company personally and on a daily basis, they still provide us with an insight into an entirely different culture allowing us to expand our horizons, learn, and better understand the world around us. The Internet can often help in developing views that are more aware of, and open to, diversity[Symbol]making one far less xenophobic than a person living in an isolated society unaware of other cultures. Some would also say that the new media have become the center of the political arena. With the most influential politicians—including past presidents of the United States of America—freely expressing their thoughts online, their opinions become more public and less censored than ever before. Some of them manage to gain supporters this way, with millions of devoted followers awaiting their new posts, yet the actions of some may eventually pose a threat to their political career by carelessly sharing their unfiltered thoughts.

However, some would say that ‘any press is good press,’ meaning that whatever makes people talk about a certain person or situation[Symbol]regardless of how controversial it actually may be[Symbol]still brings more attention to them and makes them even more recognizable. It has been pointed out before how much of an influence new media have had on election results these past years. The most recent presidential election has been meticulously covered by news sites, and the whole world was watching and analyzing each and every single move of the opponents. And, as mentioned earlier, the theory of ‘no press is bad press’ couldn’t have proved to be more right, “Trump has received much more negative coverage than his competitors, to little apparent effect.” Meaning that regardless of how controversial or frowned upon by many people his actions were, the end result was that his presidential campaign received even more media coverage. Donald Trump himself acknowledged the power of his social media sites, mentioning how much more expensive his opponent Hillary Clinton’s campaign was, “I really believe that the fact that I have such power in terms of numbers with Facebook, Twitter, Instagram. I think it helped me win all of these races where they’re spending much more money than I spent and I won. I think that social media has more power than the money they spent, and I think maybe to a certain extent, I proved that.” His simple yet successful online campaign also points to another interesting aspect of social media; with a large enough following, it can become a great platform for advertising by spending far less (if any) money than more conventional campaigns that employ solely television or radio.

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Many controversies surrounding Donald Trump were very closely linked to his rather free and careless use of social media. He was very willing to share his unedited thoughts as they came, as well as engage in often heated discussions with other high-profile personages, which were later on were quoted and analyzed countless times by multiple news sites. But once again, his electorate did not seem to be taken aback, “[t]o understand how this is possible, we must look at the dynamics of political communication on social media. During the 2008 and 2012 electoral cycles, the campaigns of Barack Obama vastly outperformed those of John McCain and Mitt Romney on social media. The current electoral cycle has seen a dramatic reversal of this situation: Donald Trump’s social media operation has clearly surpassed that of Hillary Clinton.” One may assume that the electorate interpret the very forward behavior of politicians as a sign of honesty and transparency, rather than attempting to create a perfect and inviting image of reality. The digital media’s scrutiny may also sometimes force politicians to be more honest and transparent, but this influence also expands to their electorate who, thanks to means such as the Internet, have been provided with far easier access to information about politicians’ backgrounds and views on certain topics which can lead to a more conscious participation in the election process. Regardless of the outcome, new media has become an integral part of our everyday lives, often causing havoc, but more often than not, offering many benefits and it’s in our best interest to adapt to its influence on nearly every single aspect of life. The WASP | Volume IV | Spring 2017

Natalia Hebda 21, architecture and interior design enthusiast, in love with love, 'sociable introvert', trying to keep up with her 15 years younger sister. 13

Performativity: or Why We’re All Acting I remember I wanted to become an actress at one point in my life. I was young and that was a typical thing for a small girl to dream of (though, most certainly, not every girl, but we’ll get to that later). It turns out, I was starting to act already, every day, sometimes with a little help from my parents, my teachers, and my surrounding environment. What if I told you that you’re an actor or an actress too, on a daily basis, even though you’re not in the spotlight, and not on the stage? I believe all of us are, since I’ve learned about quite a fascinating concept called ‘performativity.’ I first heard about it at one interesting course I took during my Erasmus exchange in Germany last year. Performativity was first explored by Judith Butler, a renowned American philosopher, and it revolves around the constructions of gender—how the masculine and the feminine is constructed. Now, I’m not against or don’t insist that such things as masculinity or femininity don’t exist; rather, I insist they are clearly constructed, meaning they are a defined set of rules. “Boys don’t cry,” “Girls wear pink,” “Boys play football,” “Girls play with dolls…” I could go on like this endlessly and you would know where it goes, anyway (besides, this binary system is killing me). The thing is that, according to this concept, we don’t know the rules from day one. We’re not born a boy or a girl with these sets of rules inclined. We learn; we hear it from our parents; we’re taught by our teachers; we see it in our environment. We either take the set of rules as our own and live by them, or we reject them because we don’t feel like they fit us. Even when we fully accept them as we learn and try to adjust, we may often follow these rules clumsily and appear awkward to our parents, friends, and others. It happens almost anytime we try to learn and master any new thing. Like with riding a bike—people don’t ride it smoothly the first time they do it.

And so, it is difficult to navigate through this set of rules. When we do something against it, we automatically become less and less of a woman or a man. This inclines that there is an “ideal” model of womanhood or manhood that everybody’s trying to achieve. Moreover, we have to constantly repeat specific actions, follow specific behavior (not cry, wear pink, put on makeup, or enjoy sports) all the time. It isn’t enough that a woman wears feminine clothes one day—she has to do it every day if she wants to bring herself closer to the “ideal.” If a man doesn’t cry his whole life and then cries publicly once, then some may say he’s less of a man and, automatically, he’s further away from the “ideal.” So the actions which are part of this set of rules have to be infinitely repeated in order to make everyone around you certain that you are this or that. And that predefined “ideal,” as with any ideal in life is, in fact, impossible to achieve. The repetitiveness of our actions in order to be recognized as this or that makes me think that gender is a very fragile concept. When we understand that there isn’t any “original” man or woman out there, and the majority pursues an “ideal,” we may as well admit that drag is just another kind of performance, a variation of gender expression, just like being a man or a woman is. Turns out, every one of us is a performer who gets to play their part. It happens every morning and continues throughout the day. Every time you stand in front of your wardrobe and start picking clothes, you become an actor or actress who is preparing for putting on a little show. Think about this next time you’re standing in front of that wardrobe thinking what you’re going to wear that day. Or when you go shopping for new clothes. Or when you do your hair or makeup. What all these decisions have in common is that there is a role to be played—more feminine, less feminine, more manly, less manly—it can be a role outside of this strict binary system, as well.

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Of course, there are other goals to be achieved in the meantime. Most of us want to express our personalities/ hobbies/passions through our appearance, and that is very much the same “show.” We should remember that we often strive to achieve that “perfect look” to be acknowledged as this or that, because if we don’t, we will be judged. Precisely because of the compulsory rules that are imposed on us, we are so willing to do our best to “get that look.” And we’ll be judged anyway, regardless of how close to perfection we are with that “look.” Want it or not, we’re all actors or actresses, or we are all a drag. Just a different kind of drag. And let us play whatever we want. Bibliography: Butler, J. (1993). Imitation and Gender Subordination. In H. Abelove, M. A. Barale, & D. M. Halperin (Eds.), The Lesbian and Gay Studies Reader (pp. 307-320). New York: Routledge. Ada Rachfalska Music enthusiast – addicted to live shows, mostly travels to see her favorite acts. Loves to take pictures with analog cameras. Engaged in social justice matters. An economist-to-beturned-humanist, she is finishing her bachelor's at OSA and figuring out how to stay in the academic circle. Always has her third eye open. The WASP | Volume IV | Spring 2017

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FICTION

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Fort/Da, Fox/Trot, Faux/Pas

The strange kind of codependence between parents and their offspring is the most fundamentally nourishing slavery to both parties. “When a parent dies, a child feels his or her own mortality; yet, when a child dies, it’s immortality that a parent loses,” was the haunting quote heard one day or another, now part of excruciatingly terminal epiphany incorporated into an everyday prayer. The domino effect that had been delayed and dispersed throughout forty-eight years of Adrienne’s existence finally knocked the ultimate piece in the resilient chain of breaths that shrieked the apocalypse away. What was left was silent acceptance with a tint of approval of the void that blemished the future that was to be savored by no one. Detached from her existence and emotionally dismembered, Adrienne was sitting by the kitchen table, sipping wine—an astoundingly cheap Christmas gift she had gotten at work from her Secret Santa, just a few months before. The bitterness and dryness of the red fluid corresponded too well with the drought that unexpectedly swamped her soul, just a few weeks before. Discovering your child in a bathtub with a blood-oozing abyssal canyon extending from the wrist upward, almost to the crook of the arm, leaves you numb and disoriented. Adrienne felt as if she were falling apart in slow motion. Seventeen years of love encapsulated in the receptacle that had been the only purpose for her to endure. Seeing it gone made Adrienne collapse right inside all the previous hardships and heartaches she had safely hidden deep within her mind, shoved somewhere around the temporal and frontal lobe. Her baby’s life was indeed a bed of roses. From the very first days, Andrew’s crib was filled with razor-sharp thorns that made Adrienne’s and her husband, Ross’s, days fairly challenging. Raising a child with intellectual disability was not the perfect future Adrienne had designed for herself, yet she tried to do her best and accept the not-so-comfortable situation.1 For seventeen years—and probably till the very last heartbeat—she loved Andrew more than she could consciously comprehend, even though loving him required extra effort. 1 For years, Adrienne tried to fool herself into loving the family she and Ross assembled from the debris of past suffering mixed with occasional happiness—happiness that had a lifespan of a sickly mayfly yet still occurred, from time to time. Ever since she was a little girl, she had always wanted to have a child, but when it finally happened, she suddenly forgot why she even wanted it in the first place. She hadn’t been the best mother a child could have. Nor a wife. For quite some time she had been been struggling with her utmost devotion to booze. Yet, she would go to work on an everyday basis, keep up appearances and be this radiantly positive person one would always want to have around. Smoke and mirrors were gone, though, when she would finally come home and pour herself a drink, one after another, till she would pass out in the kitchen, surrounded by her own vomit. “Maybe that’s enough for tonight,” Ross would suggest, gently and understandingly trying to barge in-between the bottle and his wife. “You’ve had a long day, let’s go to bed now.” “You’re pathetic. Just look at you. How can you even look at yourself and not throw up every single time you see the reflection of your miserable façade,” four glasses of wine spoke. “How did I get into this fucking nightmare, I wish I could just leave you and this moronic son of mine and finally live my life,” the fifth glass started its prologue. “I hate this life, I hate you, I hate all of this. I wish I had never met you and I wish I had gotten rid of the baby like I wanted to.”

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Now, sat before the gleaming wood table scattered with glossy-yet-smudged photographs like fallen rose petals, Adrienne felt the culmination of this love swelling every vessel of her being. Each time she felt the unbearable surge that would surely rupture some vital artery or another, Adrienne took a swig of the rosé in her emerald-stemmed glass, exhaling with the dissipation of tension. The images before her—sentimental snapshots of birthdays, candid captures of action, grainy gimmicks of silly faces—made Adrienne wince. The juxtaposition of infant Andrew side-byside with teenage Andrew posing Hercules-style on a cliff at the Grand Canyon made his life seem trivial, like some storyboard of a low-budget film. Adrienne’s fingertips glided across the edges of the second photograph as she took in Andrew’s unusually confident stance, his head turned in profile emphasizing his Roman nose.2 Hidden underneath permissible family memories that she stocked in a fairly organized manner, Adrienne found a tiny press-sealed bag with tiny ache-sealed images—the past’s guilty memorabilia. Artifacts of Fortune’s peculiar sense of humor; shots that not only mutilated the sheets of paper but her very own mind. Among all these worn photographs—some black-and-white, some just simply vague and obscure—one particularly drew her.3 2 Adrienne didn’t recall that day with elated memories. Instead, the recollection was like a dollop of black tar in her mental album of family trips and general attempts to be a collected, well-travelled family. They had started the foray with a somewhat positive outlook; no needless worries in the form of things forgotten, flat tires, or misguiding maps tarnished their otherwise sunny and cheerful drive. The Canyon itself was their panorama prize for successfully getting from Point A to Point B without any meltdowns. It was only when a bucket-hat, floralshirt tourist wielding a selfie-stick grew obnoxious with his invasion of personal space that things went south. “Hey, kid! Mind moving to the left a little bit? Some others want to take a couple pics too, ya know,” the man said less as a question and more as a verbal attack along with his additional, extended limb. Adrienne already tensed at the possible incendiary, but kept her distance in a self-awareness brought upon by years of family therapy. Andrew began stepping forward just as the obtuse tourist shifted his foot to the side for a better angle, their ankles locking for a moment and knocking Andrew off balance. Andrew tottered on the spot, his arms rippling and, for a moment, Andrew’s body weight transferred to the area of his body positioned over the space where the ground ended. Ross rushed forward—not for fear of Andrew falling, as there was no chance of that—but for the anticipation of what would happen when Andrew regained his balance. “AAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” cried Andrew, once he was gravitationally centered once more. “What’s the deal?” the tourist glanced wimpishly at the scene, lowering his selfie-stick like a scared dog placing its tail between its legs. Andrew knocked at his head a few times with a loose fist, his face scrunched and red. The tourist quickly shuffled away without apologizing causing Adrienne to yell after him in a fit of uncontrollable rage, “Watch where you shove your fat ass next time, dickhead!” 3 Deeply preoccupied with digging through the lost-and-unfortunately-founds, she barely noticed the kitchen door open. A warm evening breeze glided through the door that had been devotedly caressed with tools to loosen its lock. Something that coroners would later categorize as a ‘robbery gone wrong,’ took a quite unexpected turn. Mr. D saw Adrienne—clearly a woman who was lost in-between places that couldn’t have been accessed with a Phillips screwdriver—and was caught off guard. Adrienne, as if fallen into a necromantic coma, turned her blonde, mechanized head slowly and latched her stony gaze on Mr. D. Then, she stood up to get him a glass, into which she poured some of her slightly aged, rose-tinted disinfecting liquid. “Thank you,” Mr. D accepted the glass, accustomed to rolling with the punches, “What’s in that bag?” “I’ve forgotten—well, I tried, at least—about all of these. These are all the memories that I’ve wanted to erase, simply not remember. But I couldn’t just get rid of them, you know.” “Who’s that? The girl in this picture. I mean, because the other one is you, right? Looks like it was ages ago, but, you know, you still kind of bear this weird sense of beauty, like in this picture.” Adrienne’s eyes rolled up heavily in their sockets to rest on Mr. D. A coy smirk spread across her face as the alcohol in her blood rushed to fill organs and glands of lust in a physiological response to the compliment. Her chapped lips cracked as she asked, “Have you ever seen a dead body?” A tear slid down her cheek as she spoke, but her disposition remained one of a queer seduction.

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It was hard not to remember how sunny it was that day. Adrienne just got her first bikini ever— blush pink with wide ecru stripes, made of fabric that just wouldn’t stop itching her body. Along with Jenny, her younger sister, they decided to go the beach and enjoy the last gasp of summer. Paul had just finished building his boat and decided it would be fun to see it float. It did actually float and the whole gang took turns sailing it around the Antelope Lake. Yet, the sisters and Maggie, their neighbor, didn’t care much for the act of soaring at the surface of the water—they had always dreamed of becoming top models so they hogged the boat and organized their private photo shoot. Accompanied by a pack of cigarettes, aviator sunglasses, and shawls brought straight from Milan, the girls struck poses never seen before or after, proudly presenting their bosoms, Flamenco hands, and pointed ballet toes. The picture Adrienne was holding in her hand featured the almost Pietà-like arrangement with Jenny spreading her legs and arms outside the boat, still holding a cigarette, still pointing her toes as if she were Anna Pavlova.4 No matter how many last days of summer Adrienne experienced, this one definitely was stuck in her memory. Adrienne walked towards a large speaker system and turned the music on to a deafening volume, Stevie Knicks’ voice rasping so loudly that the photographs on the table whispered and the drinks in their glasses trembled. Now here you go again, you say You want your freedom Well who am I to keep you down It's only right that you should Play the way you feel it But listen carefully to the sound Of your loneliness Like a heartbeat drives you mad In the stillness of remembering what you had And what you lost, and what you had, and what you lost5 4 “Why are you crying?” Mr. D was perplexed. “This is a very nice photograph. You both seem so deliriously happy in it.” “We were. Until we weren’t.” “What do you mean?” “Jenny didn’t know how to swim. And we drank that day. A lot. Just to say ‘goodbye’ to summer properly, you know. And after a few more shots—of alcohol and of our summer photo shoot—she just fell into the lake. We didn’t realize, at first. We were too drunk to notice her being gone. When we finally did, it was too late. Paul tried to resuscitate her, but it was too late. My parents blamed me for years for letting that happen. They were right. She was my little sister, I should have taken care of her.” “Bad things happen to good folks, lady,” Mr. D took a swig of his drink and shook his head. “Only problem is I ain’t good folk and I never was good folk.” 5 Adrienne fumbled awkwardly and extended her hand out to Mr. D who took it and pulled Adrienne close. They swayed, pelvis-to-pelvis, Adrienne sighing along with the song, “…what you lost… what you…lost.” When the song ended Mr. D led head-lolling Adrienne back to her seat at the head of the table.

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Adrienne passed out, her cheek resting on a Polaroid of baby Andrew sitting in a sink, all gummy-smile and rolls of fat.6 Stuck to the memory-gone-wrong picture, she dreamed of the bliss before the words of concerned pre-school workers. When Adrienne had looked at this photograph, she didn’t see Andrew—only a version of herself despite her depiction not being visible anywhere in the image.7 In a perfect unattainable world, Adrienne and Ross could have led the most average white, middle-class, adhering to gender norms kind of life—a life Adrienne had already settled on when she decided her ambitions were too far-fetched for her negligence and narcissism. In an unattainably perfect world, Adrienne is now holding hands with Ross while watching Jenny perform The Swan Lake at the New York City Ballet stage, admiring her Cary Grant–looking Steven Hawking–genius son simply captivated by the beauty of Tchaikovsky’s music. *Click* 6 Then, Mr. D got to work, sliding open drawers, rifling through possessions, extracting anything of value. 7 At one point, when Mr. D was plundering the master bedroom he heard the noise of glass shattering coming from the floor beneath him, but continued his task, undisturbed. When he had finished and returned downstairs he saw that the source of the noise was Adrienne’s body crumpled on the floor, face down in a pool of pale, red vomit. A separate pool of a deeper red shade had radiated across the scattering of photographs and was dripping down the edges of the table. Mr. D placed his fingers on the side of Adrienne’s neck to feel the absence of what he already knew would not be there. He then seamlessly unclasped the necklace that adorned the trunk containing the immobile artery and slid it into his jacket pocket before stepping out the sliding door and back into the night.

Aleksandra Barciszewska Former editor–in–chief. ASC–survivor. Vampiric psychoanalyst by nature. Extracting the sexual from the mundane, rejecting reality for the sake of the very–tale of momentary satiation of the urges for creation.

The WASP | Volume IV | Spring 2017

Au Revoir

You know the story. A boy meets a girl. They fall in love and, in the end, they live happily ever after. Our story is not so different from this. I met a girl. She was smart and beautiful. So. Fucking. Perfect. But I screwed up[Symbol]big time. I was young and stupid back then. And when I realized she was THE girl, it was too late; she was long gone. We met at a bar in London. I had a rough day at work and I needed a drink with the thought that maybe I’ll get lucky and leave with a girl for a one-night stand. I did get lucky after all, but it wasn’t like that. She was casually sitting at the bar, drinking to make her sorrows disappear even if only for that night. Some guy was sitting next to her, hitting on her. She clearly wasn’t interested, but he wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed and didn’t quit trying even when she said she was waiting for somebody. I didn’t think twice. I stood up and I approached them. I wrapped my hand around her waist, said “Hey babe, sorry I'm late” and then kissed her right on the mouth. She could either slap me or play along. I could feel she was surprised and yet, she didn’t blow it off. It worked. That dumb idiot swallowed up the rest of his beer and left the bar. She called me her knight in shining armor and offered to buy me a drink, so she could at least thank me that way for saving the night. We ended up talking till the bar closed. But it wasn’t enough, I wanted to spend more time with her. The thing is… She was in London only for the summer and was leaving the next day. I took her to show her my favorite places, the ones that only locals knew. We spent the whole night together talking, laughing, having one of the best times of our lives. But when the sun rose our time ended and we had to face reality again. So I walked her back to her apartment. I kissed her goodbye, not wanting our time together to end, and I watched her until she disappeared behind the door. I never actually hoped to see her again. I wanted to, but the chances were like one in a million[Symbol]maybe even less. I didn’t know much about her, so it’s not like I could’ve found her on Facebook and, besides, she was from Portland, Oregon, which is over 4 thousand miles from London. Life isn’t a romantic comedy. You don’t fly to another country and you don’t find that someone in 120 minutes. All I could do was wonder how things could be if the timing was right, if she didn’t have to leave, if she stayed. Would we work out? Would we have our fairy tale? I was leaning towards the answer that we weren’t meant to be, that all the world could give us was that one short moment to cherish till the end of time. I guess I was wrong.

The WASP | Volume IV | Spring 2017

I literally bumped into her on a street in San Francisco. It was a business trip; my firm just opened a branch there and they sent me to oversee it. I didn’t notice her because instead of looking where I was going I was checking something on my phone. When I looked at her I instantly recognized her; she hadn’t changed at all since the night we met. And yet, again, the timing wasn’t right; she was engaged. But we started spending as much time together as we could, getting to know each other…falling in love. I admit that it was wrong, but I couldn’t let her go just like that, letting her live her life. And then, we had to say goodbye once again when my life in London caught me and demanded my attention. Sometimes, in moments like this, I think life is just one big, fucking cruel joke. I never expected to see her at my doorstep. She said she called off the engagement, that she wanted to try “us,” to see if we could really work out. She would even move to London, risking everything to be with me. I just had to give it a shot and say, “Yes.” Apparently, the world was so pissed off at my stupidity that it decided to give me another chance, hoping that maybe I wouldn’t ruin it this time. So I said, “Yes,” because saying au revoir for the third time would hurt too much.

Dominika Nadolna Addicted to rom-coms, Netflix, and coffee. Can't live without cake, cookies, and chocolate–oh, and Nutella. Falls in love way too easily with–*sigh*–fictional characters. The WASP | Volume IV | Spring 2017

The WASP | Volume IV | Spring 2017

POETRY

The WASP | Volume IV | Spring 2017

Omissions Whence the need to edit my past diaries proudly kept to preserve the I who did not know how to break lines or silence “I ate dinner” also cried “went to school” hellhole despised “made a friend” I'd rather touch “please don't mind” illiterate censored then I'd censor now if possible to redraft blessed revision second edit of the past omissions

The WASP | Volume IV | Spring 2017

How to Un-Drown it's physics 101 what sinks will resurface if not here then on the other side of globe be sure to unswallow salty water from nose and mouth unsee the disappearing light learn back how to breathe on the other side of night is just another one it may seem brighter but that's because of closer stars and if you're lucky they won't even notice your disappearance and return if you're lucky they don't even care

Teresa Bakalarska A human, a crisp, a professional whiner. Writes everything from poetry through prose to god–awful rap lyrics. Thinks that Buffy The Vampire Slayer is the greatest achievement of humanity. The WASP | Volume IV | Spring 2017

Difficulty Is there a word to say That I have no words to say? I mean when I’m impressed so much That talking just loses its way When I’m in love so hard That my mind is a pure card Is there a word better than speechless? Seems like it’s not enough Or maybe I just don’t want it to be I need a word As unreachable As its meaning

Mateusz Boczkiewicz “Hey, I’m Batman.” 28

The WASP | Volume IV | Spring 2017

Contributors

The WASP | Volume IV | Spring 2017

Mateusz Boczkiewicz “Hey, I’m Batman.”

Paulina Frelek Graphic designer, too lazy for existence. Addicted to coffee, TV shows, games, and chicken nuggets. A proud mom of two cats.

Natalia Hebda 21, architecture and interior design enthusiast, in love with love, 'sociable introvert', trying to keep up with her 15 years younger sister. Natalia Ogórek Singing is her biggest passion, but she does not connect her future with it. Lover of TV series and Marvel. 70% funny, 50% weird, 100% organized.

The WASP | Volume IV | Spring 2017

Marta Rapacka First year BA student. Apart from being utterly in love with TV series, she loves spending her free time discovering mysteries of Adobe Photoshop. Coerced into accepting the new goal of her existence, namely being The Very First Caricaturist of The Wasp – an honorable title she proudly bears and exploits (see: above and below).

Kamila Maria Wyszyńska Studies Graphic Arts at the Academy of Fine Arts in Warsaw. American Studies is her second faculty. Loves to travel. Wants to live and create across the world.

Ada Rachfalska Music enthusiast – addicted to live shows, mostly travels to see her favorite acts. Loves to take pictures with analog cameras. Engaged in social justice matters. An economist-to-beturned-humanist, she is finishing her bachelor's at OSA and figuring out how to stay in the academic circle. Always has her third eye open.

Dominika Nadolna Addicted to rom-coms, Netflix, and coffee. Can't live without cake, cookies, and chocolate–oh, and Nutella. Falls in love way too easily with– *sigh*–fictional characters.

Klaudia Wanat A creative, amateurish artist, mainly relying on her imagination. In huge love with animals, concerts, and hair dyeing. Takes on new challenges. Biggest wish: explore the whole world and be a happy owner of a mini pig.

The WASP | Volume IV | Spring 2017