22 West Magazine- 2023 Outober Issue

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LETTER FROM AN EDITOR

Hey everyone!! Happy October :) WOW, it’s already October?? I feel like the semester has already been going by so fast and I’m so thankful for that. This issue is our “OUTober” issue. It’s a safe place for LGBTQ+ artists and writers to creatively express themselves and for anyone who may find comfort in the wonderful pieces inside. Thank you for reading and if you’re interested in volunteering or just wanna say hi, come see us on the first floor of the USU across from the pool tables<3

JENSEN PUCKETT EDITOR-IN-CHIEF

bottoms UP

WRITTEN BY JUDE SAMPSON (THEY/HE)

ILLUSTRATION BY KRIZZHA DEE

WILL THE UGLY, UNTALENTED GAYS PLEASE REPORT TO THE PRINCIPAL’S OFFICE?

SPOILERS AHEAD FOR THE 2023 FILM BOTTOMS

I’m of the firm belief that movie watching is a divine, communal experience and that the theater is a house of worship. The artificially dyed slushee is my holy water, the popcorn is my body of Christ, and Emma Seligman’s new bloody lesbian sex comedy Bottoms is my bible.

It’s a movie that pays homage to the highschool rom-coms we all grew up watching at sleepovers while simultaneously turning the genre on its head and allowing its characters to be deeply flawed, horny, and violent – all in the name of lesbianism. Director and co-writer Emma Seligman in an interview for Cultured Magazine touched on wanting to put queer people into a universe that reflected the films she watched growing up. “I wanted to take on

the genres that I wish I could have seen myself in as a kid—these movies where boys fight to get the girl,” she said.

Seligman delivers in her efforts to spin the boy-girl love story for a new, much gayer generation, because in Bottoms, girls fight the girl… to get the same girl.

The film follows two best friends, Josie and PJ, who have been dubbed the “ugly, untalented gays” of their student body. Played by Ayo Edebiri and Rachel Sennott, the pair find themselves at a social and romantic standstill as they start another school year as sad, lesbian virgins.

They both harbor longtime crushes on the cheerleaders Isabel and Brittany, played by Havana Rose Liu and Kaia Gerber. PJ pines for Brittany openly, while Josie quietly (and pitifully) attempts to make her feelings for Isabel known. Before an embarrassing encounter with them at a school carnival, the two shoot down their classmate Hazel’s (Ruby Cruz) questions about their summer, allowing her to believe that they spent their break in juvie. Hazel spreads this rumor and therefore the idea that Josie and PJ are badass criminals, which is only believed more after it’s revealed they hit the school’s star quarterback with a car the night of the carnival. Isabel and Brittany take note of them for a fleeting second, so the obvious next step is for the two to start an all-female fight club to get closer to and eventually hook up with their crushes.

This small taste of the film’s plot is like something I could have only ever envisioned in my dreams. As a lesbian screenwriting major, I have watched oodles of “lesbian movies” – many simply for the sake that they have a lesbian character or romance at its center. Many of my favorites are very dramatic and emotional, which I adore. I’m definitely guilty of crying to many a sad lesbian film.

Still, can’t we have a little fun sometimes?

I grew up closeted, being forced to watch the very heterosexual high school movies of our youth surrounded by squealing girls at sleepovers. It’s not that I never enjoyed watching these! It’s very easy to endure straight couples in media when you simply pretend the man is a butch lesbian (10 Things I Hate About You). With Bottoms though, I no longer have to pretend.

Josie and PJ are such good representation that millions of years from now when our cities are entrenched in dust, archaeologists will find

evidence showing how beloved they are in the sphere of lesbian media. Emma Seligman is a queer woman who understood herself, and subsequently her audience, while co-writing this film with Rachel Sennott.

Josie and PJ have zero game. They are beloved by no one. They lie. They fight each other to impress girls. It’s a version of the lesbian experience so niche to being gay in high school that sitting in the theater for my first viewing felt like looking in a mirror.

However, I cannot in good conscience say that I relate to every aspect of this movie. Was I a gay loser in high school? Of course. Did I ever kiss a girl? Or do anything romantic with a girl? Absolutely not. You know who kissed girls in high school? Josie. Josie is a quiet but kind loser who starts the film with little to no backbone. She says goofy things in front of the girl she is madly in love with and by virtue of being goofy… they end up together. Experiencing a “she fell first, but she fell harder” trope on the big screen forced my viewing party to call me an ambulance to escort me out.

I’d also be a fool to not mention the cultural impact the film has had since the moment it got greenlit. Last year, I remember reading the Deadline article that described the plot and confirmed Edebiri and Sennott were playing our titular heroes. LGBTQ+ people from every corner of the internet came together to collectively approve of the film and create countdowns to when they’d finally be able to watch it.

Ever since it received a wide release (meaning it went from playing in 10 theaters nationwide to 700), my entire social media sphere has been nothing but edits using pirated footage from inside movie theaters. My TikTok feed is just edits of Havana Rose Liu as Isabel, but the footage was taken by someone sitting in the front row at their showing so

she looks 80 feet tall. The footage is blurry and the theater audio is trash, but the comment sections are always a symphony of people going “I need her” and “she’s so pookie”.

Do not be fooled by my tone. I am also an active participant in this lesbian chorus.

The Bottoms social media account is also extremely active on every platform, reposting videos that fans of the movie have been making and replying to Ruby Cruz thirst tweets with kind words of agreement. I hope the intern running that account is making good money.

Because the actors could not promote the movie due to the ongoing SAG-AFTRA strike (union strong), the account simply reposts videos and pictures of things like Rachel Sennott at New York Fashion Week and Ayo Edebiri throwing out the first pitch at a Red Sox game (absolute dream job). I pray that the cast and everyone involved in the making of the movie are feeling the love, because I felt it the moment I stepped foot into my first viewing. It was just gay people giddy with excitement, taking pictures with the film’s poster and armed with 7-Eleven snacks at an overpriced movie house. Characters said things like: “No, if we keep it up we can put our fingers inside of each other,” and the raucous laughter that followed was confirmation that Seligman and Sennott are never allowed to put their pens down. When Josie and Isabel kissed for the first time, people clapped and cheered, and I was given a second to look around and think.

Lesbian fist fighting, an Avril Lavigne needle drop, bloody cheerleader uniforms, small-scale terrorism, Ayo Edebiri kissing women, and a sidelining of male characters led me to my conclusion.

This was our Super Bowl. Our bloody, horny, lesbian Super Bowl; and Emma Seligman led lesbians everywhere down the road to victory.

“ I pray that the cast and everyone involved in the making of the movie are feeling the love, because I felt it the moment I stepped foot into my first viewing. “

HAUNTING HETERONORMATIVITY

WRITTEN BY SOFIA CARLOS ILLUSTRATION BY TRICIA VU

Horror is much more than the blood, gore, and scares that scratch the surface of the genre. LGBTQ+ representation in horror movies and television shows has become more common and accurate in recent years. With movies like Fear Street and shows like American Horror Story, LGBTQ+ characters have become more realistic in the horror genre. However, in the past, representation in horror movies and television was rare and if there was any it mostly didn’t cast the community in a favorable light.

As much as I love horror, I can’t deny that some of the classic films used troubling tropes in them. Take the 1960 horror movie Psycho directed by Alfred Hitchcock. Psycho is regarded as one of the most famous horror films of all time and Hitchcock one of the greatest directors in the history of cinema. However, even though Psycho changed the game of horror movies, it did it in a way that was and is troubling to the LGBTQ+ community. The end of the film reveals that the main character Norman Bates has a split personality, one of which is his deceased mother. In the film this is revealed by showing Bates dressed in his mother’s clothing and a wig. It’s explained that his mother’s personality took over his mind and became the dominant personality between the two. This scene is an example of a trope that can be found in the horror genre where the killer in the movie is revealed to be trans or expresses their gender outside of the binary. This trope can perpetuate that trans individuals or people in the LGBTQ+ community are

killers. Given the time of the 1960s when Psycho was released, this only added fuel to the fire of fear of LGBTQ+ people. It can be argued by some that Bates isn’t trans, but whether or not he is, the association between crazed killer and trans is still there for the audience to absorb. This isn’t the only film where the killer of a horror movie is in some way revealed to be trans or express their gender outside of the binary. Insidious: Chapter 2, Texas Chainsaw Massacre, and Silence of the Lambs are also horror movies that include similar tropes in each respective film. It’s an unfortunate trope that has become a pattern in horror movies throughout the years.

Historically, horror movies have mostly featured a non-diverse cast and characters. The characters most of the time being straight, white, and cisgender. In many horror movies and shows there’s usually a “final girl,” otherwise a trope known as the last character standing after the rest have fallen victim to the killer. Think of Sidney Prescott from the Scream movies or Laurie Strode from the Halloween movies, both characters who were left to take down the killers on their own. Another similarity connects final girls in many horror movies, they’re usually white, cis, and straight. It’s very rare that the audience gets to see anyone with a different background survive the events of a horror movie, that is if they are even in the movie to begin with.

The Fear Street trilogy changes this formula by having the two main characters, Sam and Deena, be Queer and love interests. The pattern of the final girl trope is also broken in the Fear Street trilogy, with Deena, the film’s final girl,

being a Queer woman of color. The films follow a group of teenagers who are trying to break a curse set upon their town allegedly by a witch over 300 years ago. The trilogy’s movies are set in 1994, 1978, and 1666 and through different characters we see the recurring theme of homophobia throughout the different periods to be explored. Unlike movies like Psycho, Fear Street doesn’t connect queerness with being villainous. Instead, throughout the storylines of the films, a main theme explored is how queerness has been ostracized and vilified throughout different periods of time. Fear Street also does away with the long standing “bury your gays” trope, in which shows and movies kill off or give LGBTQ+ characters sad endings. In a rare move, the last film of the trilogy, Fear Street: 1666, ends with main characters Sam and Deena alive and reconciled.

Fear Street’s twist ending is not only well written but also disarms the villainous tropes that LGBTQ+ characters have faced in the past. The ending reveals that the supposed witch who set a curse was indeed not a witch but a Queer woman in the 1600s who was equated to a witch due to her

Bly Manor also visualizes heteronormativity and identity exploration through the lead character, Dani. We’re shown how Dani is pressured into an engagement in which it’s clear she wants out. Dani’s character development provides a visual for someone becoming more comfortable with their identity. Additionally, Dani’s character serves as a way to portray the immense amount of stress it can feel to be a closeted person in the LGBTQ+ community, especially during a decade marked with homophobia like the 1980s.

Like Fear Street, American Horror Story is a television show that put LGBTQ+ characters in more prominent roles in the horror genre and in TV. While the show may not be perfect, it brought LGBTQ+ characters and storylines to mainstream horror. Season eleven’s overarching storyline was the AIDS crisis in New York in the 1980s. With its own American Horror Story twist, this season visualized the tragic toll AIDS took on the LGBTQ+ community, death and widespread prejudice and hate. Horror was defined in multiple ways in season 11, gruesome kills from a masked serial killer and the deadly effects homophobia had on the LGBTQ+ community.

queerness. The actual villain and curse setter was a straight man and his descendants, who maintained the curse to hold positions of power in their neighboring town. This ending shows how Queer people throughout history have faced tragic repercussions, including losing their lives, just for being who they are.

The Haunting of Bly Manor is another horror show that featured a Queer character in a lead role. The show, set in the 1980s, centers around Dani, who works as an au pair in England to a family and lives in their large manor. Throughout the show Dani develops a relationship with the gardener of the manor, Jamie. The show visualizes the dynamics of Queer relationships at a time when society wasn’t as accepting of the LGBTQ+ community. The Haunting of

American Horror Story allows for its LGBTQ+ characters and storylines to develop throughout the season instead of just sidelining them. While many characters in the show meet untimely demise, including LGBTQ+ characters, their queerness was never written to be a deciding factor in their fate. The show’s characters, including LGBTQ+ characters, are often portrayed as having their fair shares of flaws but unlike horror in the past this was done for the purpose of character development not to vilify one’s sexuality or gender identity. Characters were allowed to be Queer and flawed without being used as a scapegoat to make a great plot twist.

Horror movies and shows haven’t always been the best at representing the LGBTQ+ community. Past films including tropes that only added to the already bigoted attitudes toward the community in previous decades. While representation in the horror genre still has a long way to go, newer films and shows have made an effort to include Queer characters and storylines that allow for accurate representation.

“Characters were allowed to be Queer and flawed without being used as a scapegoat to make a great plot twist.”

WHAT’S IT LIKE TO BE A NON-BINARY RA

WRITTEN BY VIVIEN GRAY VALOREN (THEY/THEM)

ILLUSTRATION BY MIKA HUYNH

I, like many others, signed up to be an RA to help others like myself feel more comfortable in campus housing and also because I am poor and had no other options. I felt nervous at first; the responsibility, the time management, and the acknowledgement that there are people whose lives may change drastically depending on my ability to solve their issues. . Even with all anticipation, I wasn’t prepared for what was about to happen before I officially even started. The treatment I received during training was, for better or worse, exactly how I expected it to be for someone Non-Binary like me. I was not the first Non-Binary RA to undergo training at Long Beach State University, but the issues I faced were definitely still constant and unfortunately predominant.

For context, I was placed in Hillside B, the Pride House. However, I had to be temporarily assigned to Los Alamitos while Hillside B underwent construction. The first issue I noticed after narrowly making the drive in my overfilled nearly-to-the-ceiling car was that the first floor wings were separated by gender. Men on one side, women on the other, and communal bathrooms meant for people of the same gender to awkwardly avoid each other while showering. All of my legal documentation and even my information on the school database lists me as Non-Binary, yet I was placed in female housing. I had to move my things in and deal with being sweaty and exhausted with no access to a shower as the gender neutral bathrooms on the first floor only had a toilet and sink. After dealing with so much that day, I just fell asleep and figured I would deal with it the next day. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t be the end of my ordeals with gender segregation on campus.

I contacted my supervisor about my issue and asked why I was placed in female housing. They offered me male or gender neutral housing, but the whole situation could have been avoided entirely if they had simply asked me questions

prior to my arrival. As for the bathroom issue, it was decided that a bathroom on an empty floor would be designated to be off limits for everyone else. It was nice having the entire space to myself, but it really dawned on me that my gender was not taken into consideration when I applied to be an RA, even though I heavily argued that it would be essential to have representation in the Queer dorms. I have yet to find an explanation as to why I was placed there, as my supervisor told me the decisions were made above them. It was tabulated in forms, documentation, and other office buzzspeak that really showed it was either incompetence, laziness, or the campus just straight up not even considering Non-Binary genders. I thought it would get better once training started, but it only got worse from there.

to the training staff when I pointed it out. The Pyramid and Dance Center, the closest buildings that have gender neutral bathrooms, were locked during all of training. My only options were Parkside Service Center, or if that was closed, walk all the way back to Hillside. Since our short breaks were usually less than 10 minutes or so, my only option was to wait to be let out for our lunch or dinner. The other solution that was proposed by the training staff was to block off one of the bathrooms in the Pointe while I used it, as if I really wanted to be that person that denied everyone else a bathroom. I was frustrated every time I took my long walks to relieve myself, especially on days where I had been holding it for a while. It was wrong for me to be treated this way and I knew I had to escalate.

I reported the issue to Title IX. Besides being given a map of the campus gender neutral bathrooms, even though this was during the summer and there would be no guarantee the bathrooms would even be open, I was told that any event or training I had to attend where I did not have access to a gender neutral bathroom to give them a call. I just felt so...unseen. No one else was having this issue, and if they were, the process of speaking up would have been too much to handle for someone who’s speaking out against the very employer that also houses them. I know there is no single individual to blame for this because the issue is with the whole administration, which has jaded my views and put a chip on my shoulder towards anything to do with the school not inherently designed for people like me in mind. And since I represent people like me in Pride House, these issues will go on to be something I speak up about with the Residents.

Training happened at the Pointe for two weeks, from 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. . There, I would sleepily watch PowerPoint presentations on how to talk to people, write paperwork, and the various busy work RAs would be subjected to. Besides internally dying doing group activities for the sake of “group fun” (because we all know everyone who takes this job does so because they just love mandatory fun times) I discovered another issue: the Pointe has no gender neutral bathrooms, which was a surprise

Dealing with the stress of moving, being misgendered by the Housing administration, and a lack of access to gender-neutral bathrooms were all part of my experience as an RA, before I was officially an RA. The worst part is I’ll have to continue with this job as I cannot afford housing otherwise. It’s hard looking at this school knowing full well other people like me are either erased or just not at all recognized in some of the practices of a school that prides itself on being inclusive. While there is still a way to go, I know I’ll do my part to make it easier for the next one like me to not have to deal with being erased. It’s also the reason why I go by my middle name. I won’t be put into a black and white binary, I’ll just be Gray.

“It’s hard looking at this school knowing full well other people like me are either erased or just not at all recognized in some of the practices of a school that prides itself on being inclusive.”

You gave me butterflies in the winter, Warming my body like a flame with its flicker.

Colored my world with the wise words you speak. Rosy pink, like the color of your cheeks.

We spent nights under the moon. Talking about college and how we would go off soon.

I saw that sparkle in your eyes, When you spoke your truth not having to lie.

I fell in love with that infectious laughter. The one that creates creases on my face the moment after.

Always smiling, my cheeks are sore. Because how can I not adore?

Someone so kind, Who is constantly on my mind.

BUTTERFLIES IN WINTER

WRITTEN BY ERIC CEJA RUIZ

ILLUSTRATION BY CAROLINE BAE

In love with the way light filters through your hair, making it bright and brown. Or how your long curls create a crown.

Stared into your deep brown eyes. Showed you what hid behind mine.

My gaze was fixed upon you. But I should have taken the clue.

Because your eyes were locked onto someone new. Something I could never undo.

Your heart was latched to hers. I was jealous, but her happiness was yours.

You have fallen for her beauty and mind. I’ll admit it: she is pretty, and she is kind.

Boys don’t get flowers, and I have no more power. So no doubt she will be getting your flowers.

I wish we had more time. But you’re in love and I cannot take that love which is not mine.

WRITTEN BY LANCE DEOLDEN

ILLUSTRATION BY DANA DO

TO SPITE ME

Waking up in my B O D Y

Feels like waking up

In the wrong side of town

These bruises aren’t mine-

Then whose are they?

I am not sure anymore

Just let me exist and breathe

I can’t change my B O D Y

And I can’t change my sexuality

Just let me exist and breathe.

SEXUALITY AND SOCIETAL STANDARDS

WRITTEN BY MORGAN BARELA ILLUSTRATION BY SABA NABAEIGHAHROUDI

For most of my life, I thought I was straight. Well, sort of. The doubt had always been there. In the back of my mind existed my reality; I like women too. But it was an idea I never entertained.

There were moments throughout my life that stood out so starkly as an indication of my sexuality. My celebrity crushes growing up were Justin Bieber and Ariana Grande. I chalked up the latter to believing I wanted to look and be just like her, not that I was actually attracted to her.

I’d often say: “If I were a boy, I’d have a crush on her.” And then there was the time when I was 12 and I asked my best friend if she also had girl “crushes”, you know, the kind of “crush” you get where you definitely don’t actually have a crush on the girl, but you might like her if you could like girls.

The uneasiness on my friend’s face as she vehemently disagreed was enough to make sure I never asked that question to anyone else ever again.

For so long, I simply ignored what was so evident. It never occurred to me that I was bisexual, because I never gave it the time to occur.

So as I got a bit older, and more and more friends around me started coming out, I began to understand myself a bit more. It was conversations with my friends in the LGBTQ+ community that led me to figure out who I was, and I owe it to each of them for the way that they guided me through this world of uncertainty.

But the realization that I could have been suppressing my sexuality this entire time didn’t make sense. I was always so accepting of everyone around me, so I couldn’t understand why I had such a hard time coming to terms with my own identity.

Growing up LGBTQ+ isn’t easy, for so many reasons. And then there’s the misconception that your sexuality is something you always figure out early on. That you just know.

I grappled with immense uncertainty around my sexuality. I’ve found that so much of it ties back to being a woman. As women, we are often made to believe that our sole aspiration is in receiving male validation. Society has deemed attraction to anything other than masculinity a threat to femininity. Our attraction to men, and their attraction back to us, is an unfortunate

measurement of our value as a woman.

When I learned about compulsory heterosexuality, everything made sense. Compulsory heterosexuality is the theory that people, regardless of their true attraction, can confidently believe that they are straight, due to the way that society enforces heterosexuality as the “default.”

I grew up with the cliche princess gets saved by the prince trope. All the movies, nearly every fairytale involved the princess falling helplessly in love with the prince. As a bisexual woman, this is very much still in the realm of possibility for me. But a lack of representation is far more damaging than some may realize; it leaves LGBTQ+ people to figure themselves out alone. With the way that womanhood is so often defined by romantic relationships with men, it’s no wonder why I struggled to come to terms with my attraction to other genders for so long. Heterosexuality was the expectation.

Heteronormative standards create an overwhelming battleground for Queer people. While LGBTQ+ representation grows little by little, progress is halted by the way that heteronormativity continually seeps through society. When the ‘default’ is heterosexuality, being anything other than straight can feel confusing.

Heteronormativity tasks Queer people with the obligation of having to explain themselves. Being bisexual, my dating history is seen as a spectacle for others to figure out. I’m often met with inappropriate questions. Clear boundaries are crossed by people who “just want to understand it better”. There is doubt and skepticism, rooted deeply in biphobia. Not to mention the stereotypes that bisexual people are prone to infidelity or promiscuity. Ultimately, I often find myself having to justify my own sexuality, and having to defend it as if being testified against.

More and more people are identifying themselves as bisexual. In my conversations with other bisexual people who figured it out in early adulthood, I often find we share a similar experience: It was obvious our entire lives, but somehow we never noticed until one random day as an adult and now life makes so much more sense.

What initially felt like a journey I was embarking on entirely on my own turned out to be one that so many people of all sexualities and identities have lived through too.

“While LGBTQ+ representation grows little by little, progress is halted by the way that heteronormativity continually seeps through society.”

WRITTEN BY DANNY LEMOS

COMING OUT

Iremember staring at the phone. “Should I or Shouldn’t I?” I must have gone back and forth for almost 10 minutes. My twin brother and housemate at the time had conveniently forgotten to tell me he had sent our mother and father a letter in which he told them he was gay. He had also conveniently taken off to the Russian River for the weekend, knowing his letter would arrive at our parent’s house on Saturday (you could trust the mail to be on time in 1983). The call came and I was home to answer it.

“Is your brother alright?” My mom’s voice shaking with emotion. I assured her he was fine, tanning poolside up at the river. After promising to have him call home, I hung up. There was no discussion or questions “Had I known?”, “What about you?” You would expect them after one twin comes out, but

not from my very catholic mother and father. And so I stared, realizing that there would be no better time than the present. I dialed back, “Mom?” I started, “You know that thing about David? Me too.” There was a split second of silence, and then my mother called back over her shoulder “John! You owe me a hundred dollars!” That was my coming out moment. The conversation continued about the how, and the why and my father protested he hadn’t known. “What about the time you caught me behind the couch with Carlos and we were both in our underwear?” I asked my father. His silence was enough, he’d known. My mother countered that I might not be welcome in their house if I was doing “that”. I countered that it would be a shame but I would survive not coming home, if necessary (My dad told me later that he knew she was bluffing).

“I dialed back, “Mom?” I started, “You know that thing about David? Me too.”

David was the first to come out, followed by me, then my brother Tom came out to me when I drove down his very long driveway only to catch him in my high beams kissing some boy up against the garage door. I was mortified. I had the same reaction my parents had with me. It shocked me that I could be out there but when it came to my little brother I was upset. To this day I don’t know why I had that reaction. Perhaps it was because he was the last person in my family that I could imagine being sexual, let alone homosexually so.

By the time the baby in the family summoned us all into the kitchen at my parent’s house, I thought I had seen it all. Larry announced he was also gay and my parents’ reaction was surprising, “Oh Larry, we knew.” When he asked how they had known, my mom’s response was legendary “You wanted

Kenneth

Yep, coming out became a once-a-decade thing in my family with four of the brothers coming out. When my mother dramatically announced at a church function where we were all present, “Oh WHY did the Lord give me four gay children?” Larry had his revenge.

“So you could redecorate”, he said, bathing us all in the laughter of her friends and churchmates. Humor saved the day.

In having so many other family members come out of the closet, I learned a lot about myself, I learned a lot about my siblings and a lot about my parents. For me, coming out was the most truthful thing my family has ever done.

Cole slip-on loafers in 5th grade.”

▲ PHOTO PROVIDED BY DANNY LEMOS

WRITTEN BY RYAN NIETO

ILLUSTRATED BY ELEAH KANG

The action or reaction of people within large systems of varying complexity often determines the shape of a life. The endless cycle of destruction and recreation is like the evolution of nature, culture, and ideas. A sublime dance that drives at the heart of all things.

This past July, I was thrown into a new context: an overwhelming juggernaut of the new, toppled established order of the familiar. Putting it gently does no justice, as this was a time of extremes. Such polarizing feelings of loss and gain, happiness and sadness. Yet, as I delve into this new area of my life, the constant thread in all this, my works of art, my stories, my dreams.

These facets have been integral to my being ever since I could pick up a pencil or say the names of my favorite dinosaurs (Tyrannosaurus Rex: basic, I know, but I love my Rexes accurately, not monstrous or skin-wrapped). I digress. What do I mean, and how does this relate to the theme of this month’s issue?

A world of wonder and fear, a world that is ultimately me. I want to take myself out of the ordinary and into the extraordinary.

As stated, July was the start of many bold changes in my life, and I’m still reeling/contextualizing my new sense of self and being. Let us start with the whimsical before the melancholic: I celebrated my 28th birthday this past July. With age comes wisdom, or at least that’s what’s expected, especially now circling my 30s. However, as is my tradition, I like to take a

moment to reflect on my life up until that point. A stroll through the museum of my mind, I look upon my past in all its aspects: the wonderful, the sublime, the terrible, and the painful.

In this, I find my “inner myth” to quote someone of great importance to me, someone who segues into the next aspect of that July. The owner of those prolific words is my now ex-girlfriend. However, before I continue, I should plant a pin and contextualize things. Our relationship lasted for nearly four years but ended amicably as we thought it best to go separate ways as we had long started to drift apart. We healed, mended, taught, and grew in that time together. Within our time, I was able to begin my journey into therapy and self-love. Furthermore, it granted me the language and space to rectify and reconcile my repressed trauma from generations of suffering and repression. Yet, this wasn’t the last of the changes.

I came OUT.

Throughout my life, rumblings, thoughts, and feelings would appear and I would gently repress and deny them. I had felt an attraction to both masculinity and femininity. Yet, through the lens of my conservative Christian upbringing, these were great and terrible sins, punishable by damnation. I didn’t want to be damned and bring shame to my family, so I repressed, resisted, and avoided all sense of my sexuality, resigning myself to be alone, to be a monolith.

In addition, through the filters of Machismo culture and being the oldest son with two

“He is no longer an artist; he has become a work of art.”

-Geoffrey Palmer (Welcome to the Pleasure dome-Fuitness Mix)

“A stroll through the museum of my mind, I look upon my past in all its aspects: the wonderful, the sublime, the terrible, and the painful.”

RE DESIGNED, RE BOOTED, RE IMAGINED.

younger half-siblings in a divorced household, I was elected to be the male role model in their lives, adhering to the “traditional” patriarchal definition of masculinity, one of emotional suppression, labor, and protection of those under my charge. My childhood ended at 8; I was the man of the house in a manner of speaking and taking on the role of our estranged fathers. That was my self-appointed fate, my compromise. Rather than live and love freely, I would hold myself in tension and not let myself be anything but an idea. I was forged into an idol; I couldn’t be “weak,” I didn’t have time for “feelings,” and I couldn’t let my family down, my brothers, mother, or grandparents.

This was survival. This was war. Yet, throughout that meatgrinder, I would escape into the world of museums, science fiction, comics, and film. I would gain freedom and draw to life heroes to escape this fear. I created an extraordinary universe where I dreamed I could be free, where I was powerful.

As long as this intro is, it was necessary to understand how this affects my art, especially my world-building projects, concepts, and stories I have been working on for nearly three decades. In my time on this planet, I have lived a dynamic and hectic life of great stories, great sorrow, and great moments. I have finally moved into a better place, emotionally and mentally. I traded aggression for joy, toxicity for productivity, and ignorance for understanding. Hate with love.

After years of self-work and therapy, I am finally free; I am free to consider that I am queer and free to love my pansexuality. All this is new to me, and I am still learning about myself in the context of sexuality and gender expression. Yet, I am still me. I’ve never been more of me, and my art has only begun to blossom with this newfound power—a power of self-actualization.

All this has changed and enhanced my visual and narrative works. I better understand my characters’ core and struggles, for their battle was ultimately mine. I feel like I belong and can be human again, I don’t have to be perfect or the most extraordinary person to have ever lived to matter. I matter here and now in all ways that I present.

Finding empathy, kindness, and acceptance of myself is a constant practice, and I now under-

stand the power of that. I hope to champion that power in my works. I have endlessly chased that extraordinary, that sublime of wonder and fear. From posthuman gods of the far future to scientifically accurate monsters from mythology, I have always sought to merge my passions for art, science, culture, and philosophy; to build living worlds infused with detail, intention, and meaning.

Now that I am out, my stories take on a new context; they have always existed as a proto-form of therapy and an escape from the instability of my childhood. However, in my adulthood, with all that I have experienced, they are now subjected to that scrutiny as I have been redesigning these worlds and their inhabitants. I seek to understand the meta-narrative of my life in theirs and our ongoing story.

From my youth to the present, my characters saved me repeatedly. They always find their way back into my life when I need them the most— redesigned, rebooted, reimagined.

“I didn’t want to be damned and bring shame to my family, so I repressed, resisted, and avoided all sense of my sexuality, resigning myself to be alone, to be a monolith.”

How is it possible to define oneself as aromantic or asexual? How is it possible to name oneself in accordance with a lack of a feeling—of romantic or sexual attraction, specifically— when theoretically, one could at any moment see a lovely-enough stranger, develop new feelings for a partner, or fall deeper for a friend? At what point in one’s life is it reasonable to assume that it probably won’t happen?

I did it at 16. After having listened to my friends’ incessant and unrelatable crush-gushing since kindergarten, I was ready to accept that I was aromantic and asexual. My younger self had the wisdom that I later struggled to re-learn: if you have, up until this point, not experienced romantic or sexual attraction, you might want to consider revisiting your identity. No matter what happens or changes in the future, if you know who you are right now and a label serves you, use it.

Now, at 20 years old, I no longer identify with aromanticism or asexuality, but I strongly reject the notion that I was wrong at 16. I was aromantic; I was asexual. Those labels helped me explain myself and my differences to the people around me.

There is so much shame surrounding changes in labels, especially when explaining to loved ones that you are no longer who you claimed to be. The shame compounds and loneliness arises when you realize you played an active role in a community you no longer belong to. I want to offer a big magazine hug to anyone experiencing anything like this right now. Seriously, wrap these pages around you.

You used the best language you had at the time for the feelings you were feeling. Never feel shame for not knowing the right labels; never feel shame for having new experiences that change the way you perceive your identity. Continue to love and support the communities you once belonged to. Handing my ace flag off to a new friend who identified with the label but didn’t have one was a loving and joyful experience that I will cherish for the rest of my life.

Learning who you are should be a rewarding journey—mine was years-long, horribly intimidating, and very very fun. To dwell in shame is to diminish that experience. Lastly, happy early Ace Week to all of the asexuals out there. You are not broken, not less, and not forgotten. I love you dearly.

TURN AND

WRITTEN BY AJ PINCEK

ILLUSTRATION BY ABIHAIL ORTEGA

“The shame compounds and loneliness arises when you realize you played an active role in a community you no longer belong to.”

CONTRIBUTORS

Abihail Ortega, Artist

Caroline Bae, Artist

Dana Do, Artist

Eleah Kang, Artist

Krizzha Dee, Artist

Mika Huyhn, Artist

Saba Nabaeighahroudi, Artist

Tricia Vu, Artist

AJ Pincek, Writer

Danny Lemos, Writer

Eric Ceja Ruiz, Writer

Jude Sampson, Writer

Lance DeOlden, Writer

Morgan Barela, Writer

Ryan Nieto, Writer

Sofia Carlos, Writer

Vivien Gray Valoren, Writer