about the zine
Faith is one thing that is inevitable to face; it can be an exhilarating path that leads you to an endless delight of journey, yet it can also be the most deeply penetrating agony that holds the track of the Avenue through your heart. Rejection is one thing that you can never escape, as if we are chained by its strong steel and trapped. However, there is something so profoundly beautiful as we try to express each detail of its pain, as if we are painting breathtaking portraits, visualizing what we feel. It's such a whimsical thing to describe, despite its bloodpiercing burn.
In a picturesque suburban neighborhood, Garr Lyn's had always been an integral part of a closeknit group of friends. They had shared countless stories of pain and optimism and supported each other through thick and thin. But unspoken tension began to infiltrate their friendship, leaving Garr Lyn feeling the agony of being left alone. In the orange and pink sky of the afternoon, Garr Lyn excitedly proposed a picnic at their favorite park, expecting the usual enthusiasm from the group.
However, the response was lukewarm; they danced around their responsibilities like tightrope walkers on a high wire, avoiding eye contact. Garr Lyn felt like a lead weight in the pit of their stomach or sank like a stone. Undeterred, Garr Lyn initiated a game night at their cozy hangout spot, hoping to rekindle the camaraderie. Invitations were sent, but the responses were as cold as a winter's breeze, with some friends choosing silence like statues and others vanishing into the mist of indifference.
At that time, she realized the once-inseparable group was slowly unraveling like a fraying tapestry. The rejection cut like a double-edged sword, leaving wounds that festered within her, but no one dared to address the silent chasm that had emerged. Garr Lyn’s heart, pondering the mystery of what had friggered this unspoken estrangement, was like a riddle waiting to be unraveled in the depths of their shared history.
S e p e r a t e d s t r i n g s
She is a woman with confidence, self-acceptance, and self-assurance, but it's all a facade to conceal the insecurity that lies beneath the surface. When she gazes into the mirror and sees her reflection, she fears that she will encounter her worst attacker, the one who knows all her vulnerabilities by heart. The silence between them echoed with the voice of judgment and rejection, drowning out any hope of resolution. It was as if the very walls whispered their disapproval. She was firmly convinced that anyone who got close enough would eventually perceive her flaws, just as she did. It was as if a solid wall had formed around her, a protective shield constructed from her own insecurities. Relationships suffered greatly as she continued to push people away, locked in the unrelenting grip of an unstoppable belief. With insecurity hanging over her like a forgotten painting in the attic of her imagination, all of her abilities and accomplishments, once brilliant works of success, are now fading into obscurity.
As her fingers caressed the top of the mirror, it seemed to conjure a mist of memories, and each touch gently distorted the image before her like ripples in an abandoned pond. She longed to set free the storm of emotions inside her, breaking through the fragile walls of her self-imposed prison of self-doubt and self-rejection, but fear remained a hindrance, preventing her from moving forward.
a s a b r o k e n m i r r o r r e f l e c t i o n
For the longest time, I've harbored a profound admiration for someone. Each time he's around, my cheeks betray me, turning a shade of crimson. He acknowledges my existence with a mere glance, yet his expression remains an enigma. Nonetheless, I hold dear those rare and fleeting moments we share. He radiates an undeniable allure, leaving me yearning for more opportunities to cross paths. Yet men of his kind appear to belong to a realm beyond my grasp, a category of individuals I dare not aspire to. Still, I cling to the hope of forging a deeper connection in the future. Then, reality dealt a harsh blow –my heart sank as I discovered he belonged to another.
I watched them together, and he feigned ignorance of my presence. The silence between us speaks volumes, leading me to the painful realization that my admiration must come to an end. Some relationships are sacred, and it's not our place to intrude. It leads me to the thought that some connections are meant to remain untouched. At times, it's wiser to maintain a respectful distance rather than recklessly manipulate others' emotions or endure those who do the same to us. The awareness that I have no right to voice my discontent also leads me to realize that his mixed signals have sown seeds of doubt regarding his loyalty to his partner.
F l e e t i n g C o n n e c t i o n
A street filled with chuckles, gossip, and attachments. It was our bonds that held us together. Were brittle, fragile threads in the breeze, as if they would last forever. I found myself standing on the outskirts of their laughter, a shadow cast aside by the radiant sun of their camaraderie. Each word they shared was a dagger, piercing through the fragile membrane of my hopes, leaving scars that whispered tales of abandonment.
A bubbling brook of shared secrets faded into echoes in the distance. The time we spent together, like colorful wild flowers in a field, now lies trampled underfoot. The memories, like fireflies in the night, flickered and dimmed. Each one, a tiny star in the constellation of our past, is now lost in the vast expanse of the dark sky. Their bonds grew into an impenetrable fortress, guarded by a drawbridge of exclusion. I, an alone traveler, sought refuge in the warmth of their acceptance but was met with the cold winds of rejection, chilling my very core. I was a forgotten verse in the epic of their friendship, fading into obscurity as they penned new chapters without me. Carrying the weight of their rejection as a heavy cloak, my heart was a vessel adrift on the sea of loneliness.
s h a t t e r e d b o n d
A street filled with chuckles, gossip, and attachments. It was our bonds that held us together. Were brittle, fragile threads in the breeze, as if they would last forever. I found myself standing on the outskirts of their laughter, a shadow cast aside by the radiant sun of their camaraderie. Each word they shared was a dagger, piercing through the fragile membrane of my hopes, leaving scars that whispered tales of abandonment. A bubbling brook of shared secrets faded into echoes in the distance. The time we spent together, like colourful wild flowers in a field, now lies trampled underfoot. The memories, like fireflies in the night, flickered and dimmed. Each one, a tiny star in the constellation of our past, is now lost in the vast expanse of the dark sky. Their bonds grew into an impenetrable fortress, guarded by a drawbridge of exclusion. I, an alone traveller, sought refuge in the warmth of their acceptance but was met with the cold winds of rejection, chilling my very core. I was a forgotten verse in the epic of their friendship, fading into obscurity as they penned new chapters without me. Carrying the weight of their rejection as a heavy cloak, my heart was a vessel adrift on the sea of loneliness.
A S T I N G I N G r e m e m b r a n c e
The Echo of Rejection
My heart is nothing but a caged entity, walls in every corner, longer passing through the endless sky, and thicker than the void of the sea, she thought. In the scenery of the blueish, tranquil night, you see two figures facing each other; one is towering over the other with a brown, unsure gaze, hesitant to say something as if he were about to say something so confidential. The other may seem in distress, waiting for the guy to open his mouth to tell her something she doesn't want to hear. In the back of her mind, pleading through the higher sky, it is not something she thought it was, yet there it is. The breeze slowly became colder, and when he uttered his words one by one, they echoed between her ears.
She heard passionate words that were so delicately placed together just for her. But what is this? As the void of endless uncertainty creeps between her mind and her body, how could she? Questions that demanded by her heart demanded to give in, to finally let it free, even so all it did was knock to the abyss of its wall, patiently waiting to open, yet there it goes as expected, still caged, yet to be opened by faith of its eternity. How it sank into the darkness, witnessing the boy's shattered pride and heart put into shreds after inevitably being hidden again by its ginormous barrier due to a body that dearly sheltered it with serenity and care, yet doomed to lose its glow after thousands of decades of losing the presence of the light.
e l t e r e
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d h e a r
The familial field of greenery, the Aquino, had seen many generations of smiles and tears. However, a fresh tale of familial rejection was developing beneath its gnarled branches. Melissa hugged the back of her knees at the weathered Narra table in the warm, bright kitchen, her shaky hands making patterns on the stained tablecloth. Her parents and siblings were gathered in the adjacent room, and she could hear their hushed words She was not, however, welcome there any longer. Her father's disapproval of her for choosing a path that deviated from their family's expectations was evident in his words, which were still so fresh in the back of her mind.
They viewed her pursuit of her passion for art as nothing but despicable and unwise, but she had followed her heart Her gaze peered out the window and she noticed the tall, green figure, whose limbs were now laden with leaves in stark contrast to the weight of her heart. It had always served as her safe haven, where she went amid innumerable disputes and misunderstandings. Her heart yearned for the joy that once filled these walls and for the warmth of her family's welcome. But she couldn't abandon her calling because her dreams had created a rift between them.
Her compass, her true north, was art. Melissa gazes, resting one more time on the Narra tree. She was aware that her journey would be difficult, but she also understood that she had to do what was right for her, even if it meant abandoning her family.
The Narra tree beckoned her outside, whispering assurances of fortitude and tenacity. She would find her own place to thrive in the face of parental rejection, just like the leaves that graced the Narra tree's branches unwavering, tough, and shamelessly herself.
U N A C C E P T E D T R A J E C T O R Y
In the quiet recesses of his mind, Ezra wandered through a desolate garden where the once-vibrant flowers of selfesteem had withered and crumbled into dust. Each petal had borne the weight of his self-doubt, and the garden, once a sanctuary of self-acceptance, had transformed into a thorny labyrinth of self-rejection. His reflection in the pool of his thoughts rippled with distortion, as if the waters themselves refused to acknowledge his worth. The mirror of his soul, once clear as a mountain stream, had become clouded with doubt, its surface a mosaic of shattered dreams. Ezra's heart, once a soaring bird in the cerulean skies of possibility, now beats to the melancholy tune of missed chances and regret. He was a prisoner in his own mind, confined by the cruel bars of self-critique. But even in this twilight garden of self-rejection, a solitary rosebush struggled to bloom. Its crimson petals, though marred by thorns, whispered the promise of resilience. It was a reminder that amidst the ruins of self-doubt, the possibility of self-acceptance still existed, waiting for him to nurture it back to life. Ezra knew that tending to this fragile bud would be a journey fraught with challenges, but in that garden of self-rejection, he found the courage to begin anew.
A D E E P H A T R E D O F O N E S E L F
I was on the shore of a large, moonlit lake, standing in the calm glow of a silvery moon. The water's surface reflected the stars above and shimmered like liquid silk. I first fell in love with him in this beautiful location. The night was cold, and a little breeze carried the aroma of jasmine blossoms. Our feet dangled above the water as we sat next to each other on a dilapidated wooden pier. Every second that passed had me getting closer to him because of the magnetic pull of him being alongside me. We started talking about our goals, worries, and desires, like whispered confessions to the darkness. Each word was a thread that drew us closer together in the tapestry of our relationship. The lake reflected our burgeoning love, with the s s m
A storm of dark and heavy tears crashed against the shores of my heart. Each drop held the weight of shattered dreams and unfulfilled promises, creating a tempest of despair. The once vibrant colors of affection have now faded into the grayscale of solitude. The imagery was like a broken mirror reflecting the fragments of my wounded spirit, where hope and love had been reduced to fractured shards. The pain was palpable, an emotional landscape forever scarred by the rejection's bitter brushstrokes. Eventually, the storm of rejection swept through, tearing at the fragile petals of my affection. My love, once so full of life, now lay wilted and broken, a painful reminder of what was lost in the changing seasons of my heart.
It was late in the evening and the night was black as ever, but bright stars lit up the sky in beautiful and varied constellations. As the woman sat down in the bench under in shadow the leaves of the tree that has magical lighting just like crystal clear (sparkling). But at night, every time the woman finished her work, she always come to the place to take a deep breath and feel the smell of the scent of sweet hibiscus wafting through the air.
The woman has enthusiastic personality and high-reaching mind, but one day in her work the proposal that she was preparing met with outright refusal by the board. As the woman said “it tastes like ashes”, while she was crying and the evening sky had turned to molten brass, full moon a pale blue-white disk. As the woman sat down, the cold wind is saying abominable words that triggered woman psyche. There are some people who is wandering the delightful moon saw the woman while crying, a guy came up and sat beside her on the side of the tree, not knowing what to say, saddened more by her weeping than by the turning down.
A T r a n q u i l S a n c t u a r y
In the quiet confines of his dimly lit room, James sat at his cluttered desk, wrestling with his emotions and a pen. He had spent days crafting the perfect words, each stroke of ink on paper a reflection of his heart's deepest desire. But now, as he stared at the unsent letter before him, doubt gripped his soul like a vice. The rejection letter from his dream job had arrived a week earlier, its cold, impersonal words etching a painful scar on his aspirations. James had poured every ounce of his passion and ambition into that application, only to be met with a resounding "no." It felt like a crushing blow to his self-esteem. With trembling hands, he picked up the letter and read it one more time, each word digging deeper into his wounded pride. But then a spark of determination flickered in his eyes. He wouldn't let this rejection define him. Instead of crumbling beneath its weight, he decided to rewrite his future, channeling the pain into motivation. With a heavy heart, I imagined you receiving this letter and reading the words that bared my soul, only to see the rejection in your eyes. The pain of your rejection echoed in the silence of the room, and I realized that some letters are better left unsent, preserving a fragile hope rather than shattering it with the harsh reality of rejection. So, I folded the letter, tucked it away, and with it, my unspoken feelings, knowing they would forever remain sealed in the envelope of my heart.
t h e U N S E N T l e t t e r
In the dark corners of family relationships, rejection is the bitter fruit that often falls from the tree of love. It is a lone iceberg floating in the icy waters of belonging, a crack that has fractured the picture of unity. Like a wilting rose in an abandoned garden, the world’s rejection is a silent pain that blooms in solitude. Imagine a garden that was once lush and thriving, where each family member was a unique flower, adding vibrancy to the landscape. However, the sucker has crept in like an insidious weed, choking the life out of these flowers. The sunlight of acceptance fades and the darkness of estrangement lengthens, casting an icy darkness over the once vibrant garden.
In this family, rejection takes many forms, like a cunning chameleon lurking in the nooks and crannies of everyday communication. Silence becomes a language, conveying more than words ever could. The dinner table, once a place filled with laughter and shared stories, has now become a place of unspoken grievances, where every bite of food carries the weight of hidden emotions. In the family memory album, rejection creates a dark filter, dulling the joyful tone of intimacy. Each photo used to be a happy moment but now contains unspeakable pain. It was as if the essence of love had been extracted, leaving only an empty image. Like a faded painting in an abandoned gallery. The heart, the sacred room where family love flourishes, bears the scars of abandonment like a weathered old tree trunk, engraved with the story of the countless storms it has endured. The branches of the binding rope wither; the leaves of faith fall, leaving only the bare trunk of broken relationships.
T h e B r o k e n S t a i n G l a s s
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