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CONTRIBUTORS Connie McDOnald Beth Dunne Sara Johnson Lilly Vigna Dani Germade Aria Eastwood Bethy Squires Fauve Leonella Nicolas Galifi Bridgette Bolton Anny Sasha Christian Hey

WITH SUBMISSIONS FROM Conner Lyons Alice Rooke Shar Shastri Rosalind Duguid

Katie Soze Giselle Noelle Miranda Barnes Takako Noel Nagai Kani Anifowoshe

Lill-Veronica Skoglund Katayoun Jalili Natalia Orasanin Dora Christiane Cohnen Eleanor Weinel

It’s around this time that a lot of you start to realise that the summer you thought would never end, is eventually going to end—and probably sooner than you’d like. The thought of going back to school after months of freedom seems daunting, so then you spend the last month of your holiday worrying about getting the most out of it instead of actually getting the most out of it. Consider this issue of Cherry an ode to those days filled with nothing, and the knowledge that inevitably they will end. Instead of letting this ruin your precious time, use it to cherish your remaining summer days. I used to get caught up in this way of thinking, where I thought that my life would be a series of stress related crises happening one after the other. I’d go to school, I’d go to university, I’d go to work. No space for exceptions, no time to relax, forever dreading Monday. Almost a year and a half after prematurely leaving school, I’ve realised that life doesn’t have to be set out that way, I can set it out however I want. Now, instead of looking at universities, I’m looking at countries I could travel to, new and exciting places I could work. I’ve found a freedom I never thought existed, I can go anywhere, I can do anything—and so can you. In conclusion: enjoy your summer instead of worrying about enjoying it, school doesn’t last forever, the world is your oyster (or less slimy alternative). Go forth and YOLO.

The Sunlit Youth. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1 A Beginners Guide to Finding Happiness in Little Things 5 Stuck In The Jam Jar . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 11

Shar Shastri . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 14 Silver Lining. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 15 Bridgette’s poem . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 23 Woodland . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 25 Advice Witch . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 29 Msriette . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 31 Untitled 23. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 39 Human Nature . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 41 Freedom and Seashells. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 43 Fish in the Sky. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 45 America. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 47

Witchery Holidays. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 53 That Song On That Drive. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 57 Freedom Land of the Seventies. . . . . . . . . . . . . 59 Playlist . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 65 Scars in Summer. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 67 The Road is Where the Heart is . . . . . . . . . . . . 69 The Freedom in Art . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 75 Summer Love. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 77 Khaya Cohen. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 82 Stella . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 85 Spirit of Youth. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 87

Katayoun Jalili. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 93






By Alice Rooke

By Shar Shastri



Away from you I can finally breathe

And see the things I could not see The beautiful love Surrounding me My future’s

Not bleak


Poem by Bridgette, photo by Anny

Away from the Negativity That’s only use Was blinding me And now I feel Oh so happy Bumbling like A bee


Okay so this is the last summer I have with the boy I love before he moves to another state for college, so I'm trying to make the most of it. My best friend and I had a good thing going, I would "stay the night with her" and be with him all night. Now, my mom happened to discover I smoked weed once and went bat shit crazy and barely lets me leave, and also takes out stress on me from other personal problems and won’t even talk to me unless it involves screaming. What do I do?

#2 involves honesty and lots of awkward and potentially very painful conversations about what you expect from her as a parent, and what is reasonable to be expected of you as a daughter. It involves reminding her that trying to assert baseless authority without compassion, consistency, or communication is a recipe for disaster. And Elderly Her dying alone while Adult You parties with the money you could have spent putting her in a good retirement home.

Do you think your mother would respond well to you being honest and real with her? Is Oh boy. This happened to a friend of mine in there another authority figure who would high school. At the time, my advice was for take your side? A dad or grandma or aunt? him to just run away from home. There were Follow up question: did your mom ever genuinely plans to drive across the country smoke weed? A lot of parents who were fuck and abscond with him. I would not give this ups as teens have huge trust issues with their advice now...probably. Don't run away from children. Whereas my parents were obedient home unless you can support yourself finan- straight edge weirdos and always treated me cially for at least five years. Probably even like I was capable of making my own choices. then don’t run away. When your mom yells at you, it’s entirely possible that she’s really yelling at herself. Which doesn’t make it OK, but maybe will Your approach depends on what your priori- help you use an inside voice when speaking ties are. Is the ultimate goal to spend time to her. with your dude, or to work on fixing this relationship with your mother? For #1, you just need to come up with a new cover story. Church Lock-In? SAT Prep Course? Lacrosse Help! I need self esteem advice! Away Game? Like advice on how to develop one’s self esteem? This is definitely the topic on which I


am simultaneously most and least qualified to give advice. One the one hand, any self esteem I have has been purposefully cultivated. On the other hand, dude I have like no self esteem 60% of the time. On the other OTHER hand, that’s an increase from the 20% it used to be.

Dear Advice Witch, so there's a boy I like at work, and we've been flirting for a few months now and have discussed maybe hanging out but that was a while ago. He told another coworker that he just wanted to hook up, which is all I also want. I let him know we were on the same page a while ago Start by just telling everyone how great you are. Pick a thing you think you’re moderately but how do I initiate hooking up? I competent at, and declare you’re the best at it. don't want to do it at work but I'm The best in the world, and all should tremble nervous about inviting him to hang before your might. The Kanye Method, if you out again. will. Eventually your brain will accept the “lie” (it’s not a lie, you are really great, but I’m You’re gonna have to suck it up and ask again. sure it sounds like a lie at first) and you will It’s totally justifiable that you’re nervous truly believe you’re the best beekeeper alive, about it, but you gotta do it. Be direct. Just or w/e. If you can, surround yourself with say, “Hey, you wanna get up on this? Let us people who like you and admire your steez. adjourn to a second location.” I agree that it’s important not to hook up at work. It’s just not a good look. Fortune favors the bold, my friend!

In the book Mama Lola: A Vodou Priestess in Brooklyn, Karen McCarthy Brown notes the difference in attitude between Haitian and their Western colonizers. The Haitians Brown encountered were focused on doing; Western If you need advice from our Advice culture is obsessed with questions of essence Witch, you can ask away at: and being. The West buys into the notion that there’s such a thing as a “self” and it has certain intrinsic qualities that are good or bad. In Background photo by Giselle Morgan reality, people do things, and be lotsa shit at lotsa different occasions. So hang your self esteem on your accomplishments. To paraphrase something Yoda said, “Do or do not do. There is no be.”


untitled 23 “i’ve got a secret you know,” she tells me her eyes are glassy and smooth and clear and full and when i look at her all i see is the night sky (or is that just a reflection of broken beer bottles decorating the floor like confetti?) this room is filled with lungs screaming for oxygen but i can’t help reducing it all to white noise so i nod silently secluding myself with thoughts of home and safe-in-beds there’s a pause and then she says, “we’re getting out of here tonight” “what are you talking about?” i ask, my voice wavering “well, today’s the last day of high school” “yeah?” “then we’re locked down and tied up; college, adulthood, life”, she says, shaky, confused, almost afraid of her own words: “this is our last night of freedomand i’m not wasting it on the floor of jackson carpenter’s basement” as she pulls me out the door (and i trip over myself trying to keep up with her racing thoughts) the cold wind kisses me on the cheek


and whispers in my earbut we’re moving too quickly to hear what it says and before i can think, I’m thrust into the passenger’s seat by a chorus of limbs my chest is pounding in my throat (do you think she can hear it?) then ever so stealthily, it drops to my stomach and i realize that there is no room left over for butterflies because she’s right-

the salty ocean wind (carries itself down from the beach three blocks away) tastes of freedom and fear and heartsthatskipabeat and for once in my life, i'm not afraid to swim

Poem by Kani Anifowoshe. Illustration by Beth

HUMAN NATURE By Nicolas Modelled by Ariana and Natalie


The freedom of posting whatever you want on Instagram can be taken in various directions. The direction I chose for my photos is to express yourself and not give a damn. It is not fair that others can report your photo just because it intrigues them. We should have the freedom of posting pictures that we like and enjoy. Many artists and people have had their accounts and photos deleted for many issues, mostly very dumb. If you’re offended by these photos, I’m sorry because sadly you can't report them.


Photos by Lilly Modelled by Alessia Bacilieri

FISH IN THE SKY Dreams from Fauve It’s a normal grey day. Mum and I climb into a plain normal bus. We pay the ridiculous fare and sit down onto the ripped musty seats. As the bus pulls out of the station it creaks and rattles. It swings suddenly into what looks like a huge car wash, and we remember why we are here. “Where shall we go?” Mum turns and asks pleasantly. “Let’s see Pirates!” “This is Stourbridge” She sighed at me. “The 60’s?” “Fine by me” She smiles.

the nearest sea to us is Wales or Weston-super-Mare. But everything’s so clean and pure that I can see silhouettes of fish swimming in mountain shapes in the sky, but it isn’t the sky, it’s the horizon but it looks like black 2D fish swimming in the blue sky above the sunset. It feels so real. It’s so beautiful I never want to look away. I’m filled with calm and happiness as I watch the fish swim slowly across the sky.

I look up and am amazed by what I see. At eye level are the houses across the street, beyond that more houses, then the town. Then as I look up, the sky goes into ruby reds and innocent pinks, as the sun sets, then beyond that I can see the sea, though

Mum disappears. I’m no longer a ghost and it’s the present day. I’m in London with Sam exploring a huge apartment we’re going to live in until we get our own flat. I look up, its tall and modern, all glass and smooth edges. The inside has a spa-

I feel so free.

We float along happy as pie and appear in a young couple’s house. It’s We appear on the main road and we imclean, cute and yellow, like in the mediately spot the difference. It’s movies. I explore her wardrobe, jealgreener and the sky’s actually blue ousy filling me. The couple become and the cars are chunky and sharp spooked, we must have knocked someedged. We let it swing round into thing, or must be giving off a Penfields and get off just after the strange vibe, so we leave through the corner. There are fences, gardens, bedroom window and float across endand patches of green grass that less green fields. It’s dark yet aren’t here today. We appear at the light, time has no meaning. end of the road, it’s gothic and we realise we are ghosts. A few of the It’s the canals, finally something houses have gothic statues of pixies familiar, but even this isn’t right. and angels stood outside. Mum points On either side are factories, new and at the cloud that looks like a drag- working, not the empty ruins of today. I try to take photos on my old ons head, he has veins and eyebrows and steam from his nose but he looks camera but it doesn’t go right. It’s nice enough, just tired with the bags just wrong though I don’t know why. Maybe it’s the lighting that’s all under his eyes. Everything’s more wrong. It’s frustrating. There’s this pure with less pollution. tall square black building, alone, “I wish we could live here” “We do” Mum quips sarcastically, mak- framed by trees in the foreground. Guess I’ll have to leave it. ing me smile


cious bright office and desk. We’re in the indoor market that fills one of the floors. It’s like the Bullring, all different stalls selling materials, fresh food and jewellery. We’d never need to leave this building.

bear to find the owner of the stall, but he is nowhere in sight. Simply walking off with it crosses my mind but that seems wrong…

Then I wake up alone to the dull sound of my alarm. As I fall into consciousness I can feel the chains of reI feel so free. And happy. ality twist, tighten and Complete. lock in place around my body and mind. Responsibly, We walk over to some wooden stress, obligations fill my shelves housing cuddly toys. mind and create a dull ache I recognise that some are across my shoulders. I roll like mine, there’s bigger over, squeezing my eyes and smaller versions of a shut, but it’s no good; the brown bat I have. I’m hit fish have left the sky. with nostalgia as I pick up a red squirrel hand puppet. “I used to have one just like this. I have no idea what happened to it. This could even be it” Sam smiles at me, but he is distracted by a teddy bear. He picks it up, it is small with a pointy face, creamy coloured and so very fluffy and cute. “I’ll buy it for you!” “No no, it’s fine, really.” But I’ve already walked off with the



The Road Trip. Images of long highways filter through the mind, arm dangling out of the window, nothing for miles on either side, the right song blasting in the background.

tablish what you really want (in the case of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas that’s drugs, lots of drugs, however I would err on the side of caution there, for driving safety if nothing else). There is knowledge to be gained on the road, both of one’s self and the world around us: again, to quote There is an intrinsic beauty in leaving Kerouac, “The best teacher is experience everything behind: all responsibilities and not through someone's distorted drift into the distance while the bonds ty- point of view”. ing you to the static mundane slowly disappear as you drive off into the horizon. This notion of cutting ties and moving As well as a fantastic source of knowledge forward into new experiences is perhaps through experience, the road trip also what has ensured its long-term appeal; provides the opportunity for those sponthe romantic idea of searching for fresh taneous (or engineered) fantastic moadventures appeals on a quasi-spiritual ments, however the likelihood of these oclevel. curring is enhanced greatly through the employment of a road trip mix-tape. The road trip mix-tape is, in my view, a preFor those with an insatiable wanderlust, requisite for the perfect drive as it has the probably seeking some kind of enlighten- power to influence your mood so proment, the road trip provides the perfect foundly and ultimately, all the best moescape. Dean Moriarty gives some sound ments have a soundtrack. Before traveladvice in Jack Kerouac’s hit 1957 novel ling to France last year, my friends and I ‘On The Road’, perhaps the definitive carefully curated two CDs of driving mupiece of road trip literature: sic (featuring a huge variety of songs from Friendly Fires’ Hawaiian Air to Kiss’ Rock “Sal, we gotta go and never stop going 'till we get there.' And Roll All Nite and Madonna’s 4 'Where we going, man?' Minutes) that had us belting at the top of 'I don't know but we gotta go.” our lungs in the car for the whole trip, entirely appropriate for the occasion. The Although at this point Sal and Dean’s des- mix-tape brings everyone in the car totination is undetermined, the road still gether: when the perfect song comes on calls. The importance of the journey and everyone starts to lose inhibitions, largely overshadows the destination – it is the shared emotions created through the the unexpected and the new that will pro- music begin to connect people. vide you with stories to last a lifetime. The road is one to self-discovery too; the freedom to do anything you like can help es-


However Road trip mix-tapes are not reserved for group driving only by any means – they’re also an excellent vessel for connecting with the self and venting pent up emotions. Contained in a car with no one but oneself for company, you can turn the music up loud (and sing louder) without bothering anybody, an unsurprisingly cathartic, liberating experience. The on-screen epitome of the driving song for me comes during the tunnel scenes of The Perks of Being a Wallflower – a moment where the characters seem to truly connect and, in Charlie’s words, come within reach of the ‘infinite’. Their shared sensation and momentary freedom from the confines of high school life encapsulates the strength of the song/drive combination, and the repetition of the sequence at the end of the film acts as a wonderful reminder of the power of the journey. All of the above might seem ridiculously clichéd – and to an extent it is – but I reckon there’s still some magic to be found out there on the road, clichés and all. At the end of the day, people are still road tripping because it’s great fun; and certainly the benefits and experiences there to be gained far outweigh any notion that the road trip might be overdone. Half the fun of the road trip is the clichés anyway, those moments where you feel part of the ever-wandering, enlightenment seeking tradition pioneered

by Kerouac and his peers. To return to his words again, “The road must eventually lead to the whole world.” A selection of unused (yet still fantastic) Kerouac quotes that I didn’t have the heart to delete: “Nothing behind me, everything ahead of me, as is ever so on the road.” “What is that feeling when you're driving away from people and they recede on the plain till you see their specks dispersing? - it's the too-huge world vaulting us, and it's good-bye. But we lean forward to the next crazy venture beneath the skies.” “I was surprised, as always, be how easy the act of leaving was, and how good it felt. The world was suddenly rich with possibility.” “Our battered suitcases were piled on the sidewalk again; we had longer ways to go. But no matter, the road is life” “And so we picked up our bags, he the trunk with his one good arm and I the rest, and staggered to the cable-car stop; in a moment rolled down the hill with our legs dangling to the sidewalk from the jiggling shelf, two broken-down heroes of the Western night.”

Words by Eleanor Weinel, photo by Beth




What’s not to love about summer? Months of relaxation, abandoning all the stress that’s been clogging up your head all year – how could anyone not feel at ease? I used to dread the summer; the hot weather meaning the worst thing of all – short sleeves. When things get too much, some people run away, some people change their eating habits, some people hurt themselves. For the duration of my depression, I fell into a cycle of addiction to my own self destruction. It started when I was 14, suddenly everything was too much. How was I supposed to deal with all this? Where was it supposed to go? What do I do now? My head was clouded and I couldn’t see straight. I found solace in a safety pin. Small, I know, but it was a start. The next day I went to school with my baggy jumper sleeves rolled down, panicking every time they slinked past my wrists. I told one close friend, but it wasn’t long before I slipped up and some other friends saw, and I was absolutely horrified. Filled with humiliation, I kept my sleeves down and wore numerous hairbands and ribbons on my wrists as disguises. Within a year it escalated to bandages as I came to the realisation I couldn’t tie ribbons all the way up to my elbow, so hot days were hell. As things calmed down over the summer and so did I, my sleeve rules relaxed and I tried


RS IN SUMMER to get myself back to ‘normal’. No major damage was done in those months of safety pins and smuggling blunt knives up to my room in the waistband of my pyjamas, so I healed pretty quickly.

like myself than I had done in a very long time. The scars are still there but fading, sometimes I think people are staring, but I’m not too bothered anymore. I stopped trying to cover them up or get rid of them and just accepted them. I’m not proud of what I did but I’m proud of what I got through. My scars remind me that I survived.

As I returned to what I thought was normal, I got through less than 2 months of college without snapping. But when I finally did snap, I broke down completely and reached dangerous Side note: If you see someone with scars, it’s new levels. The worst of it happened in winter, best not to ask them about it - they’ll bring it up so hiding bandages under long sleeves was a if they want to. relatively easy task. But slip ups still happen and weather inevitably gets warmer. I was trapped. Trapped in this seemingly endless cycle of self-harm which then trapped me in my long sleeves. I got therapy and I got medication – I got so much help from other people, but ultimately it was up to me to break the cycle. As I started to get better, I stopped finding that comfort in my addiction, and the spaces between indulgences got bigger and bigger. Relapses happen though, and it’s important to understand that and recovery is not a straight line. The amount of guilt I felt after each of my relapses was enough to make me think twice about doing it again, and it was also enough to keep my sleeves down. Even weeks after, when there were no new wounds to show, I kept my arms covered. One summer day, Lauren and I were walking to meet some friends by the river, about a mile away. Rapidly overheating, I started to think about the ‘what ifs’ of taking my cardigan off. What if everyone stares? What if everyone looks and it’s really awkward? What if someone says something? With encouragement from Lauren and courage from myself, I took it off. I was terrified. I was exposing all that I’d been hiding for so long. At the end of the day I was proud of myself. I wasn’t being held back anymore and I felt more

Words by Beth, illustrations by Christian


THE FREEDOM IN ART to the art world, in which I realized that so many artists had a different way in interpreting the world around Ever since I can remember I’ve been doodling. I them; sometimes many just create their own. It was even have physical proof with my old little Barbie and pretty cool not having to worry about things looking Tinkerbelle notebooks I had when I was 4 in which I incredibly realistic and just being able to let loose and evidently had a spectacular time drawing stick people, draw random things that made me happy. That in itself suns with sunglasses, and flowers with incredibly haphelped me realize that there is a lot more freedom in py faces. As I got older, the habit (or more so hobby) art, and a lot fewer boundaries than I ever thought it never really died down- that is up until the sixth grade. had before. I used to think that everything had to look a At that point I had already been exposed to art at certain way- that even something such as abstract reschool. In school I was being to taught how to draw quired some crucial skill that I would never be able to what I see, and evaluated on how good I was at this develop, or that I simply just wasn’t born with. I always particular technique. During those years, I spent my enjoyed looking at these things, however making them time doodling eyes on my pages in graphite, along with myself caused me a lot of trouble. noses, lips, and spunky hairstyles. However, when I was finished with my sketches I always felt as though Over the past (almost) year however, I’ve realized something didn’t look right. There was always somemore and more that we all have our different styles, thing missing, ESPECIALLY when I looked at the draw- and that we all can do whatever we want with them. ing as a whole and realized it looked absolutely nothing Believing that there are any types of boundaries regardlike an actual human face and more like the face of a ing art is only going to make you explode on the inside distorted alien-looking dude. That started giving me because you are not expressing yourself due to the fear the idea that art maybe wasn’t my thing, and that I of it “not looking good” or because it doesn’t look should begin to focus on things that I’m actually good “real.” at. At this point my style of drawing has changed Up until last September, things had continued this drastically and will continue to change, however I’ve way for four years. I still decided to take an art class, decided to just go with it. I used to like a lot of black but I never really felt confident on the things I handed and white stuff, but now I’m enjoying experimenting in. I always just put myself down because I’d compare with different colours as well. Even working with mixed my assignments to the assignments I saw done by my media has been a blast. Every once in a while, I will atclassmates or even by artists I found online. Things be- tempt a portrait, and I think my skills regarding porcame especially difficult once I saw other people draw traiture may be getting better. As oppose to beating things that looked absolutely picture perfect and there I myself up for them not looking exactly like the subject was STILL not being able to draw a decent eye sketch of the portrait, I add my own spin to these portraits inthat looked even remotely realistic. At this point it just stead. I don’t think I’ll ever stop with my art, simply seemed like I had gone from a little kid that could draw because I enjoy it, and it’s a way for me to cope with suns with sunglasses on a piece of paper, to a big kid stress, anxiety, and every other emotion a human being that can draw suns with sunglasses on a piece of paper. is able to bear. There are many other artistic styles that are all fantastic, and I feel like as long as making art is When September came along and the new school enjoyable for you, by all means go for it! Stop creating year had begun, I had notebooks as always and would limits for yourself based on the things that stereotypidoodle in them during lessons, (much to many teachers cally define art, (although these things are wonderful disdain). I began to draw things that didn’t necessarily too). Very often we worry that things we draw/make/ look like they were drawn by some hyper realistic artist, paint/etc, can be perceived as ugly, messy, or sloppy, and surprisingly I liked them. I started making dumb but as long as you are happy with it, who cares about little comics with weird characters I made up. Suddenly what other people think? It can take a long time to realthe idea of me not being able to draw a realistic portrait ize that self expression really doesn’t have any rules on of somebody, or a picture perfect landscape slipped how it has to look- but once you do, it will make things away to the back of my mind, and I was more fascinata hell of a lot easier for you, and a lot more fun too. ed by distorted figures, shapes, and drawings in black pen. This was also inspired by an even bigger exposure

Words and art by Natalia Orasanin









wanted to be free as a b to fly to learn to love to cry to known to try

but i died five thousand times everytime you wont look eyes

still wondering around t

covered with pillows and

no one tries and they wo know

how it feels to be the w know

sometimes my sky can be

sometimes my eyes go blu

sometimes all people see lust

and at night i look at they mirror with no tru

all the wrong all the cu gathered around my love

And my lovers turned int No eyes No heart An evil monster


me in the

the house

d tears

ont even

women and


ue too

e in me is



to dust



We all fly around ter

As a child and as bird

All the wings we h ken in vein

Trees hated us whe born

They're tall and p They judge us all We breathe in the don't deserve

We kill each other eyes in our hell

All the d

Will be d out one d

And after world is There'll

And trees

was a clus-

an adult

have are bro-

en we were


love we

r with closed

dizziness and the ink

dissolved and washed day

r all the hope in the gone be birds again

s will fly high





The fifth issue of Cherry, a feminist/art/photography/everything zine

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