Issue No. 7 - Sanctum by hookdmagazine

HOOK ‘ D

CONTRIBUTORS

Editor-In-Chief

Malcolm Guidry

Managing Editor

Shelby Rose Yeary

Director of Finance

Sofia Miano

Principal Creative Director

Campbell Williams

Assistant Creative Director

Sydney Thomasson

Lead Photographer

Joyati Modak

Lead Stylist

Arianna Jenkins

Lead Hair & Makeup Artist

Harmony Charles

Directors of Written Publications

Kathy Do Aarzoo Modha

Director of Web Development

Alex Hernandez

Director of Web Design

Farah Faheem

Director of Digital Artwork

Parth Ghawghawe

Directors of Marketing

Abigail Cervantes

Giovanni Magaña

Director of Media

Ethan Rodarte

Lead Videographer

Marvin Sanchez

Principal Events Coordinator

Ava Richards

Assistant Events Coordinators

Abigail Garcia

Alyssa Diaz

Directors of Outreach & Opportunities

Anasofia Aragon

Sumer Brito

Principal Layout Designer

Ava Bathurst

Assistant Layout Designer

Kennedy Huynh

Creative Alexander Lozano, Alexander Zavala, Amari Herrera, Aneeza Ahsan, Anna King, Anushka Ravi, Aria Makan, Ariel Barley, Armando Melquiades, Arushi Sinha, Benjamin Howell, Bojun Zhang, Brandon Nguyen, Charlie Gregory, Daiara Garcia, Danai Munyaradzi, Dania Kabalo, Diana Farmer, Donya Farrokhi, Elizabeth Cox, Elizabeth Cruz-Ramirez, Ella Scoresby, Emma Rikalo, Faith McNabnay, Farah Kazi, Gordon Feng, Grace Pham, Isabella Capuchino, Itzel Casillas, Jasmine Cecil, Jeong Eun Jang, Jose Martinez-McIntosh, Junseok Park, Kanak Kapoor, Kate Aguayo, Kaylee David, Keturah Rollins, Killari O’Donnell, Linda Sanchez, Lizvette Tapia, Madison Payne, Mariam Malik, Marie Agustin, Maya Ali, Mikaya Guevara, Mykee Alvarado, Natalia Guerrero, Paeton Davis, Phyllis Stockton, Rachel Xing, Regina Magana Chavez, Riziki Mathenge, Ryland Russell, Sage Diaz, Sandra Cong, Sarah Rodriguez, Sofia Franchino, Sofie Finch, Tanny Vo, Zavier Campos

Writing Ahana Thapar, Anum Tayyab, Brent Chou, Catalina Lopez, Chayce Doda, Ella Baird, Fatima Grano Salazar, Isaiah Treviño, Justice Morris, Lucy Gomez, Maddie Lindell, Marlenie Menjivar, Melani Alanis, Oluyemisi Bolarin, Riya Bansal, Sara Presas, Sarah Matthews, Taylor Schult, Weslie Warmink

Layout Alexa Sanchez, Cassandra Aguirre, Celeste Jones, Diya Ballal, Elizabeth Rangel, Hannah Zavala, Heather Basham, José Ramón De Los Santos, Kenia Gallegos, Neha Prasath, Sabrina Phung, Sachi Kacker, Soloman Meza, Teresa Brod, Zuhayr Sharique Events Alex Melendez, Alyshbah Rupani, Amara Vincent, Amie Nguyen, Amy Huh, Ashley Serpas, Audrey Garza, Bennett Ismert, Daniela Osorio, Diya Dethan, Emma Kay, Giovanna McLean, Heather Javech, Kathleen Versalle, Lauren Nguyen, Misbah Velji, Nikolai Gavrilovic, Sabah Nazary, Sunnel Kim, Tanna Myerson, Trey Uribe, Marilyn Howell, Mia Ramirez, Sarah Tomasino Marketing Arushi Sinha, Caitlin Knight, Calista Hernandez, Celia Salazar, Evany Saenz, Gianna Vasquez, Gromyko Ngueyap, Jessica Rodriguez, Kaili Ochoa, Karina Hernandez, Kennedy Jordan, Kenny Klefisch, Madison Goudeaux, Natalie Schneider, Niamh Clancy, Patrick Hunt, Priscilla Diaz, Sage Diaz, Shreya Rajavelu, Sierra Escobedo, Stephany Ramos, Trevor Zagarella, Valeria Valle

Outreach & Opportunities Alexandria Sayegh, Amr Kinnare, Anika Shankar, Arianne Tsioutsias, Hazel Kim, Kimia Chitsazan, Kylie Sisk, Mitha Ananth, Siddhaarth Mayekar, Trissie Craft, Vaneeza Walimohammad Web Development Abhiram Gadde, Amr Kinnare, Aneeza Ahsan, Carolina Ontiveros, Chris Lopez, Daiara Garcia, Divya Sharma, Jackie Ochoa, Jenny Tran, Joshua Martinez, Kynslee Harris, Maya Ali, Mayukha Kasibhatla, Payton Kooyman, Victoria Hales

Within the haven of humanity’s identity is a delicate exchange between tradition and innovation. Using the framework engineered by monoliths of our ever-changing culture, we construct the bounds of what it means to become a pioneer. Issue No. 7 stands to not only be a destination, but an invitation. With knowledge, respect, and humility, we look to the past in order to draft the blueprints of our future. The artistry that rests within each being is a querencia, a sanctuary that embraces the complexities necessary for the transformation of ideals most wouldn’t dare to challenge. Driven by passion and education, we are the architects of the citadel of tomorrow.

Together, we learn. Together, we design. Together, we build.

About sanctum

/saNG(k)təm/

FROM THE EDITOR

Issue No. 7 serves as a commentary on the ambition required to alter the status quo. Hook’d Magazine aims to showcase creative resilience fueled by drive and passion, yet grounded in education. Honoring those who came before us and the contemporary masterminds of visual arts, we encourage our members to redefine norms, push boundaries, and express their artistry in ways that are uniquely personal. This issue highlights that while creativity can be whimsical and unpredictable, it can also be calculated and strategic. Within the dissonance between the free flow of art and preestablished frameworks lies Sanctum.

The previous Editor-in-Chief and founder of Hook’d Magazine, Dana Tran, left a lasting mark on this organization and all who have contributed to it. With humility and

appreciation, I aim to carry forward her vision and mission, continuing to build the legacy of Hook’d Magazine and providing a platform for local creatives to forge their own heritage. I am deeply thankful for Dana’s hard work, which has given me the privilege and honor to lead this magazine with the assistance of such incredible individuals. I look forward to this new chapter in the story of Hook’d Magazine and I am excited to share this journey with you all.

With gratitude,

Malcolm Guidry Editor-in-Chief

Malcolm guidry EDITOR-IN-CHIEF

SYDNEY THOMASSON ASSISTANT CREATIVE DIRECTOR

KATHY DO CO-DIRECTOR OF WRITTEN PUBLICATIONS

SHELBY ROSE YEARY MANAGING EDITOR

JOYATI MODAK LEAD PHOTOGRAPHER

AARZOO MODHA CO-DIRECTOR OF WRITTEN PUBLICATIONS

SOFIA MIANO DIRECTOR OF FINANCE

ARIANNA JENKINS LEAD STYLIST

ALEX HERNANDEZ DIRECTOR OF WEB DEVELOPMENT

CAMPBELL WILLIAMS PRINCIPAL CREATIVE DIRECTOR

HARMONY CHARLES LEAD HAIR & MAKEUP ARTIST

FARAH FAHEEM DIRECTOR OF WEB DESIGN

EXECUTIVEThe

Parth Ghawghawe DIRECTOR OF DIGITAL ARTWORK

MARVIN SANCHEZ LEAD VIDEOGRAPHER

ANASOFIA ARAGON CO-DIRECTOR OF OUTREACH & OPPORTUNITIES

ABIGAIL CERVANTES CO-DIRECTOR OF MARKETING

AVA RICHARDS PRINCIPAL EVENTS COORDINATOR

SUMER BRITO CO-DIRECTOR OF OUTREACH & OPPORTUNITIES

GIOVANNI MAGANA CO-DIRECTOR OF MARKETING

ABIGAIL GARCIA ASSISTANT EVENTS COORDINATOR

AVA BATHURST PRINCIPAL LAYOUT DESIGNER

ETHAN RODARTE DIRECTOR OF MEDIA

ALYSSA DIAZ ASSISTANT EVENTS COORDINATOR

KENNEDY HUYNH ASSISTANT LAYOUT DESIGNER

EXECUTIVE team

FASHION SHOW 20 24

designs by CHRISTINA GUILLERMO

COCO DE CHOM

ELSA ZHANG

JIAGIA STUDIOS JUSTIN LE NATALIA GUERRERO

photography by ETHAN RODARTE

hmu by ELLA BAIRD

EMMA RIKALO HARMONY CHARLES PAETON DAVIS

music by DJ RESA WILSON RAUSCHER

coordinated by AVA RICHARDS

ABIGAIL GARCIA

ALYSSA DIAZ

HOOK’D MAGAZINE’S EVENTS COMMITTEE

layout by AVA BATHURST KENNEDY HUYNH

design

design by COCO DE CHOM modeling by JESSICA LIU

by JUSTIN LE modeling by JOSÉ RAMÓN DE LOS SANTOS

design by JUSTIN LE modeling by SUNNEL KIM

design by JIAGIA STUDIOS modeling by ALEX HERNANDEZ

design by CHRISTINA GUILLERMO modeling by YOUSEF AHMED

by NATALIA GUERRERO modeling by HEATHER JAVECH

design by ELSA ZHANG modeling by CHAYCE DODA

design by JIAGIA STUDIOS modeling by SURINA SRIVASTAVA

design by CHRISTINA GUILLERMO modeling by KENNY KLEFISCH

design by ELSA ZHANG modeling by ELLA SCORESBY

design by NATALIA GUERRERO modeling by NAYEON HEO

design by COCO DE CHOM modeling by SARAH MATTHEWS

COCO DE CHOM

founder & designer

GINGER CHOMTALE CHITSAKUL

modeling by (left to right)

FISAYO BABATUNDE

TANNA MYERSON

SARAH MATTHEWS

GINGER CHOMTALE CHITSAKUL

JESSICA LIU

SEJAL JAIN

JOSEMANUEL VAZQUEZ

MACKENZIE LIDE

JIAGIA STUDIOS

founder & designer

PARTH GHAWGHAWE

executive fashion director

MALCOLM GUIDRY

modeling by (left to right)

HARMONY CHARLES

ISAIAH TREVINO

ALEX HERNANDEZ

MALCOLM GUIDRY

PARTH GHAWGHAWE

DIANA FARMER

AVA HALE

SURINA SRIVASTAVA

NEHA PRASATH

ELSA ZHANG

modeling by (left to right)

CAITLIN KNIGHT

ANUSHKA RAVI

ELLA SCORESBY

CHAYCE DODA

ELSA ZHANG

HANNAH DVORACHEK

RACHEL XING

BIANCA LIAU

NATALIA GUERRERO

modeling by (left to right)

NAYEON HEO SARAH MELENDEZ

CHRISTINA GUILLERMO

modeling by (left to right)

KENNY KLEFISCH

CHRISTINA GUILLERMO

YOUSEF AHMED

ISAIAH TREVINO

JUSTIN LE

modeling by (left to right)

PATRICK HUNT

JUSTIN LE

JOSÉ RAMÓN DE LOS SANTOS

SUNNEL KIM

photography by ETHAN RODARTE styling by MALCOLM GUIDRY

modeling by FAITH MCNABNAY

layout by KENNEDY HUYNH

photography by CAMPBELL WILLIAMS styling by BRANDON NGUYEN & ELLA SCORESBY

hmu by DIANA FARMER

set design by SOFIE FINCH

modeling by NOÉMIE GSCHWENDTNER layout by JOSE RAMON DE LOS SANTOS

The haven within humankind is a delicate framework, perfectly constructed as it intertwines the flesh and bones of those before us. Within this haven, we are WW from the outside world and find comfort in our connectedness. Individuality serves no purpose, as the foundational blueprint lies within us all. As it beams through our DNA andn seeps into the bloodstream, it flows in support of the heart. A system so intricate, so vulnerable, it is almost elusive. What happens when the blood stops flowing?

This system, as it strives to create a sanctuary for those who inhabit it, is utterly supported by its people. The fruits of a society’s labor are directly received by that of the heart, the apex of the hierarchy. In gratitude, the working society is offered food, love, and protection. Within this idealized world rooted in the abstraction of perfection, destruction is inevitable. A desire for

power creeps within as it sparks a fearsome hunger, a hunger that may only be satisfied by blood. It is only then that this shadow of corruption overtakes a oncefunctioning society and turns it into that of a dystopia.

As defined by Read Write Think, dystopia can be identified as “a futuristic, imagined universe in which oppressive societal control and the illusion of a perfect society re maintained through corporate, bureaucratic, technological, moral, or totalitarian control.” A dystopian society flourishes within the premise of rejecting individuality. People are forced to conform to the expectations of the government, disregarding all desire for freedom. As the oppressive government constantly brainwashes these individuals, they quite literally have no choice but to comply. A society once striving off the haven found within community and alliance now feeds off the fear of its people.

In the famously dystopian series and movie franchise, The Hunger Games, the delicacy of sanctum is exemplified as it follows the totalitarian control of a country Capitol, Panem, over its districts. In the aftermath of rebellion, Panem establishes a sacrificial pageant of honor, courage, and sacrifice known as The Hunger Games, where two individuals are selected from each of the twelve districts to fight to the death. As one lone victor emerges, they are showered with wealth as a reminder of the Capitol’s generosity and forgiveness. The games are highlighted by the metonymy “bread and circuses,” derived from Latin “panem et circenses,” as they are broadcasted for entertainment in hopes of passive obedience to their oppressive regime. Within this, the dichotomy of capitol and district citizens is revealed. As the Capitol remains indifferent due to their lavish lifestyles, the games are pure entertainment to them. Alternately to the districts, they are a punishment that emphasizes how little power they truly have under the dystopian regime.

The Capitol, within itself, is a sanctuary of opulence, abundance, and luxury. It is the romanticized image of the totalitarian Panem. Capitol citizens are presented daily with such excess while the districts live in poverty. This excess is embodied in their clothes, makeup, hair, homes, and even their morals. One of the biggest focuses of the games is obtaining sponsors from Capitol citizens. They bet on their favorite tributes from the safety and comfort of their own homes, only viewing these humans as pieces in a game that can be toyed with for their amusement. They can enjoy such a thing because they have complete faith in the government, as it was built specifically for their prosperity. There are no shackles bound to them, carrying the impending success of society on their backs alone. But for the districts, this is their reality. They cannot simply hide within the security blanket of Panem’s reign because

the system was not made to protect them but to exploit them.

As the country is subdivided into twelve districts, each focuses on a resource to supply to the Capitol. Firstly, they spend their lives slaving away to produce said goods while not making a livable wage.

Secondly, they are constantly reminded they have no power to change this as they are forced to watch their people get brutally murdered in the games for entertainment. These are the sacrifices the districts make for a government whose odds will never be in their favor. These were the architects of tomorrow. But they are now nothing but bones upholding the skeleton of a dystopian regime.

“Hope. It is the only thing stronger than fear.”

This framework of humanity, falsely painted as the likeness of perfection, is a system that strives to provide life and a sanctuary for those who inhabit it. Despite this, its delicate structure feeds off selfdestruction and exploitation. A configuration of bones upholds the system and is pieced together by its people. Without any support, we are bound to destroy the system built off our very own flesh and blood as it continues to take all and give nothing. This skeleton is ripped apart, bone by bone, and only then are we able to break free of this sacrificial ritual and regain our autonomy.

It is with great willpower and hope that the blood stops flowing in support of the heart. When this fateful destination is reached, and the heart can no longer beat, the odds may once again be in our favor.

Despite the tragedies and bloodshed within this broken sanctum, motifs of hope are what inspire the need for rebellion and the desire for peace. As purity and corruption collide, the power of subversion emerges. Longing for freedom ignites a fire that cannot be contained in the face of fear.

Weathered Architects

Weathered Architects of Time

Modha

photography by ELIZABETH CRUZ-RAMIREZ & JOYATI MODAK

styling by SHELBY ROSE YEARY

hmu by AARZOO MODHA

modeling by ALEXANDRIA SAYEGH

layout by KENNEDY HUYNH

Aarzoo

“The Earth is littered With the ruins of empires Who believed they would be eternal.”

rinthLaby

They are the weathered architects of time, A collection of toppled pillars, Strewn with intricate designs and carvings, Proven to be more than the whispers of old; They are echoes through centuries. Those that scream the blueprints Of a life so carefully crafted for us. Generations whom lie so close, Yet, so far behind, Leaving a labyrinth of the legacy They wished to be deathless.

acy Laby

Leg

But, refusal to be bound

By the mere fragments of tradition and reality that remains persists.

For only a fraction of glories within ruins can glimmer. And fingers slip. No longer digging into the edges Of the writings of the past, You cannot help but ask, Is their eternity measured by time or by memory?

Do they prevent from a destiny recreated?

The remnants of monuments that rise and fall as the waves do, Debris that continues to fade into memory, Ponders the weight of history’s burden. We learn from the broken, paved way Of provinces before us. For true eternity lies not in stone But the unyielding face of uncertainty, And the unshackling Of the prisoners bygone.

Though their wisdom Does not become forgotten, Their impermanence manifests. We walk across the wreckage That guide and glean, but soon understand:

It is not the echoes of their dominion That endure, But the indomitable will Of the sculptors who

Dare Dream. to

A SCENSION

photography by ETHAN RODARTE styling by MALCOLM GUIDRY modelling by JOHN ALVARADO layout by AVA BATHURST

sydney thomasso�

photography by JOYATI MODAK styling by ARIANNA JENKINS & LINDA SANCHEZ hmu by HARMONY CHARLES & PAETON DAVIS modeling by PHYLLIS STOCKTON layout by KENNEDY HUYNH

I was very young when I seemingly fell down the rabbit hole into the dreamy world of fairy tales. Immediately, I was captivated by their utopias. I adored Ariel’s fascination with the unknown and her determination to reach it. The world of Tinkerbell was my inspiration; I wanted nothing more than a pair of sparkly wings. I absorbed these tales and their

adaptations. They were a sign of hope and an encouragement to dream and think outside of the box while my real-life surroundings were becoming increasingly mundane. But, no story seemed to leave such a lasting impact as the world of Alice in Wonderland. It was Alice who showed me the joyous things that a little bit of boredom can cultivate.

Following the rabbit in a frenzy in an attempt to escape her own world, I similarly find myself constantly chasing new ideas and creations before they escape me. It seems as if I have always been running after my own rabbit in search of my creative haven, trying many, many doors. I have dipped my toes into almost everything remotely creative: dance when I was little, choir, and trying a few instruments here and there—painting, embroidery, and crocheting in my free time, too.

I remain curious-er and curiouser! I have dabbled in decorating, collages and scrapbooking, drawing, photography, and creative writing. But, it is as if I have drunk a magic potion to shrink myself, hoping to fit through the small, rabbit-sized door, only to discover that I have forgotten to grab the key on the table! Then, I was introduced to theatre, my favorite part of grade school, which soon transitioned into my love of directing. Yet, I am met with another conundrum, which I only realized after consuming treats with miraculous growing powers to reach the key. With the creative sphere comes a strong chance of rejection, something I experienced when I was

and often accompanied by my own river of tears. Though my goals were far from small, I continued to prevail, and I have made my way through the door. With college, I found a new love, fashion, which has since taken the forefront of my mind as a creative.

On my journey, I came to the understanding that while it felt like the creative, artistic world was the natural road for me to take and sparked my interest, there was a strong resistance to this! Following curiosity comes with its consequences and, thus, should not be pursued, as warned by the deceptive twins Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum. Therefore, I am

distracted by the absurd idea that my dreams were meant to be abandoned.

Rather than encouraging my imagination to run wild, I was pushed to take on

guide me in pursuit of my ideas.

Wonder and possibility lead me further in my quest to follow the rabbit. Searching for tools to do so, I come across tempting treats. I hastily indulge. As a creative, I have learned that, at times, I reach a point where my confidence expands into egotism. Before I knew it, my head had grown too big for my circumstances. Its potential consequences threaten me, and I frantically search for a solution that might ground me. I find myself in a constant battle of combating an abundance of confidence along with its opposite, self-doubt. While I boast at times about my accomplishments, I almost equally feel myself shrinking and experiencing a complete absence of certainty in my artistry. Just as Alice hastily bites into the “eat me!” cookies, I bite into one, then another, and then each several times over, before reaching balance and returning to my life-sized self.

nIn Alice’s encounters with the rabbit that she so eagerly sought after, she witnesses him check his pocket watch meticulously and often. However, this ends abruptly over tea when their hosts destroy it and leave their guests completely disheartened. We then witness a drastic change of pace; the journey has seemingly taken a pause.

The rabbit is again out of sight, and she suddenly yearns for home and finds herself losing all sense of direction, falling into a deep sadness. There are times I feel as if I have lost my way and am unsure of how to proceed with what it is I intend to create. Even if I have all these ideas and aspirations, I do not know how to execute them best. Creativity is so tricky in this manner. I have realized that I cannot expect to reach all my goals alone. It is when I exercise a hint of humility and accept the support of those around me, as Alice does with the return of the Cheshire cat, that my path before me once again becomes apparent. The rabbit! Yes, the rabbit! It reappears when Alice reaches her final destination, the palace. And before I know it, I am nearing the denouement, my work nearly finished. Though, first, I must conquer my own Queen of Hearts.

I have yet to do so.

My time in college is quickly fleeting before I am left to kickstart my career in the fashion industry. I am fearful of what my future entails since it is largely unknown, but I am equally ecstatic to discover what is in the cards for me.

From princesses to pirate ships, fairy tales to fables, my childhood was utterly saturated with the imagination and bliss that accompanied these narratives. I have always known myself to be a creative and a storyteller, and I attribute my creativity to the tales that consumed my early years. With this gift, I have been granted the ability to transform my life experiences into something entirely abstract, exaggerated, and captivating, allowing me to make sense of my reality. Only then can I make my way back through the door and step into the real world. It is then that the dream succumbs.

photography by ALEXANDER ZAVALA & MICHAEL ALVARADO styling by AMARI HERRERA & SANDRA CONG hmu by EMMA RIKALO modeling by MACK LIDE layout by SABRINA PHUNG

Throughout history, mankind has struggled to look itself in the eyes. Again and again, humanity has bred a volatile and venomous relationship with its reflection as people grapple with the belief that their bodies are incapable of being loved.

This inability to feel safe in one’s bones has deeply ensnared roots in various cultures. According to ancient Gnostic views, the body was meant to be rejected since it was believed to represent decay, death, and the inherent inferiority of the physical world—thus, mind and body were separated, and the latter was declared evil. This belief was exacerbated as many civilizations also perpetuated the idea that physical beauty was impossibly fleeting. In ancient Greece, aging was thought to be an ugly and distasteful process where people lost the gallantry and sweetness of their youth. Specifically, Greek mythology has always been brimming with the tragic horrors of growing old. In this type of literature, powerful kings are overthrown by their heroic

younger sons, and lovers are torn apart due to time’s diseased grasp. In one renowned tale, the goddess Eos unfortunately fell madly in love with a human named Tithonus. Eos begged Zeus to give her mortal darling eternal life so that they never had to part. While Zeus granted the poor girl’s wish, the god forgot also to bestow eternal youth upon the human; Tithonus consequently grew old and gray. Eos ould not bear the sight of her lover as he weakened and withered.

Rather than embrace him in his advanced age, she opted to turn him into a lowly insect. Evidently, aging became associated with the unavoidable march towards a decrepit decline.

Similar mindsets abounded in other civilizations, as well. Many explorers, such as Spain’s Ponce de León, became infatuated with finding the Fountain of Youth. In Eastern cultures—despite an apparent reverence for the wisdom of elders—beauty standards still hummed quietly with undertones of an unattainable body. For example, porcelain skin was seen as a symbol of nobility and sophistication in China.

Thus, pale, glass-like skin was coveted. Likewise, in Japan, “mochi-hada’’ (translated to “rice cake skin”) referred to the expectation that skin be translucent, dewy, and effectively unmarred.

In the modern day, this overall pattern has continued. Currently, the global skincare industry is worth over $146 billion, and the cosmetic industry is worth over $378 billion Advertisements promoting botox, acne-scar removal, and anti-wrinkle serums are inescapable. A myriad of filters on social media seek to remove pimples or reshape noses. Furthermore, phenomena such as the “Sephora Kids” trend once again point to our society’s fixation on perfection as children—some as young as ten years old—have begun flocking to stores in search of expensive makeup hauls.

It seems that we are constantly at war with ourselves, a species that is obsessed with crawling out of its own skeleton.

However, if we continue down this path of

continuous self-contempt, nothing but exhaustion and heartbreak await us. When we look in the mirror, we will never see ourselves as we are, only as we wish to be. In an intimate confession, I must admit that I, too, have quite often caught myself wishing for a different reflectionperhaps when I am older, I will be prettier; perhaps when I am older, my hands will learn to love the curve of my jaw; perhaps, then, my face will feel more like my own.

In times when I find myself praying for time to soften my features and smooth my pores, I am reminded of my gran and how she used to sit in front of the mirror for hours, diligently applying

mascara and lipstick to rinse away her years. If the youth are constantly looking forward and the elderly are continually looking back, who will ever stand still and see themselves as they are?

The human experience, at its core, revolves around impermanence. Nothing is ever as it was; nothing is ever as it will be. Thrown around by the currents of instability, we go through life desperately grasping for something—anything—to feel sturdy and substantial beneath our fingertips. I wonder if it is time that we finally meet the gaze in the mirror and reach down to hold our own hand for balance.

Our body is perhaps the most tangible thing we will ever own. Every mark of imperfection is a testament to a life well-lived. Skin adorned by creases, stretch marks, calluses, and scars serves as a physical reminder that we have loved and lived in abundance. Our bodies were made to be used, and it is a privilege to have the opportunity to do so as we age. Perhaps by realizing this, we can begin to change the connotations around our physical appearance and finally view our bodies for what they are: our sanctum, our home.

photography by ISABELLA CAPUCHINO styling by ELIZABETH COX & KETURAH ROLLINS

hmu by ITZEL CASILLAS

set design by LIZVETTE TAPIA modeling by JESSICA LIU layout by HEATHER BASHAM

n the enchanting tapestry of evolving fashion trends emerges a soft, radiant glow that whispers of eras steeped in opulence and grace. Bows dance delicately amidst cascades of lace and a palette of gentle pinks unfurls like petals, reclaiming femininity from the shadows of societal misconceptions. This resurgence is not merely a fleeting nod to the past; it is a lyrical ode, a manifesto of empowerment penned by women of all ages, gracefully rewriting the narrative on gender expression. In a world where fashion serves as a luminous pathway to shifting attitudes and societal norms, this movement of reclaiming traditional femininity without compromising empowerment becomes a celestial beacon, guiding us toward a future woven with the threads of feminism’s dreams.

For decades, women navigated a labyrinth of expectations, tiptoeing around the notion that embracing their femininity somehow diminished their worth in academic or professional spheres. It was as though donning a lace-trimmed blouse or a hint of rosy blush was an affront to the sanctity of achievement. The men who dominated this space were not yet used to seeing women claim the same authority as them. It threatened their ideas, leading them to force further restrictions upon the women who dared foray into these spaces. And, this has been a universal story for many women I know. My mother, who graduated as an engineer from one of the best institutes in India, felt as though she needed to dress more masculine and stop her exploration of fashion and makeup so that she could exist in that male-dominated space without feeling attacked. She did it so that she could avoid being followed by the boys in her classes back to her residence, so that she could give her professors fewer reasons to make her feel like she was there without merit. Similarly, in middle school, I found myself giving up on cute hairstyles and small accessories because people refused to see that both my academic nature and enjoyment of fashion coexisted. I could not enjoy anything more than

braids or ponytails–because I was too “nerdy” to do anything else as if my academic ability compromised my ability to be feminine.

In this ethereal quest to carve out sacred spaces, women found themselves ensnared in a paradoxical gaze, where their femininity became a tender battleground, subjected to the whims of patriarchal scrutiny. Styles, once revered for their softness, were dismissed as capitulation, deemed too vulnerable, and too submissive for the tempestuous winds of social change. Too in line with what the patriarchy wanted out of us as women. This is because, in the past, hyper-feminine styles such as the “lolita” or “nymphet” were associated with a predatory gaze– the styles focused on claiming sexuality through innocence or sexualising the very

idea of girls embracing their femininity. The lingering specter of the novel Lolita loomed large, casting a shadow over any woman daring to embrace her femininity. But why, in an era where the fight against the male gaze is more fervent than ever, do we see a resurgence of these styles?

The answer, however, lies in the luminous rebellion of a generation reclaiming their identity. Gen Z and millennials, raised in a world where femininity often felt like a concession, are rewriting the script. They are not merely adorning themselves with lace and bows; they are weaving a sanctuary, a celestial haven where femininity is celebrated, cherished, and revered. It is a movement that transcends earthly boundaries, a sisterhood bound by the shimmering threads of shared experiences and celestial dreams.

his sanctuary of shared experiences serves as a cosmic refuge, a place where women from all walks of life come together to celebrate their femininity without compromise. It is a sanctuary where my mother’s struggle as an engineer and my own journey through academia and fashion converge, creating a celestial tapestry of resilience and reclamation. A space that women, from the past and from the future can look upon and say that their experiences came to fruition. The notion of a sanctuary embodies a sense of safety, acceptance, and belonging. It is a space where women feel liberated from societal constraints and empowered to embrace their true selves. Within these sanctuaries, the multifaceted nature of femininity is not only acknowledged but celebrated, offering a stark departure from the narrow stereotypes imposed by mainstream culture.

Moreover, the concept of a sanctuary extends beyond its immediate participants—it serves as a catalyst for broader social change. By challenging traditional notions of femininity and advocating for inclusivity and acceptance, these sanctuaries are driving conversations and shaping narratives that redefine the role of women in society.

It is about connecting to others through the whimsical wonder that life’s experiences contain, a wonder that is only shared by women. It is the creation of a community – a connection– that transcends geographical and chronological boundaries. This connection, however, would not seem to make sense. Womanhood is such a deeply individual experience, with culture, family, and personal histories completely changing how someone experiences the concept. As I see it, regardless of these individual experiences, women have innate knowledge in common. Their individual cultural experiences have an underlying thread stemming from the same prejudices and the same loves.

he emergence of this redefined femininity is not without its influences. Across various mediums, from fashion to music, there is a palpable shift towards embracing a softer, more whimsical aesthetic–a nod to the past with a contemporary twist. Artists are keen to jump upon this wagon and reclaim the design elements that they were once scathed for using, ones being deemed too conservative to fit into modern society.

Selkie, with its dreamy silhouettes and romantic detailing, embodies the essence of modern femininity. Their designs evoke a sense of nostalgia, harkening back to a time when femininity was celebrated in all its glory. From billowing sleeves to cascading ruffles, each piece tells a story—a story of strength, resilience, and unabashed femininity.

Similarly, Lana Del Rey’s music serves as a soundtrack to this renaissance of femininity. With lyrics that speak of love, longing, and the complexities of womanhood, she paints

a portrait of femininity that is both timeless and transcendent. Her music resonates with women of all ages, offering solace in a world that often seeks to diminish their worth.

Together, brands like Selkie and artists like Lana Del Rey are redefining what it means to be feminine, offering a vision that is as empowering as it is enchanting. They remind us that femininity is not a weakness to be hidden or a burden to be borne—it is a source of strength, a beacon of hope, and a sanctuary in which we can all find solace.

In the grand tapestry of femininity, each thread tells a story—a story of resilience, rebellion, and reclamation. So, as we embark on this journey of redefinition, let us remember that womanhood is not static; it is a symphony of evolution, a melody that changes with each passing moment. And as we rewrite the script on femininity, let us do so with grace, courage, and an unwavering belief in the power of our collective voice. For in the sanctuary of our shared experiences lies the true essence of womanhood—beautiful, boundless, and infinitely resilient.

Sara Matthews building Memories

photography by KAYLEE DAVID styling by GORDON FENG hmu by SAGE DIAZ

modeling by HARMONY CHARLES, AMY HUH & SOFIA MIANO layout by AVA BATHURST

Growing up in the Dallas area, I was no stranger to unique architecture. I remember begging my parents to take me downtown to see the city as much as possible. I loved how different everything looked there from my small, suburban town and how far I needed to move my head back to see the tops of buildings as a little kid.

One of my favorite buildings from back home is the Perot Museum of Nature and Science. The museum resembles a colossal concrete cube with a crystal-like, asymmetrical blue rectangle peeking out from the side. If you look closely, you can see the escalator and a dinosaur fossil displayed in the rectangular part of the structure from the outside. I remember being so fascinated by the Perot and wondering how something that wondrous and alien-like could even be designed and constructed.

While I have always admired the look of the Perot Museum, I also have many joyful memories stemming from there. In total, I have probably visited the museum about five times, thanks to school field trips and visits with my family over the years. Whether I was playing on the frogthemed playground as a kid or admiring the dazzling crystals exhibit as a teenager, I always had fun during my time there. Seeing it on the road when I return from college transports me to those lighthearted times.

As a whole, architecture has always had a special place in my heart, especially since my dad is an architect. I remember waking up on Christmas morning to gifts wrapped in old blueprints and visiting him for lunch at his downtown office every summer. Since I was little, he instilled in me an appreciation for space.

When I was young, I was confused about why he liked buildings so much. I wondered what could be so interesting about random apartments, offices, or restaurants. As I got older, I learned that he views buildings as pieces of art we live in. Similar to how we widely see fashion as wearable art, I see architecture as art we live, breathe, and exist through.

For me, I like to think of the fond memories I have that are tied to particular spaces. Pieces of architecture can help serve as vessels our memories anchor to. In films, settings play a prominent role in shaping a story’s mood, message, and overall impact. Similarly, in life, our settings are crucial to creating our story.

Memories

While I mentioned the Perot earlier, not every building has to be an architectural feat or masterpiece to be a structure with which people feel a connection. Some of my happiest memories have occurred in unsophisticated buildings that are far from perfect.

For example, my family has eaten Sunday lunch at the same diner in our small town for as long as I can remember. The diner is fully 1950s-themed, complete with checkerboard ceilings, neon lights, and tons of Marilyn Monroe posters and Elvis Presley decorative plates on the walls. The foyer, where guests wait for their tables to be ready, is filled with black and white photographs of what my tiny Texas town looked like in the 1800s.

While it will not be featured in Architectural Digest anytime soon, the diner is deeply meaningful for me and my family. We know almost all the staff by name and continue to eat there instead of the trendier brunch restaurants in the area because it is special to us. The atmosphere is so much more welcoming, making the diner one of the places I associate the most with home.

Additionally, my first date was in a humble setting: my local movie theater. The campy theater has tiny lights on the ceiling over the concession stand that mimics stars and celestial carpet with designs of planets lining the floor. While the theater may have been a little corny, it did not matter because I had so much fun seeing a Spiderman movie there with my now boyfriend. It was the first place we got to spend time together, apart from our friend group.

the beauty of architecturE the are key pieces of our memories

Sometimes, buildings can even uncover memories from long ago we may have forgotten about in the chaos of our daily lives. They can serve as catalysts for us to reminisce about memories trapped deeply within our psyche.

During high school, my best friend moved out of her childhood home, and I remember it upset me. At first, I did not understand why I felt down because she still lived in the same city as me, just now in a new house. Upon reflection, I realized I was unhappy because we had so many fun memories together as kids in that old house, and now we would never get to return to that place.

Sometimes, when I am back home, I pass by her old house in my small neighborhood. The door is the same bright, skyblue as it was before; the arched windows remain, and the two trees still loom over in the front yard. I can see us walking her dog on the sidewalk and playing by the pond, and suddenly,

I am a child again. everal of the places I have mentioned would likely be of no significance to the average person. Nothing particularly special would make you stop on the street to get a better look at the building or cause you to stare a second longer. Your mind would not start playing fond memories like a movie inside your head as it does in mine.

However, that is the beauty of architecture. The buildings that are special to me may not have any meaning to you, and vice-versa. Over time, these monuments become key pieces of our memories, personalities, and experiences.

In all aspects of life, there is always a setting. There is always a restaurant, a park, a business, or a house that pulls us back into a simple time. Whether architecturally grand or not, these settings contribute greatly to our recollection of events throughout our lives.

photgraphy by REGINA MAGANA CHAVEZ & KILLARI O’DONNELL styling by ARIEL BARLEY & KATE AGUAYO hmu by PAETON DAVIS modeling by FARAH-RAY SHUKUR & EMMA KAY layout by SACHI KACKER

n my freshan year of high school, I remember when the gas bill was late, the hot water was turned off, and I had to find unique ways to bathe myself. I would take out my mom’s biggest pot and fill it up as high as I could, being cautious not to overfill it since I knew I had to carry it through the long hallway from the kitchen to the bathroom. As I focused on the bubbles of boiling water rising from the bottom, I contemplated with myself whether to attempt filling up the whole tub or to put my rag straight into the pot. After a couple of times, I learned to go with the latter option. Carrying the boiling hot water to the bathroom required extra care to avoid spills, but I always ended up with little burns on my toes. Unfortunately, by the time my pot, my rag, and I made it to the bathroom, the water would no longer be hot. Washing my hair would prove most challenging. The struggle became evident with each tangled strand, and when shampoo and conditioner were low, I would fill up the bottle using the water from my pot, shaking it, making sure to get every last drop off the sides and bottom–because I knew it meant I would not be getting more anytime soon. Sure, I showered, but there is only so much you can do with a pot and a rag, and it is not a standard many people are accustomed to. I showed up to school every day filled with anxiety. I feared everyone around me would notice a stench if my hair was oily and tangled, and I had to live to a standard beyond the floor.

Now, I live in an overpriced West Campus apartment that some may claim is not quite “nice” enough.

Making it out of poverty is an extremely complex and complicated feeling, especially when you are still traveling down the road to leave it. Specifically, in my own experience, being a firstgeneration college student, the feeling of being stuck in the “in-between”

when I leave the comfort and warmth of my college apartment and go back home where the oven is left open to provide heating for the whole house–evokes this sense that I have no map to tell me which direction I should go. I tend to second guess everything I have ever been taught while also being hesitant towards the new way of life I am trying to become accustomed to.

Nevertheless, the people around me seemed to have everything figured out–like they were studying some instruction manual that I forgot to pick up at the door. They know how this whole “college thing” is supposed to go, who

to the typical upbringings they have encountered as if my background is just an entertaining story for them to have gotten the pleasure of listening to.

to talk to, and what names will get them places. I am oblivious to the seemingly obvious ways to climb the corporate ladder that now awaits me. Coming to college has made me realize many things about my childhood that I never realized before. That what I went through was not normal, and not everyone lives life like I have, but people will always try and find a way to pretend it is not as bad as I make it sound. It is a wonder how some guys that I have talked to, after learning about my experiences, would turn around and say, “Wow, you have lived such an interesting life.” They fetishized the ways in which I have struggled. These ways make me unique in comparison

I vividly recall a study session with friends when one of my upper-middleclass friends asked, “What is EBT?” My eyes opened wide as my jaw dropped, finally seeing the truth behind the phrase “ignorance is bliss” as I set and explained the need for food stamps to someone whose family never experienced the need for it. They will ask why I have to help out with rent, not understanding that I have taken on the responsibility. That is my contribution. This is something they will, luckily, never grasp. These friends will try to give me tips. My friends will tell me to invest in nice things, to invest in a good pair of expensive shoes. But if I buy the nice expensive shoes, I will have no money left for socks, pants, shirts, hygiene necessities–everything else I need. I do not think they understand how much growing up in poverty has affected me. I have found myself having a subconscious resentment towards those born into comfortability, untouched by the weight of financial struggles–whose parents took care of it all. My childhood was a lesson in survival, a great contrast to how they just got to be a child. As I have matured, I recognize that comfort does not equate to an easy life; it merely provides the means. Honestly, I wish my mom had the means to hold my hand through it all, too. Yet, that is not my story—poverty made me and is the reason behind all that I have become.

My sanctum was built from the materials of my “humble beginnings” that I am no longer ashamed of.

The materials of the Walmart shoes I was once bullied for, the ones that, in 5th grade, sparked such controversy amongst my classmates that I was told, “My family donates shoes to crackheads. We can give your family shoes, too.”

These shoes walked me through adversity, the shoes are a representation of my resilience. My sanctum is made from the generic brand food that filled the pantry and the Taco Bell craving menu that fed our family of six for only 20 dollars. It is made from the broken appliances in my house that we have not had the chance to replace, so instead, we learned to use it in a new way. My pot of water and rag made things that seemed impossible just a bit easier to accomplish. Climbing up new ladders has only been possible because of all the things I am leaving behind. These are the parts of my life that I wish I had never experienced because they were hard, but they made me strong, and that does not happen when things are always “easy.”

When I speak of the idea of “making it out of poverty,” please note that poverty is not and never was built to make it out of. This epidemic is described as the three-generation statistic, in which it takes three generations to allow a family to escape from indigence. Poverty is deeply rooted in historical, economic, and societal structures. It is a systemic issue that the system gets no benefit from amending. Everything is under the design to keep the rich, rich and the poor, poor. The factors contributing to this include the lack of quality education in low-income communities. The good teachers cannot sustain a living teaching at impoverished schools. Education depends on your tax bracket–there will always be others who are one step ahead, solely, because of where they came from. Their circumstances and upbringing give them the key to open doors that remain, otherwise, close to other people. Having high-earning careers now requires multiple degrees and years of experience to be even considered, and with academic inflation, the same families are able to seek tertiary education. At the same time, students from communities like mine cannot afford to give higher education the slightest thought. And, those who do, encounter the risk of immense debt in prohibiting their advancement. I will honestly say if I did not receive a full ride here, I would have had no other option than to stay back and continue the cycle.

Now that I am where I am—though this is all I ever wanted—I feel as if I am held captive by an overwhelming guilt of all that I am leaving behind. I ask myself many questions: “Who am I to be the one to build a new life from the ground up? Who am I to change? To take my dirt poor way of life and turn it into soil my flowers will grow out of?” And, by doing so, am I leaving behind the roots with whom I was once entangled with? I am not figuratively speaking when I say I fear each day that I have left my little siblings in the dark. A pang of guilt I do not think I will ever quite get over. I am hopeful that my pollen will fly off onto my siblings' buds and be a way of enabling them to grow further past the life that we have always known.

Sometimes, I look into the mirror and find it hard to recognize who I am, my clothes, or the room I am standing in–acknowledging the fact that I will never again see the person I once was in the reflection. Nevertheless, I know where I came from and the strength it took to endure the circumstances I lived through for years. And, though I look in the mirror and no longer see the depth of my past, I can reflect on the power it took to get to where I am and know that it is okay if no one understands.

I handmade the bricks my foundation is built out of.

OLUYEMISI BOLARIN

MAN CULT ONE ONE MAN CULT

photography by BENJAMIN HOWELL & JUNSEOOK PARK

stying by GRACE PHAM

hmu by ANUSHKA RAVI modeling by ISAIAH TREVINO layout by HANNAH ZAVALA

TO LOVE YOU,

I am having wicked dreams of being seen! The weight of being overlooked has chipped away at my heart, leaving a well of bitterness. Even with the hurt, I can not help but love deeply. It taints every interaction, a constant ache. I yearn to break free from this cycle, but love feels like the only constant I have left. Perhaps loving you is a mistake, a foolish hope clinging to the embers of what could be.

TO LOVE YOU,

The very idea of you hums a melody in my veins, a constant thrumming that fills my ears and blurs my thoughts. It is a cosmic song, a siren’s call that draws me in, even as it carries a discordant note I try to ignore. The vibrations echo through my body, a physical reminder of the emotion raging within. Every thought carries your imprint, a bittersweet reminder of the risk I take by letting myself feel this deeply. I am nervous about this.

TO LOVE YOU TO LOVE YOU TO LOVE YOU TO LOVE YOU TO LOVE YOU TO LOVE YOU

TO LOVE YOU,

They say the universe whispers secrets on unseen strings, stories woven into the fabric of existence. Somehow, I find myself tuned to the frequency that speaks of you. It is a story I cannot help but eavesdrop on, a melody that draws my gaze upwards. And as I look up, our eyes meet, a chance encounter that feels like destiny unfolding. The pull is undeniable, and I can not resist looking back at you.

TO LOVE YOU,

An undeniable pull, a force almost fatal, draws me back to you. Like the tide, I surrender, my heart echoing your rhythm, a moonlit ocean. Tonight, the sky shimmers with laurel constellations. Are we like them? Let us lace our fingers, hands reaching like starlight. Together, with one will guiding us, we will navigate the unknown.

TO LOVE YOU,

You, my peacekeeper, have stopped a war before it began. Surrender echoes in my soul: no more battles, no walls. Let me disarm in your embrace, my sullied hands yearning for yours. Swing me on a quiet floor, a dance only you can lead. Command, and I will follow, for the fear of losing you…

TO LOVE YOU,

In silent halls, I kneel before your absence. Tears fall like prayers in this empty chapel, a dim light casting long shadows on the pews. I yearn for a glimpse of your grace, to prostrate myself on the worn carpet of your heart. You, a vision I glimpsed, a god forever out of reach. Yet, my devotion burns, a fire I dedicate to your unknowable purpose.

TO LOVE YOU TO LOVE YOU TO LOVE YOU TO LOVE YOU TO LOVE YOU TO LOVE YOU TO LOVE YOU TO LOVE YOU

TO LOVE YOU,

My love claws at the air, desperate to find the gentle soul I believe resides within you. I know you, not as a deity, but as the essence beneath my skin, a truth etched into my being. Grow with me, intertwine your roots with mine. I would walk any path beside you, even carry the burden of your struggles. As I surrender, a strength stirs within, a hidden resilience ignited by your unspoken words.

TO LOVE YOU,

You are my truth, the guiding light that shapes me. Mold me into your vision, for any touch from you is a blessing I crave. Open your eyes to me, and let me finally see you—not as a distant god but as the one who ignites this fervent devotion within my soul.

Infiltrating a CommonGround brent chou

photography by ZAVIER CAMPOS & RACHEL XING

styling by RACHEL XING & FARAH KAZI

hmu by KANAK KAPOOR

modeling by ANDREW APONTE & JEREMY NGUYEN

layout by ELIZABETH RANGEL

Here in America, children around the age of five to six are required to attend school, whether public or private. Now, there can be many discussions on how the educational requirement came to be, but as for why, it is most notably to learn and teach. Laws, lessons, morals, norms, traditions, values, and virtues are all the expected standards that are shared and passed down within a society. Schools are the necessary ground for such purposes. Still, this custom only continues until the child reaches the age of 18-19. After that age, it is no longer mandatory to attend school. Here is where the dilemma starts. At the first point, school is an encouragement and demand. But after kids finish their K-12 learning, education becomes an option. Some could even say it becomes a privilege. So, the discussion about education comes to an end once senior year comes around. Once the encouragement and demand are taken out, the conversation is dead. Universities are meant to further work the young minds who have finished their initial schooling. However, universities are limited, costly, require extensive amounts of time, and, overall, come off as risky if you do decide to pursue higher-level education. So, it gives the impression that there is a choice, but there is not. You are given what is called a “Hobson’s choice:” There is no real choice. There are already strategically placed barriers to keep you from moving forward. What started as an emboldening sanctum for shared enlightenment has become a restricted privilege.

Once encouragement and Demand is removed, the Conversation is Dead

The Oxford Language Dictionary places “prestige” as the highest nobility ranking. In their words, it “arouses respect and admiration.” We ought to honor these principles, and it demands authority. Prestige institutions are not to be challenged and, in an undertone, endorse exclusivity. The less inclusive an establishment is, the more integrity it holds. Prestige was not always recognized this way. The word comes from the Latin term “praestigiae: to conjure tricks.” As it traveled down the mid-17th century, the French simplified the word as “prestige: illusion, glamour.” Essentially, it is a glamorous illusion. A fake and a phony, if you will. A change has occurred in what uses the word prestige, and so has its values. New and old establishments are built, skewed, and gate-kept with this term. One of those establishments are universities. Such establishments continue to fool the idea that all are welcome.

I argue universities should be open to the public. It should be given and not fought for. There is no need to compete with one another for a seat when, instead, we can ensure more room for all. To consume knowledge is both a skill and a necessity. However, it can be too easily restricted. When this occurs, it limits the growth one’s mind can go through. And so, while we continue to feed our mental hunger, it is crucial to share our knowledge with others as well. What good does it do to know an answer and not share your findings?

Not only can our minds begin to accelerate, but when encouraging others, we build new foundations to lead a better society.

I am guilty of being a student at a prestigious university with limited capacity. As my intentions to attend this school were pure and felt vital to my being, I think about how I now sit at a desk in a lecture taught by a respected professor that someone else wanted to be in. My accomplishments will forever hold some gloat that I did not intentionally put. My university, my college, and even my major were all once considered for someone else. Both fortunately and unfortunately,

I was given the spot and not them. I never would have come to this realization until I thought about “spreading my horizons” (I became greedy).

The other day, I was looking for courses that were outside of my major and minor. I saw a class for “Introduction to Screen Writing,” and I instantly felt drawn to it. This is what I have always wanted to do, and it is still what I want to do now. There were multiple time slots, all taught by the same professor, so I assumed there would be an open seat. There was… but not for me. Right underneath the bold course name, it read, “Restricted to RadioTelevision-Film majors.”

I am a Rhetoric and Writing major with a minor in Entertainment Media Industries. I have a story to tell, or I should be able to identify a good one when I see it. But, the doors are still closed to me.

a specific response required. This is to inspire and stimulate a person’s thoughts simply. With it being open to everyone, it allows deeper understanding and provokes insightful thoughts from the various and diverse perspectives shared. It then gets developed further and further. Universities are very supportive of this method, and even law schools heavily use it. But if this method is highly regarded, why is it still not being fully advocated for everyone and anyone? When we teach openly, we receive, and then we develop.

there is a cause, and that is enough

There is no doubt that plenty of other people have experienced the same predicament I have. So, what do we do about this? We should not be the ones willing to change our lives to fit other standards or prerequisites. A university is built on the grounds of both receiving an education and educating. This is the purpose, and it is not being met.

This is not an argument coming from the pettiness of not being allowed to take a singular course; this is an intervention to address an invisible pattern.

Furthermore, look at the art of teaching. One of the most adapted teaching techniques is the Socratic method—a method where a discussion leader will ask questions to facilitate an open discussion. It allows anyone to answer without having

This foundation that I have been a part of is a privilege. It is only understood by others within the same environment. When I return home, there is no one to discuss further what I know. I can only further educate those only when I am back at the university. It becomes an endless circle that is forever closed off to many outsiders. It will never be enough for the few of us to explore and share what we know. There needs to be a change, or at least a new approach. No number of doors will make a difference, especially if there is only a wall to you on the opposite side. You need to infiltrate.

There is a cause, and that is enough. Break down the walls or sneak your way through if necessary. Whatever it takes to get your foot through the door. Do not be afraid to start an argument regardless of who you speak against. A single voice being heard can make all the difference. There is every right to speak out because sacred places are not insulted by the number of seats they hold. They are praised for their doors always being open for anyone to come whenever they choose.

HOUSE OF KNOWLEDGE

SARA PRESAS

photography by MADISON PAYNE & ALEXANDER LOZANO

styling by DANAI MUNYARADZI & CHARLIE GREGORY

hmu by ARUSHI SINHA

modeling by JOSEMANUEL VAZQUEZ & SURINA SRIVASTAVA

layout by TERESA BROD

The air is filled with the whispers of wisdom in the surrounding room, and the pages of history unwind like an ancient scroll. In this place, every corner holds the promise of discovery, and every shelf is filled with the beauties of human thought. This sanctuary of learning ignites the minds of many and establishes a sense of imagination and creativity that allows us to flourish throughout our lives.

What is this significant place?

It is the house of knowledge. This haven evokes a significant image of a space dedicated to the cultivation of wisdom, information, and understanding, as well as serving as an important representation of the value of knowledge within our society.

Knowledge is the foundation of our lives that we are constantly surrounded by. It serves as the all-powerful basis for human progress and is the fuel that pushes society forward toward enlightenment and understanding various morals and beliefs. Knowledge plays a crucial role in creating an education system that is essential for the basis of our lives. The education system helps younger generations develop new understandings of the world around us, which is crucial in creating the future. In childhood, creativity and imagination flourish through knowledge. It is through knowledge that the younger minds are equipped with the tools and inspiration to explore, imagine, and create for the time ahead.

Unfortunately, looking around at our world today has left me to believe that the urge to gain knowledge is not as it seems with the current technological advances that society has succumbed to. Children have lost their sense of creativity; their workload can easily be done with the assistance of artificial intelligence; therefore, their imagination has disappeared. Because of this, children cannot learn like they did in the past and are forced to understand things about the world in different ways.

a space

space of

A great example of this is reading and how the younger generation tends to stray away from this activity due to there being “better” forms of entertainment. With the development of social media and video games, they are drawn to screen-based activities that offer endless hours of stimulation. When reading is not prioritized in households, communities, or schools, it leaves children no other option but to be glued to the screen. As a result, libraries, museums, and other intellectual sanctuaries that are vital for childhood are slowly fading away from their lives.

Honing in on the structure of a library, it is thought to hold endless pages of wisdom and knowledge for future generations to grasp and embrace. That is the beauty of libraries. They hold so much wisdom and knowledge about the past within their walls for us to educate future generations on the importance of history, enabling us to construct the building blocks of our tomorrow from the yesterdays. Learning about the great ideas that were conceived within these walls provides valuable insights that form the foundation to build a more resilient and enlightened society.

Similarly to a library, museums also hold endless thoughts of knowledge throughout their walls and carry significant meanings that the world can learn about from a visual perspective. They are filled with infinite colors and designs that vividly paint pictures from the past and hold significant meaning. Museums are beautifully crafted in the sense that individuals can easily access and navigate history through physical objects, paintings, and artifacts that are important pieces throughout history.

IS DO M

It fosters ase nuity a n d c itcenno

nace ezingocer

As the saying “those who cannot learn from history are doomed to repeat it” by George Santayana goes, we must acknowledge the beauty of these intellectual sanctuaries. History serves as both a teacher and a compass for navigating our present and shaping the outcomes of the future. It fosters a sense of continuity and connectivity that we can recognize. It is a source of inspiration that showcases the resilience, creativity, and bravery of the individuals before us and how they used these attributes for the greater good of the future. Studying these inspiring stories of the past helps motivate those years to come through determination and innovation. Understanding what history has brought forth for us is crucial in crafting informed and effective blueprints for the years to come.

As I sit and reflect on these places that I encourage the younger generation to visit, the quietness of these halls is beaming with current and past figures who are ready and willing to fill the brain with knowledge. The fresh smell of books and artifacts fills the air with penetrating thoughts of wisdom and insight. The sensation of the beautifully depicted relics that you can almost feel comes alive within. The breathtaking windows with natural daylight beaming the area create significant ideas for the future.

These endless beauties surrounded by houses of knowledge suggest the magnificent wonders of history that should be discovered, thought about, and learned from to build our future.

hmu by SAGE

modeling by HEATHER JAVECH

set design by DAIARA GARCÍA

layout by AVA BATHURST

Through the vastness of my mind, I always walk alone. In pursuit to discover this beloved place the world calls “home.”

This long path I tread leads to a breathtaking end, This, I know for sure.

For all I ever dream of is nothing I am, and no one I have. Home is everything I have yet to see, And every day, I live to feel it fulfill my destiny.

photography by DAIARA GARCIA & RYLAND RUSSELL

styling by RIZIKI MATHENGE

DIAZ

As college students, we may be attempting to reconcile our newfound independence and the life we have built away from our families with our roots. While reflecting on who we have always been and who we are now becoming, we may have spent our time asking: When will I arrive at the singular “home” that exercises all parts of my identity? Where can I be the person I have always dreamed of being without sacrificing anything?

In the pursuit of discovering who we are, our minds immerse us in dreams of what “home” should look and feel like to ease the discomfort of being lost. We are transported to visceral memories of our childhood and overcome with the essence of our naivety— realizing that the home we believed would be “forever” was always destined to be fleeting.

But what if we began to view “home” as a plural concept? What if we found a home in every phase of our journeys and ultimately learned how various emotions, people, and places can nurture different parts of us?

As we step into young adulthood, we are constantly evolving as we face uncomfortable change. Now more than ever, our journeys of self-discovery reveal the spaces we have outgrown and the people we have cherished and lost—teaching us to bittersweetly appreciate every opportunity to love and be loved. When the world grows quiet amid the screams of our voids, and we are left with ourselves, the pulse of our beating heart reminds us of what we strive for...

All we dream of is feeling whole. We yearn to reap the rewards of our perseverance and finally be face to face with our greatest dreams.

So, we close our eyes to envision home once more, and let our infinite journey towards fulfillment show us everything that we have been searching for. Only this time, we are rudely awakened at the sight of ourselves,

A vision that we are never satisfied with, and could never compete with our dreams.

Yet, before we can look away, we catch a glimpse of what we have never seen: The existence of home within our souls,

An intrinsic sanctuary that illuminates every beautiful memory— and creates the lasting mosaic of our humanity. Suddenly, we realize, home begins and ends, with us.

As we prepare to build lives of our own, it is only natural for us to work towards our ideal “destinations.” However, in the chaos of it all, we must liberate our minds from the pressure of attaining perfection by practicing acknowledgment and gratitude during our journeys.

For the vulnerability that has strengthened our humanity—we thank the experiences, environments, and relationships we have found solace in.

And for what we grieve, we thank ourselves for our sincerity in preserving what life has taught us, despite how difficult it may be.

Young or old, we will forever search for home, yet assuringly look at the present and say: “I have arrived.”

Through the comfort of my mind, I never walk alone. I have finally discovered this beloved place the world calls “home.”

This long path I have tread has urged me to reflect: Home is everything I am, And everyone I have. Home has always been within me, And every day, I live knowing I am fulfilling my destiny.

This piece is dedicated to my biological and chosen families—my“homes.” It is the love from them that transcends all human emotion, leaving me in perpetual awe of life’s unending blessings.

photography by SARAH RODRIGUEZ & GREG OLVERA-AGUILAR

styling by BOJUN ZHANG & ARMANDO MELQUIADES hmu by ARIA MAKAN

set design by SOFIE FINCH

modeling by AVA HALE, AMARI HERRERA & ARIA MAKAN layout by KENIA GALLEGOS

e live in a capitalistic empire. In a country characterized by the hustling and bustling environment of chasing the unfathomable American dream, capitalism permeates our lives in how we guide ourselves, imagine the future, and tackle our destinies.

Arguably, it not only creates the backbone of our nation, but it is an inescapable and intangible idea that provides us with the structural integrity of our society.

From its materialization into towering, architectural marvels like the World Trade Center, the associated significance we give to places like “Wall Street,” or even the ambitious drive that colors the stereotypes of becoming a working member of society, we idolize capitalism when we look at it with rosecolored glasses. With the belief that all you need is hard work and resilience to make it, capitalism extends its purpose as a means that built our nation into an aspiration to become an involved, integrated, and an influential member in the working world. In this way, our sanctum is built by the cities, people, culture, and conversations around us as the elements that surround capitalism are introduced to us from the age-old question: What do you want to be when you grow up?

America is commonly thought of as the country filled with endless opportunities and a culture that supports individualism and pursuing your passions, but while we look at how far up the ladder we can go, sometimes we forget who built that ladder that lets us aspire to reach higher heights. While capitalism may influence us in how we persevere and push to apply our accumulated knowledge, resources, and tribulations to make our blueprints for the future, behind the fine lines and smiles that fill our opportunities, I ask: at what cost did it take us to get here? Who built our firstworld sanctum that allows us to look up toward the sky endlessly? What is left out of the capitalistic dialogue and chosen to be forgotten?

Unable to look past the walls that encapsulate us, we fail to recognize the blood, sweat, and tears used to build our sanctuary. Rooted deeply in our history and a practice still used today for its cost-effectiveness, we use immigrant labor and outsource workers from across the world for their low wages and to maximize profits. With money as a recurring motif, there is a shift in prioritizing success in productivity to fuel our consumerist culture from the focus on the well-being of the people.

One example specifically seen in our mass culture is our reliance on fast fashion. To meet our demands, companies utilize manufacturers like sweatshops for their low wage pay. These sweatshops, however, present unhygienic and unsafe working conditions in countries with weak labor laws, subjecting both women and children to exploitation and inhumane working conditions. Unable to speak up against these unethical working conditions, dangers within the workplace, and their absurdly “bare minimum” wage that “can be as low as under 20 cents,” according to the World Counts, mass media and consumerism catalyze the endless cycle of capitalizing on the labor of developing nations.

With that, the age of media has made the dissemination of information, trends, and pop culture faster than it has ever been before. So, through it, we see the popularization of hundreds of fashion trends pop up and become something that we feel like we need, desire, or want to embody. But, again, trends and just trends; they can come as quickly as they go. So, what are we left with? –A pile of clothes, items, trinkets, and accessories that we thought we wanted but no longer wear because it is no longer “in style,” or we illuded ourselves to like it because everyone else did, too. Capitalism generates waste from our insatiable desires and consumer culture.

Something we tend to ignore or fail to think about is what happens to our items after they are discarded. From consumerism, it creates the practice of replacing the old with the new, but where does all this “old” waste go? In America, the EPA has reported that we produce about 17 million tons of textile waste each year, most

of which ends up in landfills or incinerators. With that, they also report that only 1% of clothing gets recycled due to its difficulty in recycling from its low rates, low demand, high cost, and limits of material reuse. Textile waste is no small matter when looking at the waste we generate, and the fast fashion industry is guilty of being a major contributor. As consumers, though, we must also acknowledge our role and be conscious of how our behaviors and consumption habits contribute to this larger, complex mechanism that negatively affects the environment from mass production, overconsumption, and the subsequent waste generated. But, additionally, consumerism has the ability to extend its reach and negatively impact the lives of many others, typically people of color, lower socio-economic status, and developing nations more heavily. Developing, third-world nations are not only affected by the consequences of capitalism in terms of labor but also by how first-world nations manage and treat their waste…elsewhere.

Ranging from items like plastic to e-waste, wealthier countries export their waste to developing nations for their cheaper labor and lax environmental standards and regulations.

In a way, it feeds into the mentality “out of sight, out of mind,” but developing nations participate in this waste trade because it helps stimulate their economy and provides them with resources that can be repurposed for other materials. However, this poses issues as it may bring hazardous waste to developing nations, contaminating their air, soil, and waterways. The importation of waste also brings the risk of contracting diseases, adversely affecting human health, the accumulation of waste in public spaces from the absence of waste management systems, and the tarnishing of the

natural environment, aesthetically and compositionally. In various ways, we see a lack of social responsibility in how first-world countries treat and take advantage of third-world nations for their own agendas—somewhat deceptive, you could say. But, capitalism is a system so large we can never fully grasp it in our minds. From the labor used to build and maintain our sanctum, some darker realities underlie the foundation of our society. While one side of it shines brightly and gazes upwards optimistically, the other side is often glossed over, cast aside, and minimized because we live in blissful ignorance by not seeing the consequences of consumption that is facilitated by capitalism. Though seemingly important in our society and how we carry ourselves, capitalism should not be glorified for all the holes it carries through its existence.

Taylor Schult Taylor Schult

MARIAM MALIK

styling by ARIANNA

JENKINS

hmu by ITZEL CASILLAS

set design by DONYA FARROKHI

modeling by JAMES EXUM, AUTRI ORMOND & ASHLEY SERPAS

layout by AVA BATHURST

Hearing the chirping of birds and the rustling of the wind soothes something in my soul. It allows me to get out of my head and think about things I would normally not stop to appreciate. When you are constantly on the go, it can be hard to find the time just to pause. Reflect. Breathe.

If you listen closely enough, there is music–not the typical kind coming from a speaker or a radio. This disembodied melody runs through the sky and across the fields and is greater than any man-made tune. It is the kind that emits from our surroundings. You cannot capture it on your phone and play it back at a later time. If you want to enjoy it, you have to listen now.

Listen and pay attention to the song in which Mother Earth is singing.

The earth runs like a symphony–an agreement of sound, as the Greeks liked to call it. Everything has a role, and they all come together in harmony to create ethereal altars for us to worship. At the core of it all, nature and the outside world are meant to be a place for humanity to escape.

Much like musical symphonies, nature is therapeutic. And since every good symphony needs a conductor, who is better than the creator herself? Blessed Mother Earth.

She has been around since the beginning of time. Referred to as Gaia by the Greeks, when nothing but Chaos consumed the universe, she was born to bring some light into the world. Chaos was dark and lifeless before her. Gaia’s nurturing and fertile abilities were worshiped by the Greeks. But it did not take long for them to use those abilities against her. Eventually, out of fear for what she might bear, her own husband forced her children to stay locked inside her womb. But with the help of one of her more powerful sons, she was able to overcome the controlling force and continued to create life as she saw fit.

To this day, she is still coined the mother of all life— fitting for the energy that acts as a tightrope between creation and destruction. As the fruits of her womb, we are at her total discretion. Her hand rests gently on our back, acting as the navigator through the mountains and valleys we are forced to cross.

Blessed mother earth

photography by

Mother

Dance in her arms Dance in her arms

She created the driest desert and the most humid rainforest. Though they may seem unappealing or inconvenient, they were not mistakes made by a careless god, simply throwing unpleasantries at us. Everything crafted from her palms was created with intention. Who are we to question what she makes, as if we can do any better? Her knowledge is more expansive than we could ever dream of. Instead of resisting or trying to override her precious creations, we should learn to see the beauty all around us. The natural world was created to take care of us.

Some also refer to Mother Earth as the Divine Feminine, a term that was passed around to balance out the scales. Associated with creativity, fertility, and intuition, this idea has been around since ancient times. Some cultures even called this Divine Feminine energy “The Great Mother.” To this day, that title is traced back to Mother Earth. They are one and the same.

Recognizing her in this manner has granted power to those who embrace femininity in themselves. Knowing that there is something sacred in that energy can be so empowering. Spirituality as a whole is a very male-dominated sphere. Instead of letting religion be controlled strictly by men, it was decided that complementary energies are pulling our strings and controlling our fates. Finding comfort in the higher power of a goddess like herself can open a space inside us to connect and go deeper. Mother Earth provided that for us.

But, it is important to remember that this was not

created to diminish masculinity. Mother Earth has not locked her golden gates for those who represent themselves in that way. She is fair and just, allowing all the children from her womb to gallop in the gardens she created. We must recognize that it is not just feminine energies flourishing in her sanctuary but masculine ones as well. One cannot exist without the other, so why should it be excluded from the umbrella of protection that Mother Earth holds out for us?

In a perfect world, there would be no debate about whether Mother Earth exists. But with every higher power, people often question what they cannot see. Some argue there is a lack of evidence proving her existence. Others will tell you that the Greeks needed an explanation for everything, and so she was born as a mere reason for one of Earth’s many mysteries.

I am not here to tell you if she is real or not. That is a decision only you can make. What I can tell you is this: nature is healing. I would like to think that is because Mother Earth is healing. When we allow ourselves to worship in her gardens, she will protect us. She can calm the waves of madness inside our minds. She will deal with the sand storms brewing deep within our bellies. Like a warm blanket, she will wrap her arms around us like a shield, holding us close when it gets too cold.

And in return, all she asks is that we heal her, too, so generations after us can continue to dance in her arms to the tune of her symphony.

to the tune of her symphony

LOVE IS IN THE WORN

Isaiah Trevino

WORN

photography by AVA BATHURST styling by SYDNEY THOMASSON & SOFIA FRANCHINO hmu by DIANA FARMER set design by ANEEZA AHSAN modeling by ERIN WHITE layout by CASSANDRA AGUIRRE

Beneath the ruins, new life quietly unfolds

I used to dance around the mud to avoid getting my shoes dirty.

The unblemished fabric,

The vibrance of their color,

The absence of human odor.

Two years later, They are still my favorite.

Once unblemished, now stained and frayed

Once vibrant, now muted and soft.

Once odorless, now lay many unknowns.

I would say I love them more.

In every imperfection lies a memory. Of life; of death.

An idle witness of journeys taken.

Memories etched in stone, they, too, will begin to rot.

Nature’s reclaim is silent; It whispers its intent.

Defiant walls yield to its embrace as Roots intertwined with stone.

Beneath the ruins, new life quietly unfolds.

In every imperfection lies a memory In every imperfection lies a memory

Love is in the worn, The weathered.

The beauty in decay.

I do not believe love is made at first sight, for what has that endured? Time is borrowed.

We grasp it tightly, for we fear when it is returned.

A truth undeniable: all things will age

All things will decay.

IN PRAISE OF RECLAIMING OURchildhood Lucy Gomez

photography by JOSE MARTINEZ-MCINTOSH

styling by NATALIA GUERRORO & PHYLLIS STOCKTON

hmu by EMMA RIKALO

set design by ANEEZA AHSAN

modeling by NIAMH CLANCY & ANUSHKA RAVI

layout by NEHA PRASATH

here is a moment at the very end of “Past Lives,” Celine Song’s directorial debut about two childhood sweethearts, Hae Sung and Nora, who reunite after years apart, that has stayed with me since watching the film for the first time a few months ago. Hae Sung is leaving New York after spending a few days in the city to visit Nora. Aside from talking via Skype over a decade ago, they have not seen each other in person since they were 12. The city is dark, lit only by a few streetlamps, and the two walk in silence to his Uber. Then, they stop and turn to one another. Without saying a word, they look at each other, a melancholic look in their eyes as if trying to memorize each other’s faces.

For a moment, it seems we are not watching two adults with years of history between them. Instead, we are watching the two children we met at the beginning of the film, back in Korea, who share an innocent love, blissfully unaware of the aches of the world and perhaps wishing to stay in each other’s company forever.

Admittedly, it is the first thing I thought of when I started to write this article. So much of “Past Lives” is centered around the unpredictability of love and life as an adult, yet it also speaks to our inner child existing long after we think we have left it behind.

For a brief window in time, we, as children, exist in a metaphorical sanctuary.

Most of us have yet to experience loss, and we are blissfully

unaware of the ugly parts of the world. We look at it with wideeyed curiosity and are much more cognizant of the beautiful things around us. It is not a stretch to say that as we get older, we lose this little by little and allow ourselves to become jaded by society.

What happened to the days when we felt so filled with joy by the smallest things? A sweet, cherry-red popsicle on a blisteringly hot summer day; its sticky juice staining our lips and dripping down our chins. Or, dressing in obnoxiously bright colors just because we want to and not because it is trendy.

The answer is not to completely revert to acting as we did when we were eight but to hold on to that sense of wonderment that makes childhood so beautiful. It may even take unlearning certain behaviors to let go of the fears, anxieties, and expectations we let suffocate us as we step into adulthood.

It is not entirely our fault that we seem to forget how to be a child the older we get. Society, as well as institutions, place expectations on us in favor of being effective consumers and laborers. And while we should not abandon responsibility as adults, it becomes harder to hold on to childlike values. We cannot entirely lose ourselves in creativity or live in the present because, in the back of our minds, we are always thinking about what job will make us the most money or worrying about people’s perception of us.

We also happen to live in a world that seems to value childhood less and less. Young girls, in particular, are fed images and ideas of what they should aspire to act and look like. The media has idolized telling them to become 20 at 10, and the space between being a child and a teenager is disappearing even though it is a vital time for growth and learning from our mistakes.

IT

IS NOT

ENTIRELY OUR FAULT,

Yes, it can be embarrassing to think about some of the things we wore or liked when we were 12. Still, we are not doing the younger generations any favors by hurrying them along and pushing them toward the shelves of anti-aging serum in Sephora when they should be running through sprinklers instead.

It makes me wonder what the rush is really for. When we do eventually grow up, we are nostalgic for our elementary school days; yet when we are actually there, the world seems so desperate for us to “mature.” It is an endlessly confusing cycle that does not need to be.

We are given moments in time to understand ourselves and the world from different perspectives for a reason. They are the building blocks that help us expand our outlooks on humanity. In some phases, it is a sophisticated perspective. In others, it is more simplistic. We might think the adult, sophisticated version is the one that matters most, but saying that would erase the genuineness of how a child looks at the world.

We also might think that we must choose one or the other. That both cannot coexist. But they can and they should. Picasso understood the situation best when he said that, as children, we are born artists, but the real challenge is to find a way to remain an artist when we grow up.

The child inside us does not die as we get older, but it does become harder to connect with it or even recognize that we still need it. And, yet, deep down, many of us have a desperate yearning to hold on to the warm, soft glow of childhood and let it be a comfort in anxious times.

It is something so mysterious and almost untouchable but very real. It is time we start acknowledging the little boy or girl we never left behind and let them breathe again.

OLDER

photography by ETHAN RODARTE

styling by MALCOLM GUIDRY & VICTORIA HALES

hmu by HARMONY CHARLES & CAMPBELL WILLIAMS

modeling by VICTORIA HALES

layout by ALEXA SANCHEZ

THEY DO IS REMIND YOU OF YOUR OBLIGATION

t’s Sunday. Tomorrow entails another day of arts and crafts, recess, and nap time. But for now, you’re on the couch watching your morning cartoons, enjoying a bowl of sugarloaded cereal you’ve tried to convince your mom is actually good for you. At the very least, it makes you feel good. But what does it even matter anyway? You know she won’t listen. Because “Mother knows best,” and that is the end of it. You’re too scared to refute the meaning of such an ultimatum and too naive to believe otherwise.

Because how can the problems and opinions of a child compare to an adult’s?

You look at the world with such awe and wonder, and they detest you for it. As if your natural goodness is a reflection of what was and will never be again. The simple act of existing is all you know how to do. The world often forgets that. You are oblivious to it all anyway and unabashedly happy because of it. You are more concerned with what tomorrow’s snack will be and who you will play with during recess. So, you go back to watching your cartoons and eating your cereal that has long gone soggy.

It is your last month of high school. You often think about your younger years and how simple things were back then. No expectations. There was no pressure to succeed and excel. You were free to do as you pleased. You were free to be a kid. Now you are 17. Still a kid, but now, with a mountain load of responsibilities and obligations you never asked for. This is how it has always been, and you know that, but it does

not lessen the weight of such a burden... And it definitely does not help that everyone you know keeps asking the same old question.

Where are you going to college? What do you plan on studying? What is your career plan? How will you contribute to society?

All they do is remind you of your obligation to uphold the sanctity of life. To work. To provide.

You respond to these questions exactly how life has conditioned you to respond to adults:

“I am going to [insert arbitrary prestigious college].”

“I am going to study [insert high-demand major].”

“I plan to work as [insert high-paying job].”

As expected, it appeases their image of you as a valuable member of society but leaves you emptier in its wake. Is this what it means to grow up… to sacrifice your happiness and livelihood to uphold the sanctum? You might be in debt for the rest of your life, but at least you are fulfilling the “American Dream.” Recognizing the faults of this system is a bitter pill to swallow, but you are too scared to defy it. Too scared to be considered an outcast. Too young to know better. Too naive to argue otherwise. Too tired to fight back. So, so tired…

Because what does a child know about the way the real world works?

Your younger sibling is about to go to college, and you have one more semester left before you graduate. It is a transitory period in both of your lives. You just turned 20, and they are now 18—a child in an adult’s body and an adult in a child’s body. You feel this strange sense of deja vu within yourself as you watch them shift through the same lenses of life. You cannot help the sick sense of bitterness building within the pit of your stomach as you watch them prance through life with an all-too-familiar sense of hope that you used to have not that long ago. When did life make you feel so bitter? You are supposed to be happy for them, excited even for all the new experiences that lay before them. Why can you not just be happy?

Try as you might to deny it, you know why. Try as you might to blame the world

for your bitterness, you know that is not the truth. Because, even now, within the deepest parts of yourself, there is a child whose only yearning is to be loved. To be understood simply for being themselves. The world is no longer as kind as it used to feel and has made you bitter. Now, these wishes are merely remnants of a past you wish to return to. Deeply buried amongst the sands of time.

Now, you are left to drown in the morals and ideals purveyed by a nation struggling to keep itself together. The past has become the founder of a broken system, and the present continues to emulate its corroded sanctum. No matter how you live in the present, the past will retain its vice grip. Always looming over your shoulder as you move towards the future together. In the meantime, you sit on the couch, watching your favorite cartoons and eating a bowl of soggy cereal. Your mom was right. This cereal is way too sweet.

ART AS A

SANCTUARY

PARTH GHAWGHAWE

photography by MARIE AGUSTIN

styling by ANNA KING

hmu by DANIA KABALO

set design by LIZVETTE TAPIA

modeling by MIKAYA GUEVARA layout by SOLOMAN MEZA

art slowly evolved from a mere pastime to a coping mechanism, a way to not only decompress from the daily grind but to also savor the present moment. Reflecting on this transformation, I recognized that art had become my sanctuary, a personal oasis in the midst of a busy college highlights the profound impact art our mental well-being, serving as a refuge where we can momentarily escape the incessant demands of life and reconnect with ourselves.

My sketchbook became a sanctuary wherever I went, always nestled within my backpack among textbooks and lecture notes. The act of sketching allowed me to create

more than just a decoration to me during the countless late grappling with essays and projects. start to act as a visual memory bank, each one not just filling a void but embodying memories and ideas that have shaped me. A mere glance around the room can spark a flood of inspiration, with each object evoking a

Having a room that serves as a physical manifestation of my inspirations has proven invaluable, especially during extremely difficult and overwhelming times. Surrounded by inspiring imagery and a treasure trove of stationery, my room stands as a testament to my creative journey. Each piece, whether it is a meticulously chosen poster or a casually pinned note that acts as a muse, contributes to a sanctuary where creativity knows no bounds, and the external world

This deliberate personalization of my creative space has been crucial, transforming it into a refuge where inspiration flows as freely as my thoughts, providing solace and inspiration.

Pursuing a career in art, as it became intertwined with my professional aspirations, presented a new set of challenges, notably the delicate act of balancing my personal vision against the expectations of an external audience. One of the most pivotal lessons I have absorbed along this journey is the critical importance of differentiating between personal art and professional work—a skill that was cultivated not innately but through the rigors of experience.

I came to realize that the art birthed in the seclusion of my “sanctuary” was not always aligned with the tastes of the audience or the requirements of a given task. It necessitated a conscious effort on my part to mentally forge a separation between the art I created for myself and the art I produced for others. Making this distinction became a cornerstone in safeguarding the sanctity of my creative space.

Art that remained for my personal enjoyment continued to flow freely, uninhibited and loyal to my deepest visions, while commissioned pieces were crafted with the audience’s expectations in mind, striking a delicate balance between my artistic integrity and their requirements. Initially, the boundaries between these two realms seemed to blur, with the pressure to satisfy external demands encroaching upon the purity of creating for myself. However, over time, I mastered the art of compartmentalization, ensuring that the sanctuary of personal artistry remained inviolate, shielded from the external pressures and demands of the professional world.

Creating art for yourself holds a sacredness that sets it apart from works that may be intended for the public. It is imperative to value and safeguard this personal realm of creativity, particularly when art evolves beyond a mere hobby and intertwines with one’s career. This sanctuary of art, unbounded and profoundly personal, provides a haven of solace and a distinctive lens through which to view the world.

It serves as a gentle reminder that, amidst the tumult of life, there exists a haven for tranquility, introspection, and unbridled expression.

As we journey through life, let art be the beacon that leads us to our inner sanctuaries–places where imagination knows no bounds. For me, amidst the vortex of academic demands and the relentless rhythm of student life, art has transcended its status as a simple pastime. It has expanded into a sanctuary, a secluded retreat within the chaos, offering not just an escape but a space where my true self can flourish, unfettered and sincere.

ART HAD BECOME MY PERSONAL OASIS

Justice Morris

AyChulaQue

photography by ETHAN RODARTE

styling by SHELBY ROSE YEARY & LINDA SANCHEZ

hmu by LINDA SANCHEZ

set design by MIKAYA GUEVARA

modeling by DAIARA GARCIA & LINDA SANCHEZ

boots by CITY BOOTS

layout by DIYA BALLAL

Oh How

Beauty is in the eye of my culture. This beauty is uniting and central to the MexicanAmerican experience; it extends to the world of makeup and fashion. There is a familiarity with the sight of thinly plucked eyebrows on a tía, brown liner tenderly embracing the lips of a friend, and the pure joy one feels when receiving their first pair of shrimp hook earrings, undoubtedly gold.

A guide to what these words and phrases mean:

Chicana: an American woman or girl of

Mexican descent

Cholo(a): a MexicanAmerican youth who belongs to a street gang

Note that this definition’s roots are not only derogatory, but it perpetuates harmful stereotypes; nonetheless, Chola/Cholo is not inherently a dirty word. Some have reclaimed it.

Latina: a woman or girl of Latin American origin living in the United States Hispanic: of, relating to, or being a person of Latin American descent and especially of Cuban, Mexican, or Puerto Rican origin living in the U.S.

“Ay, que chula!” means, “Oh, how pretty!”

Pretty

The ‘Chola aesthetic’ is not an aesthetic. The history of Chola or Chicana makeup lends itself to activism and the empowerment of Latina women.

This style emerged from World War II when Mexican Americans were not only asserting their identities as contributors to the workforce and consumers but also putting a spin on the trends of the time. Cosmetology historian Gabriela Hernandez gives an example of this in noting how red lips were a staple of the time, and Chicana women added a dimension with the choice to line their lips, alongside bringing back thinner brows, not only thin but long and arching to uncharted heights. Other characteristics of this look include bold, darker colors—think creamy browns or rich reds on the lips— unapologetically long eyeliner—think sharp wings— and traditionally gold jewelry. This includes earrings such as hoops, with larger and shrimp-style hoops taking center stage. As for the attire, the garments have changed with the times, but overall, this look is perceived as ‘simple.’ The 90s Chola style is associated

with baby tees, solid-colored or cheetah print string tops, plaid flannels, denim, and more. What is truly captivating about this look is the makeup and hair, with hairstyles varying from dead straight hair, two trenzas or braids, and, if applicable, embracing natural hair textures like waves or curls.

Chola makeup today serves as a time capsule to those who experimented before us, and the range of what fits in this category is ever-changing. We see this on intricate acrylics, with sacred heart charms, or having Our Lady of Guadalupe painted on the set. We see this in our love of color, the folds of folklórico dresses, elaborate ribbons braided into our hair, and ‘rosa mexicano’ or ‘Mexican Pink.’ As explored in Rosa Mexicano: The Social Optics of A Colour Neologism, this color “emerged in Mexican culture first within circles of urban art and fashion” and can be found in textiles, architecture, and more.

However, in the same vein of this look not being

an aesthetic, the stereotypes around our culture’s expression are damaging and perpetuate racial biases. Cholo/a is thought of as a lowly reflection of Hispanic individuals and is consequently unjustly oversimplified as an ‘aesthetic’ that is molded to fit non-Hispanic audiences. What is commonly thought of or visualized as a movie wardrobe or ill-fitting sense of style stands as a vessel of empowerment. From breaking down stereotypes of being ‘ghetto’ and reclaiming lost identities, the Mexican-American identity takes refuge in this subculture. For those who relate, being Mexican-American is a difficult road to navigate; it was best said in the Selena movie, “We have to be more Mexican than the Mexicans and more American than the Americans, both at the same time! It is exhausting!”

When you hear “Ay, que chula,” it is not only a compliment on your hair, makeup, or clothes; it is a thank you in the name of preserving cultural legacies. It is a thank you delivered from those who were the trendsetters, from the mouth of a stranger or someone

near and dear to you. It is a way to get in touch with not only the culture but the safe place it provides. It is a beautiful, lasting tradition that will continue to unite La Raza.

For a young Mexican-American woman such as myself, this style and fashion is as familiar to me as the back of my hand. It reminds me of getting ready for quinces with my grandmother on weekends, of my mom wishing I would wear lighter lipstick shades but still complimenting how it looks on my lips, and the comfort of seeing the Ojo and Santos charms in the car I drive. It is not only a part of my identity. It is the story of my youth. It is the story of my life. I carry these histories in the ringlets of my curls, the beads of my rosary necklace, and within my heart.

Beauty

is in the Eye of my Culture

Marble of PILLARS EUDAIMONIA WES WARMINK

photography by ALEXANDER ZAVALA

styling by FAITH MCNABNAY

design by FAITH MCNABNAY, LILY CWARTAGENA, EMILY WAGER & SUSAN GALLARDO

hmu by KANAK KAPOOR

set design by MIKAYA GUEVARA

modeling by DIANA FARMER & NAYEON HEO

layout by AVA BATHURST

ith a chisel in each hand positioned to precision, she carved. She carved fixed, smooth marble into motion—the movement of fabric and life produced from an inanimate medium. Was the sculptor truly releasing kinetic art from this piece of rock as it was always destined, or was it her choice? –Chipping away to reveal the art beneath that was there the whole time, waiting for the relief of rescue.

Ancient Greece, in her agelessness, held a chisel to our society and formed the base of democracy, selfimprovement, and social organization, just like these statues. The influence of Ancient Greece mimics the recognizable antiquity of Greek columns; the philosophies taught then still translate into our today. However, many of these ideals lay under limestone rubble and ruin now, revered and remembered for their beauty but not how they once were. Cylindrical stability holds the roots of Greek ideologies that can lead to bettering oneself. And like these pillars, still standing, Greek ideals hold the architecture of humankind.

The door to finding peace, savoring life, and the ability to prosper in happiness can be opened with some key beliefs described by these Greek philosophers.

The sturdy and wide base or drum of a column

varies in simplicity from piece to piece. It is the foundation of stability. Though solid, the ancient stone holds freedom. The idea of acceptance evolved from the columns of Zeno of Citium’s philosophy on stoicism.

Understanding your control creates the marble steadiness of a mind at peace. The mind’s Parthenon is built on the ability to let go. Stoicism was taught in the Hellenistic period, and many philosophers influenced these beliefs, like Socrates. Those who followed these teachings were called Stoics, and they used these beliefs to try to reach eudaimonia, or happiness. Humans have the innate desire to control and explain; this need can be a barrier to a mind in sanctuary. One belief of stoicism teaches how accepting that not everything is controllable is freeing. Being able to grasp that not all can be explained or governed around you is innate in finding peace. Stoicism focuses on selfgrowth and building the realization that what is out of your control is not worth worrying about but deciding how to react. There is harmony in putting this ideal into reality. There is power and freedom in acceptance. The stoics compared the human ability to reason as the closest thing to divinity. And like the base of a column, this philosophy is the base of acceptance. This philosophy is apparent in society, though we may not be aware of it. Rebuilding this foundation and clearing the rubble off this philosophy by intending to accept the lack of control and reasoning on reacting to these factors that cannot be commanded can further eudaimonia and bring peace.

The circular body of a column reaches upward, stretching off the base. Its delicate cylinder gives the pillar its notable shape. The prominent ridges from the meticulous carving stand similar to the intricacies of Greek philosopher Aristotle’s doctrines. His writings in the Nicomachean Ethics detail the “good life.” Aristotle idealized happiness as more than just a feeling–but an activity–and he believed this was the goal of human existence. He idealized that happiness is an end in itself. He believed that happiness did not come from just experiences or materials but from reaching human potential. He said

the “good human life” comes from living life through happiness. The use of practice and habit to guide one’s life through virtue was the heart of his ethics. Living life passively through virtue is not the same as intentionally choosing to be. He described the importance of friendship and distinguished the different types of friend relations. A friend of utility will not last since what is needed through life can change; he viewed deeper friendships as another part of leading the “good life.”

Aristotle preached the importance of reflection. He told of the importance of

contemplating one’s virtue, knowledge, relations with friends, and happiness. This would allow recognition of where these steps of the good life could be improved. He philosophized that humans have these capabilities, and to reach the good life, there must be fulfillment in each way. Greek columns were carved with fillets and flutes, and the grooves traveled up the pillars’ sides and maximized this design’s perfect circular look. These were done because Greek architects viewed rhythm as an important element in carving. This rhythm is also shown in the balance that

Stoicism

THERE IS POWER AND FREEDOM IN ACCEPTANCE

Aristotle viewed as necessary to live the good life, and like the shaft of the column directing the light towards the top, his ethics were used to direct people to eudaimonia.

The capital, or top of the columns, was embellished with engravings, commonly plants or scrolls. Like these unique tops of columns, the Greek philosopher Plotinus discussed the importance of uniqueness in people. In these varieties of columns, there are three types: doric, ionic, and corinthian. The doric order thinned at the top of the column called the neck. This type was associated with strength and masculinity and was believed to be able to bear the most weight. They typically had more simplistic tops and were wider than the other types. The ionic columns were more ornate than doric columns and were recognized for their scroll-like carvings, called volutes, on the top of the column. They correlated to wisdom and grace. The third Corinthian order columns were the most ornate and would be used in bigger architecture like government buildings.

These different columns align with what Plotinus wrote about the conception of self-hood. He believed the great life came from finding one’s true self. He taught that higher understanding and life fulfillment come from understanding self-perception. He believed that awareness of individuality is what creates unity. Plotinus mentions ‘acts’ that can lead to his ideal of incredible selfdetermination, self-control, and self-constitution. These acts can deepen knowledge of one’s personality. He wrote the importance of ‘knowing yourself’ to be more aware of how you are with others. Having the intellect of true identity is another way this philosopher describes to reach a great life. And the importance of uniqueness is seen in other Greek architecture like the tops of the columns.

Overall, these are just chips of the philosophy that was sculpted from Greek ideals. They are the only pieces of this philosophy that were thought of there in the 12th through the 9th centuries BC. These alone are not the only foundational influences from Ancient Greece. Many of these virtues are commonly known, but their origins have yet to be discovered. These philosophical pioneers have evolved into modern-day ethics of how to live life to the fullest. However, uncovering the blueprint of these ideals can allow us to grasp the true meaning and understand just how much we have developed from them. Relearning these philosophies gives us the chisel and pic to smooth and level away the marble of the statue of sanctuary we can build for ourselves. These pillars of Greek thought are the framework for self-enlightenment and fulfillment. Recognizing them can lead us closer to a mind of sanctum.

Issue No. 7 - Sanctum

HOOK ‘ D

CONTRIBUTORS

About sanctum

FROM THE EDITOR

EXECUTIVEThe

EXECUTIVE team

TOC

In this issue

FASHION SHOW 20 24

COCO DE CHOM

JIAGIA STUDIOS

ELSA ZHANG

NATALIA GUERRERO

CHRISTINA GUILLERMO

JUSTIN LE

Weathered Architects

Weathered Architects of Time

Modha

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Leg

But, refusal to be bound

Dare Dream. to

A SCENSION

A SCENSION

sydney thomasso�

Sara Matthews building Memories

Memories

the beauty of architecturE the are key pieces of our memories

OLUYEMISI BOLARIN

OLUYEMISI BOLARIN

MAN CULT ONE ONE MAN CULT

TO LOVE YOU TO LOVE YOU TO LOVE YOU TO LOVE YOU TO LOVE YOU TO LOVE YOU

TO LOVE YOU TO LOVE YOU TO LOVE YOU TO LOVE YOU TO LOVE YOU TO LOVE YOU TO LOVE YOU TO LOVE YOU

Infiltrating a CommonGround brent chou

Once encouragement and Demand is removed, the Conversation is Dead

HOUSE OF KNOWLEDGE

SARA PRESAS

a space

space of

IS DO M

It fosters ase nuity a n d c itcenno

nace ezingocer

Taylor Schult Taylor Schult

Blessed mother earth

Dance in her arms Dance in her arms

LOVE IS IN THE WORN

Isaiah Trevino

WORN

Beneath the ruins, new life quietly unfolds

Beneath the ruins, new life quietly unfolds

In every imperfection lies a memory In every imperfection lies a memory

IN PRAISE OF RECLAIMING OURchildhood Lucy Gomez

IT

ENTIRELY OUR FAULT,

THEY DO IS REMIND YOU OF YOUR OBLIGATION

ART AS A

SANCTUARY

PARTH GHAWGHAWE

ART HAD BECOME MY PERSONAL OASIS

Justice Morris

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Oh How

Pretty

Beauty

Marble of PILLARS EUDAIMONIA WES WARMINK

Stoicism

THERE IS POWER AND FREEDOM IN ACCEPTANCE