Issue No. 6 - Victory

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HOOK D NO. 6

VICTORY

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Editor-In-Chief Dana Tran Assistant to the Editor-In-Chief Malcolm Guidry Managing Editor Sumer Brito Principal Creative Director Campbell Williams Assistant Creative Director Sydney Thomasson Lead Photographer Joyati Modak Lead Stylist Arianna Jenkins Lead Hair and Makeup Artist Harmony Charles Directors of Written Publications Kathy Do Aarzoo Modha Director of Web Development Parth Ghawghawe Assistant Director of Web Development Alex Hernandez Director of Web Design Farah Faheem Directors of Marketing Abigail Cervantes Giovanni Magaña Lead Videographer Marvin Sanchez Principal Events Coordinator Ava Richards Assistant Events Coordinator Abigail Garcia Directors of Outreach and Opportunities Anasofia Aragon Sascha Villalon Principal Layout Designer Ava Bathurst Assistant Layout Designer Kennedy Huynh

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Creative Alexis Malone, Angela Aguirre, Anna King, Anthony Munoz, April Chiu, Aria Makan, Athena Wu, Atiana Kochling, Barnett Zhang, Brandon Nguyen, Briana Stubblefield, Carolina Cabrera, Daiara Garcia, Danai Munyaradzi, Daniel Iredia, Diana Farmer, Dominic Romo, Elizabeth Cruz-Ramirez, Ellen Edwards, Emily Bergerman, Emily Wager, Esteban Alvarado, Ethan Rodarte, Faizan Firdaus, Francesca Cadet, Genesis Morales, Hailey Walker, Isabel Ramirez, Isabella Capuchino, Itzel Casillas, Jeong Eun (Jade Jang), Jessica Rodriguez, Kate Aguayo, Kenia Gallegos, Kyra Harrison, Lauren Dunn, Lilliana Cadet, Linda Sanchez, Makayla Woods, Marie Agustin, Max Kinser, Natalia Guerrero, Pamela Guardado, Rachel Xing, Regina Magana, Samantha Saldaña, Sandra Cong, Sarah Rodriguez, Shelby Rose Yeary, Sophia Zappler, Victoria Hales, Victoria Vo, Zuhayr Sharique Writing Aaron Pandian, Anum Tayyab, Areesha Rahman, Fatima Salazar, Grace Hurley, Gromyko Ngueyap, Isabela Ocampo, Jojo Feng, Lucy Gomez, Mack Lide, Marlenie Menjivar, Melani Alanis, Michael Santos, Neha Desaraju, Otensha Milimo, Riddhi Bora, Sarah Matthews, Sophie Sadetaporn Layout Abby Nix, Alexa Sanchez, Chase Smyth, Elizabeth Rangel, Gray Mabry, Heather Basham, Jenny Tran, Jillian Bailey, José Ramón De Los Santos, Kendall Quick, Sam Murphy, Samantha Natividad, Soloman Meza, Teresa Brod, Tiffany Huang Events Alexandra Melendez, Alyssa Diaz, Giovanna McLean, Jazmin Hernandez Arceo, Kathleen Versalle, Marilyn Howell, Monserrath Rodriguez, Nikolai Gavrilovic, Sabah Nazary, Sarah Tomasino, Yousef Ahmed Marketing Aida Ewnetou, Ananya Sampathkumar, Arifah Momin, Caitlin Knight, Dakota Driscoll, Esmeralda Reyes, Evany Saenz, Isabella Lugo, Jessica Liu, Kaili Ochoa, Karina Hernandez, Mariah Ahamad, Marisol Klauer, Maya Batra, Natalia Vazquez, Niamh Clancy, Rebecca Vargas, Regan Hill, Riley Chaudhuri, Sahil Malgundkar, Shreya Rajavelu, Sierra Escobedo, Sofia Miano, Tanny Vo Outreach Aaron Cheung, Arianne Tsioutsias, Ila Ali, Kenzie Gray, Kimia Chitsazan, Madylin Mercado, Nicole Fish, Sofie Finch, Zona Johnson Web Development Annika Kumar, Chloe Zhao, Divya Sharma, Melissa Huang, Neera Patel, Payton Kooyman, Valeria Valle

In the soft echoes that continue long after we die, all that remains is the narrative that we have crafted. Issue No. 6 explores the essence of what it means to construct a history that transcends one’s own lifetime, facing the elusive concept of what it means to become immortal.

As we grasp our brushes and paint upon the tapestry of today, our stories become soaked into every fiber, leaving behind a mark that shows the undeniable, that we existed. When the discerning eyes of time gaze upon our journey, what will they say about your legacy?

About Victory

FROM THE EDITOR

Hook’d Magazine was not conceived out of granular ambitions, rather, it spawned from the intent to bridge a very prevalent gap - the inherent exclusivity of organizational politics. We gathered at this university with shared aspirations of identity, community, and an outlet to explore our interests, yet we found ourselves confronted with a discouraging refrain – “you’re not a good fit.” However, it was never a matter of lacking skills, it was a need for a chance. Hook’d became that chance for a lot of people, and for me too.

/vikt(ə)rē/

in moments of loss, setbacks, and internal doubt, creating life’s nuanced narrative.

Hook’d Issue No. 6 embraces the diverse stories that emanate from life’s victories, illustrating the transformative moments that infuse meaning into our shared human experience, screaming “You are never alone!”

There is no better word to describe my present feeling than victorious.

Victorious to be able to leave behind a legacy that continues to influence the context of what it means to win. Hook’d Magazine, beyond being a fashion and Hook’d started as a personal journey culture publication, stands as a vibrant in pursuit of a chance. A chance to community and a catalyst for inspiration breathe life into my passion for the arts, across diverse avenues. a chance to make my family beam with pride, a chance to validate a common If you are ever so lucky to become a pain point. While all of these fueled my part of this community, I urge you to journey, the ultimate treasure to me was come in with the intent to leave it better extending that very chance to all of you. than you found it. Understanding the Wholeheartedly believing in each one core mission and enabling it to reach of you and witnessing the remarkable its fullest potential - to make creative outcomes that ensued with every new resources and opportunities more issue release. accessible and bestow a chance to those who dared to try.

Victory means something different to each of us, but in essence, serves as a I leave with a profound sense of pride in testament to our resilience in spite of what we have collectively achieved and everything that life throws at us. Victory a deep yearning to see all that is yet to emerges not only from triumph but also come.

With love,

Dana Tran

Founder & Editor-in-Chief

TOC photography by ETHAN RODARTE

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AMBUSH

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TOUCH OF GOLD

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UPPER HAND

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RISING FROM THE ASHES

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RED

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THEY WALK LIKE US

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LIFE BEYOND US IN THE TOMORROW

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M Y M O T H E R ’ S FA C E

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THE DANCE

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INTERNALIZING STRENGTHS WE ADMIRE IN OTHERS

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FA L S E W I N N I N G S

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REFRAME, REFOCUS

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OUR LANDS

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LIFE AND LOVE

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C A N ’ T H E L P FA L L I N G I N L O V E

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THE PRICE OF GRACE

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MONEY MONEY MONEY

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TO LIVE AND TO DIE

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THE AGE OF ANHEDONIA

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T H E L A Z Y O LY M P I C S

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W H AT M A K E S Y O U T H E E X C E P T I O N

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S O W H AT ’ S N E X T

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In this issue

photography by ETHAN RODARTE styling & hmu by MALCOLM GUIDRY modeling by GIOVANNI MAGANA & SOFIA MIANO layout by AVA BATHURST

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M e lan i Alan i s photography by ETHAN RODARTE styling by MALCOLM GUIDRY hmu by HARMONY CHARLES modeling by NOEMIE GSCHWENDTNER, ARIANNA JENKINS, ARIA MAKAN & MIRANDA REVILLA layout by ELIZABETH RANGEL

f o h c u To d l o G Staring up at what I could be, I set my sights on the clouds. I can see the gold lighting up the horizon, and I am bathed in warm golden light.

Suddenly, my heart is filled with riches and yearns for more. I reach out and try to grab the sun, but it’s illusion in my palm is not enough.

I want more.

I keep reaching out, soaking up as much sun as I can get, outstretched all the way forward. As if I was flying, I gravitate towards the golden light, grasping out to feel the warm buzz on my fingertips. The heat intensifies as my body bathes in the light, but, suddenly, it becomes scalding hot. I’ve come too close.

I squeeze my eyes closed and prepare myself for the impact.

It never comes.

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I open my eyes and I am surrounded by objects of unfathomable fortune and a golden smoke-type substance comes at me. The tendrils of gold creep in and try to seize me. It starts clouding my vision and puts me under.

All I can see is gold. I am under its spell, and it becomes hard for me to differentiate what is real and what is faux. Like an inconsequential mosquito seeking the warmth of red for sustenance, for survival.

I find myself only being able to think about gold. Everywhere I look, everything I touch, it turns into gold. I am submerged into the realm of riches, and I am consumed with its narrative.

The tale of gold, written and set in stone by the king of gold himself, King Midas. The king was once a regular king. Like any other person who likes to collect items of value, the king thought his happiness came from riches and luxury, and so he grew obsessed with accumulating as much wealth as he could.

Through a stroke of fate, he was able to lend a helping hand to Dionysus, the god of wine and madness, and in return the god granted him a wish. With no hesitation, the king wished for everything he touched to turn into gold. With that power he believed he would become the happiest man alive. Truly he could become the wealthiest, and his kingdom flourished from his power.

Frantically, he touched everything he could– Anything near and anything far. Big or small, size did not matter. He chased anything he could get his hands on with his touch of gold.

It was not until he was unable to successfully swallow his food, or touch any of his meals, where he could not eat, that he could sense a tendril of fear coursing through him. He could not hug his daughter or touch anyone else for that matter. Anything and everything would only turn into that wretched metal.

He could not even go outside and smell the roses for fear of turning them into gold. This was when he truly panicked. It was only then that he realized that he had wished himself a curse.

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ll my life I have been playing my cards right, living up to King Midas himself. I constantly got praised for turning everything I touched into gold. I was on the steady climb set towards the top, and I was in my best state of mind. This was my goal from when I started the journey, and it gave me a clear vision towards how I desired my future to look.

Only, once I got to the top, I found that the brightness of the sky didn’t match the brightness of my future. The vision I had of myself blinded me and overtook my senses.

I could not see myself doing anything but climbing. Even if I was still at the top, there were bigger heights to be reached, more to be won, and more things to be achieved.

I grew to never be satisfied. I always wanted more.

I could not be satisfied.

Once you have won once, you want to do it again, and again, and again. It all becomes about the streak, but suddenly everything else loses all meaning. I cannot lose my place; I cannot let anyone usurp me. Why? Because I have reached the peak.

I lose my ability to differentiate friend from foe, and I am blinded to anyone else around me. I lose the idea that I may have cared about anyone or if anyone had ever cared for me. I am cut from my reality, and I lose who I once was.

While viewing life through gold colored glasses, I set my sights on everything that is resplendent. But

because of this, I am blinded to what true value is and what brings real meaning. I’ve lost control of my body, my thoughts, like a lifeless puppet I have no control over my own skin. I don’t even try to fight it, I’ve just accepted my fate, with no way of cutting loose of the golden chains without evading the fear of strangulation.

Thoughts of riches, of the gold, the glory, the dark shiny yellow light filled the horizon and over-filled my senses, Dulling my mind, my senses, my person.

I don’t know how I ended up here, but I know that it is through my own doing. Using a golden shovel, I have dug myself into an unremarkable grave.

A chill runs down my spine. The place is damp with drafts of cold air. It would be dead quiet were it not for the constant dripping of water. The air is polluted and reeks of abandonment and solitude. I am the pollution.

The gold that fuels my lungs is what has filled the air.

Maybe that is why I ended up alone in this desolate place. Lonely does not even begin to describe it.

All of this gold that I amassed has been for naught.

I am left with a shell of myself and a pile of gold that means nothing. I am surrounded with riches, but my heart is empty. Covered in gold plating, my heart grew immune and cold. I am left with gold, but nothing else. I have completely severed my relationships to those around me and have tarnished my name and reputation. In my last days, I grow scared that no one will remember me when I am gone.

After all, riches don’t follow you past the grave.

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upper photgraphy by ETHAN RODARTE styling & hmu by MALCOLM GUIDRY modeling by FAITH MCNABNAY layout by KENNEDY HUYNH

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photography by MAKAYLA WOODS & ATHENA WU styling by BRANDON NGUYEN & ANNA KING hmu by ANNA KING & SHREYA RAJAVELU modeling by APRIL CHIU & SHREYA RAJAVELU layout by KENNEDY HUYNH

SOPHIE SADETAPORN

RISING FROM THE

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“I’ve always wanted to go to therapy, but a part of me is afraid to heal.”

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They were once like that, too. They could still emember the nights they spent lying awake, staring at the ceiling until their eyes dried.

Thoughts rushed through their head, roaring in their ears like a discordant symphony of locusts.

With nowhere to go and no end in sight.

The first step is always challenging.

And so are the steps after that.

Out of the individuals whom they have discussed therapy with, they hear the same concerns across the board: What if they can no longer recognize themselves after they have healed? What if their personality changes so much that their loved ones no longer like them?

All of these questions flooded their mind as their foot crossed the threshold of the door to their therapist’s consulting room for their first intake session—where their therapist would ask them a series of questions. Their responses would then be used to produce a customized treatment plan specific to their needs to guide future therapy sessions. Meaning that their greatest fears might be confirmed: that there was something inherently wrong with them.

After taking a furtive scan of the room, they took note of the stark, white walls yellowed with fluorescent light and tightly drawn blinds that suffocated any natural light that tried to revive the sterile space. The room was empty save for a bare whiteboard spanning the leftmost wall and two generously cushioned gray couches facing each other along the rightmost wall. Heavy air conditioning sent chills cascading down their arms that even their therapist’s warm, welcoming smile could not banish.

They seated themself on the edge of a lumpy couch—the one that gave them a full view of the exit—and wiped their sweat-slick hands on their pants. They prayed that their therapist did not notice the streaks of perspiration they left in their wake.

If they had, their therapist made no mention of them.

During the next hour, they would be asked questions by their therapist that they had never considered before. Questions such as whether their actions could have changed the outcomes of situations they had spent so many years ruminating over or whether it was realistic to believe that their imperfections made them unlovable. To their surprise, they discovered that many of their unhealthy thought patterns resulted from deeply ingrained beliefs that had been programmed into them since childhood.

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Often, we just think. We fail to question the reasoning behind our recurring thoughts because they have existed in our psyches for so long that they become indisputable facts. They become a part of us. After all, who has time to question their lack of faith in themselves when they are too busy worrying about failing—something that their brain has convinced them is inevitable?

Humans are creatures of routine, which is not a problem. With routine comes consistency and a sense of security. It is not until an individual’s routine consists of mentally assaulting themselves repeatedly, day and night, that routine becomes a poison.

And without the

antidote, that routine becomes lethal.

We start questioning our self-worth. We start asking whether our loved ones like us or are just pretending tocareoutofobligation. We start losing interest indaily activities andneglectingbasicchores and self-care.

Fortunately, the plague of negative self-talk can be banished through consistent effort. And while reprogramming thought patterns is never easy, “awareness is the greatest agent for change,” as said

by Eckhart Tolle. Practicing mindfulness helps us remain conscious of the validity of our thoughts.

If someone were to ask them about their experiences with therapy, their face would light up like a beacon. Their eyes would sparkle as they animatedly detailed how their weekly meetings with their therapist slowly transformed from a dreadful chore to an exciting treat to look forward to, and how their weekly sessions held them accountable for being their biggest critic.

How their weekly sessions taught them that they were doing themselves and their loved ones a disservice by projecting their self-loathing onto them. And how ruminating over situations beyond their control only needlessly puts stress on them without bearing any tangible benefits.

And how slowly but indeed, they fell in love with life and themselves a little more every day.

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Step by step. They felt joy in their daily interactions with friends, where they once felt ambivalence and apprehension.

They felt energized to engage in the activities they once felt passionately about before the gray fog of despondency bleached their life of color.

And most importantly, they became more accepting of themself and others. They learned that imperfections are not meant to be fixed but merely a part of being human. And that the very imperfections that they once hated about themself were what made them unique—the person that their loved ones adored so much.

And that it would break their loved one’s hearts to learn that they did not love themself as their loved ones did.

In the end, the healing journey is long and hard, but embarking on it rewards you with the rich experiences that life

has to offer. And so what if people cannot recognize you once you emerge victoriously on the other side?

People are meant to grow and change. Some loved ones stay while others come and go in phases. And that is perfectly okay and a natural part of life, but most importantly, you are happy. Like my mother always says, “you enter this world alone, and you leave this world alone, so you better learn to be your own loudest and proudest fan.”

Do not be afraid to seize the moment and become your best self. To take actionable steps towards living a life where struggling to get out of bed every morning and fighting the allure of self sabotage no longer have a place in your reality.

To discover your authentic self and sink your claws into your core desires, no longer a prisoner of the smothering selfdoubt that once suffocated your will to fight for happiness.

Addressing your own mental health does not mean that there is something inherently wrong with you, but rather, a hallmark of bravery marking the beginning of a beautiful and fruitful life that your miswired brain robbed from you. And what feeling is more pleasurable than vanquishing your most wicked enemy: your brain?

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R E D

ISABELA OCAMPO RESTREPO

Love SACRIFICE Mend REPEAT photography by ATIANA KOCHLING styling by SHELBY ROSE YEARY & GENESIS MORALES hmu by LINDA SANCHEZ modeling by RACHEL XING layout by TERESA BROD

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W brilliantly

hat colored

makes and truly

living, victorious?

Is it the courage you have to love, or the sacrifice you make to forget. The way you love so fiercely and passionately, or the sound of your heart as it squishes inside of you. What is it? Is it the residue of red lipstick on your cheek? Or the heat of the moment rushing through your veins.

Is it vibrant, crimson red, deep mahogany, or carmine red?

In the tapestry of human existence, red emerges as a vibrant thread weaving through the fabric of our emotions. It is the color of our desires and the embodiment of our passions as it marks the pulse in our veins. It is brave and courageous just as it is loving and kind.

THAT CRIMSON RED ETERNALLY STAINS OUR MOST PASSIONATE MOMENTS

When we think of our loved ones, the color of roses and sweet cherries come to mind . That crimson red eternally stains our most passionate moments, as if the color itself were proof of what we felt in that moment.

It leaves an everlasting thread on the canvas of our lives and it proves that we were loved.

However, as the vibrant crimson red engulfs our emotions, love is not all that it comes with. Red is just like a double-edged sword, because within its passionate embrace, it conceals the shadows of betrayal and tragedy.

In deep tones of mahogany, it becomes the color of broken promises and an aching burning flame. In deep, bloody red, the color becomes an embodiment of sacrifice and valor. It is the

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color that bleeds from the hearts of those who have given it all for love, all for something beyond themselves.

This deep tone of mahogany can soon transform into a dark red, holding deep scarlet undertones powerful enough to spark anger. The same intensity that makes red the color of eternal love can also make it the color of heartbreak, and a stark reminder that passion can, some day, burn out.

The vibrant red thread we once knew as love will at one point turn. But, that is alright.

Because at this very moment, red will become a symbol of strength and resilience. It will prove that even in the darkest of times, our spirits can burn brightly. Getting up from bed or mending a broken heart, the threads of the brightest of reds will seep through and be the force pushing us to come back stronger.

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100 Shades of

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t this moment, we realize that this red thread, of many tones and hues, will weave through the canvas of our lives, back and forth, and become a testament to the complexity of our shared human experience and our most genuine emotions.

This thread, whether it be crimson, mahogany, or carmin, signifies the courage to love, the sacrifices it takes to move forward, and the fierce passions that make every emotion worth feeling.

Although easy to forget, it takes courage to love and to feel. Victory often hides in the folds of our emotions.

As the days go by and life pases, we understand that victory doesn’t solely reside in the grand conquests of love or the fiery passions that define us.

True victory, the kind that makes life truly worth living, is found in our ability to cherish and endure all shades of red. Victory is in our courage to love, sacrifice, lose, mend a broken heart and to love all over again.

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THEY WALK LIKE

US

Aaron Pandian photography by DOMINIC ROMO styling by SOPHIA ZAPPLER hmu by SANDRA CONG modeling by KIMIA CHITSAZAN layouy by JOSE RAMON DE LOS SANTOS

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hat can you discern from the way people walk? How you move is how you carry yourself and how you carry yourself is your intention. So really look. What can you detect about her purpose today or his motive for the week? Define their Magnum Opus by observation.

An unrealistic ask right? You may presume such is empty rhetoric.

There are those that walk among us: those that inspire or plague us, innovate or destroybut how would you know? Our five senses are not tailored for this purpose.

Try to understand the impossibility of human likeness. We are amazing creations. Social and intelligent; apt to grow and quick to feel, judge, and act. Equipped with the history of millennia, each one of us has the ability to understand consciously. Then, understand that there are those around you who may not understand you- even if you walk past them.

Like this, people go about their day, unaware of the oddities of life. The extreme and incomprehensible; especially, the people that represent so. Take note of these individuals when you can. Those individuals outside your social circle. Those that are never present but all the more active. Those that just walk by. Seemingly similar yet suspiciously sojourn.

In pursuing further investigation, you greet them- stopping their train of thought.

Regardless of how they responded, it was not what you expected. Your intrigue fails you and you carry on dismissing the pointless encounter.

“She seemed obsessed with something.”

“Why was that so awkward?”

“People need to learn some manners.”

In the small percentage of these few encounters, you most often fail to realize that- you spoke to Him. You spoke to Her. You spoke to a misunderstood nobody who will go on to change the way you interact with the world.

And, if you have never had such an encounter, keep walking.

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hroughout history, this pattern has followed. Individuals who stay shrouded in mystery, for reasons beyond current understanding, are later recognized as “ahead of their time” due to their contributions. Inventors, scientists, creatives, inquisitors: visionaries, are what these individuals are. They test reality and solve timely solutions unnoticeable to the average eye.

Nonetheless, these capable visionaries, more often than not, are reduced to those who are “foolish,” whose ideas are at best laughable- at worst absurd.

Most know the story of Socrates. The father of Western philosophy was labeled a heretic and later forced to concede his life.

BUT WHAT ABOUT A STORY UNTOLD?

Kane Kramer is an ordinary man alive today and the father of the iPod. Obsessed with his idea, he left school behind at fifteen and later patented his digital audio player technology in 1979, the same year the original Walkman was released. He sought to digitize the process of musical entertainment, as opposed to physical cassette tapes, but the technology was only capable of limited music storage at the time. His belief in its advancement was consequently misunderstood when left sponsorless. Unable to pay for the patent property, the concept went public. A few years later, the first MP3 player was introduced. Then, in 2001, Apple brought to the world the iPod, whose first iteration largely resembled the sketches Kramer created. This revolutionized the world of music as we knew it. Kramer, indeed a visionary, never received a penny for his invention and continues to live on, camouflaging with the masses.

It was not till much later that Apple provided Kramer his due credit by acknowledging his forethought creativity.

There are many like this. Again, most unassumingly prestigious in thought, unequivocally contributing to society, are left unrepresented by their grandeur beliefs and obsessions.

Instead of flourishing alongside their ideation, they are left to wallow in public discontent. It is only until much later that society catches up with their vision. It is then that recognition is sometimes awarded, but it is often in memory of the individual’s brighter past.

Society wins. They often lose.

But do they? These capable people, who believe in a cause and test their conviction, change the world. Their legacy lives on, even if they were witness to society’s acceptance or not. It is for these seemingly ordinary people that we must stay forward-thinking and not be stuck in our ways. We must stay aware of people like this. Remember, they walk like us.

If we are able to shift the dynamic person-by-person and build an environment where our positively contributing inventors, scientists, creatives, and inquisitors are not battling social standards or obstinate thought but, conversely, supported by open-mindedness- we would all be victorious. Maybe the ambitious aura of such people would inspire those around them, but those proximal must be accepting of such conviction.

The next time you see someone talented with their head down, active but never present, rushing around, obsessive, motivated, and passionate- let that unfamiliar energy fuel your own work. Support those people worth your time, and negate opposing doubt. Help cultivate a society where everybody strives to be “ahead of their time.” What a triumphant world that would be.

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Walk with purpose; move like you are going to change the world,

even if nobody understands you.

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US I N TH E KATHY D O

OMORROW

B YON D

LI FE

photography by MARIE AGUSTIN & KYRA HARRISON styling by SYDNEY REGAN & LINDA SANCHEZ hmu by ITZEL CASILLAS set design by LILLIANA CADET modeling by DIVYA SHARMA layout by KENNEDY HUYNH

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ftentimes when we think of the meaning of a legacy, we think of what we have done, what we have achieved, and what has made us feel like we have reigned victorious in life. However, for one second, look outside from you, yourself, the individual, and shift your mindset to look at the world at large and life beyond us.

Sit back, relax, and look up from the page you are reading from right now and bask in the sunlight from the natural, “outside” world.

It has become easy to forget our roots as our minds and daily lives become hectic, pre-planned, or full of responsibilities to tend to. But, think back to those moments where all you wanted to do was take a walk outside, go for a scenic hike, or even just sit outside and listen to the sounds of nature as you sit there so peacefully.

We need nature, just as much as it needs us.

We, humans, though arguably, are a part of nature, but for some reason we deny that. With labels and different modes of thought, we construct the existence of humankind as its own, separate entity. Through the manifestation of the concept of “outside” and “inside” in physical barriers like walls, we have alluded that we are different, smarter, and possibly even better than nature through our ability to “separate” our existence from it. But if that is so… why do we always find ourselves going back to the open arms of the “outside” world and craving that connectivity with nature to ground us back to reality?

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Put simply, nature is life; nature is revitalizing; nature is irreplaceable; nature is everything.

But our blue skies are muddled, our summers are reaching unimaginable temperatures, our ice caps are melting away, and our oceans are expanding dramatically as a consequence.

Through the storybook of Earth’s longevity, the chapter called “Humankind” has been the thickest and most commentative chapter on how we have impacted the Earth and its climate. So, it is important that we recognize humankind’s anthropogenic impact on the world and find ways to give back.

Why should we care? Because it impacts us regardless if we realize it or not. Seeing the world wither away in front of our very eyes and doing nothing about it is a crime in itself. Just as we depend on each other to survive and thrive on in our own communities, the environment and nature’s livelihood depends on how we act on it– or, rather, if we even choose to look beyond our own life to recognize the life wilting away around us.

ow

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to day The today we live in is the today we want to live in tomorrow. And the today we enjoy, is the today we want future generations to experience.

So, what will you do to let the today last forever?

What we have done, what we are doing, and what we will do will be imprinted in our memories, but what we do for the earth and how we save it will last forever. From today onwards, the ability for tomorrow to come cannot be a more triumphant thing for not only you but all of us for years to come.

It is not the legacy we leave behind, but, rather, the legacy we let live on.

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My Mother’s Face

Menjivar Marlenie photography by REGINA MAGAÑA CHAVEZ styling by APRIL CHIU hmu by DIANA FARMER set design by FRANCESCA CADET modeling by DAIARA GARCIA layout by SAMANTHA LUCILLE NATIVIDAD

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y mom is the strongest person I know. No one else on this earth has shown the same level of resilience, ingenuity, and grace in the face of adversity. She came from nothing but worked relentlessly to give us everything.

We were her top priority. While I never understood what drove her to make such a resolute decision at the time, I knew that the love she felt for us was a force of nature that ran so deep into my psyche that she never needed to directly say it to me for me to know that she loved me.

I could feel it in every home-cooked meal, every homemade costume, and every last-minute school project we worked on together late into the night. She was the model I strove to emulate with everything I did. I still do sometimes. She is my first best friend. She is my judge, jury, and executioner. She is my everything.

Looking into the mirror, I see her face staring back at me. In her eyes, I see her past, our present, and my future. Her face is my mask, an ode to her legacy. An unspoken vow to do right by her sacrifice and play my role as the eldest daughter, the “perfect” physical embodiment of her legacy. Perfect grades, perfect appearance, perfect manners, perfect posture. Never raise your voice. Always submit. Perfect daughter.

The headaches that never seem to leave, the tension you carry in your shoulders, the dark circles under your eyes. I see all the things that go unsaid as a sign of your sacrifice that you hide behind your love— another reason to justify my mission, the meaning of my legacy, my existence. Your unwavering love masks the pain, but your suffering is my burden. My legacy. When will I have given enough to atone for your love? How much of myself must I give to make this guilt disappear? t is suffocating, this paradigm that I find myself in. Everything I do, I do for her. But the fear of never amounting to the person she expects me to be, of looking into the mirror and no longer recognizing the person staring back, keeps me chained to the pressure of her legacy. I should not feel this way. I do not have the right to complain. I have not suffered enough to earn it. This beautiful garden we have grown together that binds me to you is festering with weeds, the cracks of the unsaid truth.

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I see her in everything.

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refuse to break the mask if it means losing you, he most significant revelations start with a whisper. A small thought that briefly passes in the dead of night as you stare into the expanse of your bedroom ceiling. Is this the legacy she even wants for me? Is this the life I want for myself? With each growing question and persistent thought, the hidden garden of my own heart and mind comes to light. If my existence is already a testament to her legacy, I should live my life to cultivate my own legacy. I honor her legacy by showing how her life and hard work have shaped the path of my accomplishments and have built the foundation for my legacy, to live a life worthy of her sacrifice. The connection we share, the legacy we make together, may shift and strain over time, but it will never break. It is my greatest honor to continue to pass down the culture and wisdom she has bestowed upon me. I am my mother’s daughter. I am her legacy and will ensure the seeds of our stories continue to grow long after we are gone.

but I am losing myself too.

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TH E photography by ETHAN RODARTE styling & hmu by MALCOLM GUIDRY modeling by RACHEL XING layout by AVA BATHURST

DAN C E

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PARTH GHAWGHAWE photography by JOYATI MODAK & CAMPBELL WILLIAMS styling by ARIANNA JENKINS & SYDNEY REGAN modeling by ANDREW APONTE layout by SAM MURPHY

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F

ashion and design are mediums where creativity evolves in silence, allowing expressions to transcend words. For an introverted artist like me, this world was not just about fabrics and astonishing patterns; it became my personal voice. Through my drawings and designs, I found a way to speak volumes without uttering a single word. Each sketch I created became a dialogue; every design contributing to a chapter of my visual narrative. It became clear, however, that while design was my silent sanctuary, showcasing it to the world was a completely different ballgame—a challenge that the Hook’d fashion show magnified tenfold.

The revelation of my involvement with the Hook’d fashion show was electrifying, but soon after, an observable anxiety crept in.

Here I was, about to step into the spotlight, with my creations on display for a discerning audience for the first time. The terrain was unfamiliar, especially the intricacies of directing models; a role I had never taken on before. Every part of the process was new, each step fraught with uncertainty. The pressure was mounting, intensified by friends and acquaintances whose eager anticipation echoed a clear message: the outcome of this show would shape my path ahead, potentially opening doors, or conversely closing them.

In the early stages of preparation

for the show. The hours seemed endless, with my progress feeling elusive. I initially tried to design, but the feeling that my designs were not worthy or that they were lackluster could not escape me.. No matter how many hours I put in, no real progress was being made.

Seeking inspiration and guidance, I decided to immerse myself in the world of iconic designers. I spent countless hours on YouTube, immersing myself in the world of iconic designers tackling similar challenges. Their confidence, evident as they helmed brands like Louis Vuitton, Off-White, and Dior, lit a way forward for their teams. Observing their aura of assurance, I approached my designs with renewed energy. I imagined myself in their shoes, pretending to oversee vast teams and making decisive choices. With this newfound persona, I started to approach my designs, not as an anxious first-timer but as a seasoned pro. Instead of second-guessing myself with each draft, I would pretend that there was a team who needed direction and used that as motivation to continue with my vision.

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his alter persona helped me become more decisive with my choices and less doubtful of my capabilities. Through time, I finished designing my first out of four pieces, finally feeling like I had passed a milestone. It was a testament to the fact that the mindset shift, initially a strategy, was slowly integrating into my core. The sense of accomplishment was profound, and I kept telling myself, “If I did it once, I can do it three more times.” This exercise of channeling a different persona, which started off as a coping mechanism, gradually morphed into something more profound.

Gradually, these actions became second nature, eliminating the need for a conscious change in mindset.

Post-fashion show felt like a blur of emotions. I vividly remember a sense of euphoria after the music died off, and I realized that I just had my very first fashion show.

The culmination of weeks of hard work, moments of self-doubt, and the exhilarating experience of the show itself was overwhelming. The audience’s feedback and their praises for my designs was the validation I needed.

It was not just about the designs being appreciated, but more about the internal self-recognition of the journey and the transformation that led up to that point.

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The aftermath of the Hook’d Show was pivotal. It was not just about abundant new opportunities, but about my personal metamorphosis. Challenges now felt like rising horizons. Each flutter of nervousness signaled potential growth. Armed with these insights and an unwavering belief in my journey, I gravitate towards challenges, eager to push my boundaries further.

Reflecting on the entire journey post-show, a realization dawned on me. The chasm separating me from famed designers was not necessarily years of experience or unmatched skills—it was confidence and unwavering belief in one’s self.

That trust in one’s vision is paramount. Now, as I navigate the labyrinth of the design world, I often tap into this lesson. In situations where doubt might creep in, I remind myself of the persona I channeled and how it bolstered me. From leading teams to conceptualizing projects or seeking mentorship, the strategy remains the same: envision the person you aspire to become, then act as if you are already there.

Whether in fashion, arts, or any other field, our boundaries are often self-imposed. It is not just about “faking it ‘till you make it,” but genuinely embracing and internalizing the strengths we admire in others. In doing so, we inch closer to our own versions of victory.

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BRENNT SANTOSS

FALSEE WW

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photography by MARIE AGUSTIN & ISABELLA CAPUCHINO styling by NATALIA GUERRERO & ESTEBAN ALVARADO hmu by HAILEY WALKER set design by ELLEN EDWARDS modeling by MICHELLE LI layout by ABBY NIX

WWINNINGS

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ouutside my reeality, I aam weeakenned.

A world where when we look outside it does not intimidate us. A world where we are not always defeated, it can be easily fixed with a click of an undo or with another attempt. A world where, simply put, suffering is limited.

My body, soul, mind, and heart continue to take its toll repeatedly. Everything I reach for, anything, it always ends in disappointment, and second chances are hard to come by.

Reality is a foe to most. It continues to hurt me and pull me from all sides. There is not just one particular thing I feel threatened by; everything just feels too much at times.

Everyday reality seems to keep changing its form, at times it is recognizable, and at other times it is not. Is it following me?

It feels as if I have a target on my back, purposely placed, or something that I keep stumbling on accidently. Whatever it may be, I know it is always out there to get me, so there is too much risk. All uncalculated, cruel, and unfair.

I cannot handle anymore responsibilities or high expectations.

But I think I found an escape from reality.

One where I am given a chance to do better, one to put my thoughts into action,

one where I am not discouraged, and one where I can thrive.

This escape however is not imaginary or make believe (or at least, it feels real to me).

I have found my way to it; all I must do is follow the wire and stare into the lights.

Follow the cords that plug in from one end to the other. There is no money, no value, and no worth at the end. There is something much more existential, a feeling bigger than life itself.

Words can not express these feelings, but my thoughts take control and will not stop working. It implores me to stay and entertain these spectacles. My thoughts are developing further than I could ever imagine.

bouncing off my face, but I feel enlightened for once. This glow is different and indescribable when trying to see what it would look like. Instead of visualizing a spectrum of colors or one singular color, imagine a force. A force to push you into new desires, passions, goals, and outlooks.

I am strong now, right here in this light.

In this light, reality cannot get to me, and, for some time, I forget what was out there that initially hurt me. My memory of what is outside of these lights no longer concerns me (this will come back in a different way to hurt me).

But there is an escape now. Even if it is not real, I feel good.

In front is a T.V., so loud with lights that are so blinding. These lights and sounds do not hurt no matter how strong they get, instead they feel welcoming. These colors are the same I have seen before in reality, but right here and right now they feel different. I have been told about these unfamiliar noises and these distant places, but to experience them now and to be in their presence for once gives me a glow.

I’m glowing.

When I grab a controller or a remote, I feel in control for once. Vicariously, I live through the character I see in the brightly lit screen before me. It does whatever I want. I see another extension of myself that provides courage to me. There are actions that have consequences on the screen, but there is no real substantial harm to me.

Anything is allowed and nothing bad ever stays. Worlds are made, love is expressed, peace persists, and there is almost every ounce of opportunity right before me.

It is not just the screen’s brightness

But will it be enough?

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I haavee finallyy fouund whho I waant to bee.

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I have forgotten what it is like out there and it is far too comfortable to want to leave. There is no need to leave.

But, my senses and memory are going to be distorted if I stay here.

Even staying here will have its own complications. I recall hearing people say nothing good ever last. Were these people a past lover, parents, teachers, friends, or even a stranger? Trivial now, I guess. I am here in this warm light, and yet I still feel alone. So if that is the case, then the hard truth is that obstacles can be found anywhere.

So, why keep myself here? Especially, if nothing here is genuine. My growing ignorance of the world outside makes me lose purpose.

Maybe I should try again out there. Perhaps I missed something or possibly someone.

This digital reality cannot fill the void as much as I hoped it would.

Whether the lights start to dim, the repetitiveness over extends, or I, too, naturally grow tired even here, I have to embrace reality at some point. The biggest change this time, however, is I have the confidence to do so. I am reminded of perseverance and the strive to do more. To settle is to lose the chance to be someone better than yourself and by then you forget who you are. Losing my identity is never what I wanted, I wanted to explore the chance to be different versions of myself without defeat.

Why force an idea or perception of myself that is untouchable when I can embody a physical entity of my own self. Not an alter ego, but an expression I have hidden.

It is time to come out. This light that has protected me so far is neither my endgame nor my enemy. It is a mere tool to help me balance my physical, emotional, and mental needs.

Put myself out there, pick myself up, and no more relying on an alternative. I can build my own expectations, predict and prepare for outcomes, and set my own standards. I have learned there is much I can do. I have now seen more potential; I just need to put it to work. But not here. It will not do any favors if I choose to do it here, trapped in front of the screen.

It is much more fulfilling to do it outside because the light I have taken upon myself will shine even brighter. Gratitude is given to these visuals. They have paved a way for a chance of uplifting. I will start changing perspectives and rewriting previous mistakes. That is where I will start, I will write. I will turn my thoughts and feelings into words, and then I will write these words for anyone to read. I have finally found who I want to be, a writer.

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REFR AME

Grace Hurley photography by ZUHAYR SHARIQUE styling by ISABEL RAMIREZ hmu by HAILEY WALKER set design by LILLIANA CADET modeling by SIERRA ESCOBEDO layout by AVA BATHURST

“What do you want to be when you grow up, little girl?”

A big question.

An even bigger answer.

What is the right answer?

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Oh, none, most people would say. It’s whatever you want it to be. There’s no “right answer.”

Until there is. Until Little Girl says something that does not fit. That ruffles feathers. That challenges the notion of “no right answer.”

“A grown-up,” she says. “A woman.”

Eyebrows will lift. Confused smiles will flit across closed mouths. “But what kind of woman? A doctor?”

—“A mother?”

—“A lawyer?”

“Any kind. All kinds, maybe.” She shrugs, unbothered by the fact that they don’t seem to understand her. “Can’t I just be one?”

Silence as confusion turns to the conclusion that something must be wrong with Little Girl.

“Why can’t I just be a grown-up when I grow up?”

We are grown up now, or at least we are getting there. And growing up means people expect some sort of victorious persona to emerge from whatever life path we have placed ourselves on.

What are we? Have we found out what kind of person we want to be? Are we that person?

Even if the answer is no, I’m sure we have found some kind of person to be. Mother, lawyer, student, friend.

But being a kind of person is kind of… basic.

Sure, we can’t avoid becoming some sort of human with some sort of life path, but why not shake things up? Ruffle some feathers, raise some eyebrows?

Why not refocus on what growing up should be?

Why not reframe victory?

But let’s be honest, Victory is harder for some than others.

Ask a little boy the question, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” and watch people smile when he says “cowboy astronaut” or something similar. Ask a little girl and watch the condescending chortle when she says “veterinarian princess.”

Or worse, the follow-up “question.” The “Wouldn’t you rather be ____?” or the “How about a ____?”

Victory for women has been limited to a ____.

A neat little checkbox for the Little Girl who grows up into a Kind of Woman.

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Why this KINDof

WOMAN? “What do you do for a living?”

Her bedhead is hiding underneath a hat. A thick layer of concealer precariously restrains her dark circles. “I’m a stay-at-home mom,” she replies.

Smiles that she has seen before cross their faces.

They might as well say “That’s cute,” and grimace instead of giving her that fake smile.

“That is so sweet that you stay back for your children. How many?”

Aka, have you made it worth it?

“I just had my second a few months ago.”

Another smile. The Housewife gives them one in return.

“Do you have any plans to ever…?”

They trail off but she fills in the blanks. Do you ever have any plans to do more? To be more?

Why just this Kind of Woman?

She straightens her suit-jacketed shoulders, an expectant smile on her precisely rouged lips.

“I’m a C-level executive assistant for a Fortune 500 company,” she replies, with just enough effortlessness in her tone.

They look impressed and slight satisfaction creeps into her heart despite her constant exhaustion. The fatigue in her figurative limbs from crawling up the corporate ladder.

The satisfaction quickly fades after a moment as another question surfaces. “Are you married?”

“No.” “So no kids or anything?”

“No.” “Aw,” they smile but in a way she does not appreciate. In a way she dreads. “Well, I guess it’s good that you put your career first.”

But not good enough, The Businesswoman finishes for them.

“Do you have any plans to ever…?”

To do more? To be more?

Why just this Kind of Woman?

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Two women. Two types of growing up. Yet neither one feels it is enough.

This is the paradox of victory for women.

Regardless of whether she is the Housewife or the Businesswoman, it is never good enough for society. We must become a Kind of Person when we grow up, but there seem to be only two Kinds of Women.

And the thing is…

No matter which you choose, you can always do more. Be more. Be the other kind.

A victorious woman is placed in a tight frame, living for display and not for herself.

But why? Why is the Housewife or the Businesswoman all there is? And when it is, why is that not good enough?

Why can’t we just be a woman and be victorious in that?

We can refocus and reframe feminine victory if we only remember, as Greta Gerwig so aptly put it, that “[j]ust because my dreams are different than yours, it doesn’t mean they’re unimportant.”

“What do you do for a living?”

The Woman smiles at the question. She remembers a similar one from when she was a

Refocused.

Little Girl. What do you want to be when you grow up?

“Oh I do lots of things,” she replies. “But at the end of the day, I’m a strong, secure woman who does it for myself and that’s the greatest kind of living.”

They probably do not understand. They probably are not satisfied with her answer.

But at the end of the day, she is not bothered.

She is raising eyebrows and ruffling feathers for herself. Pioneering her own change and thriving because of it.

She is a grown-up and she is being a grown-up.

The Victorious Woman reframed her victory.

Refocused on her.

It’s time to reframe what victory is.

A woman’s existence in this modern world is a victory in and of itself.

She has nothing more to prove; no one to answer to. By simply being and choosing to thrive when all the odds are stacked against her, The Victorious Woman steps into uncharted territory for the betterment of herself.

She has created new frames, new focuses and they serve her, not society.

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OURLA 90

ANDS AN ODE TO WHAT WAS AND WHAT REMAINS

RIDDHI BORA photography by ELIZABETH CRUZ-RAMIREZ styling by EMILY WAGER hmu by JESSICA RODRIGUEZ set design by ELLEN EDWARDS modeling by YOUSEF AHMED, DAKOTA DRISCOLL & JESSICA LIU layout by KENNEDY HUYNH

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OUR LANDS

WERE MADE OF SILK AND SILT,

MUD BROWN EARTH AND ROLLING HILLS GOLDEN, BRONZE, SILVER, ROYALTY ADORNED THE BODIES OF SAVAGES OUR LANDS WERE MADE LONG BEFORE CIVILIZED FEET TOUCHED OUR SOIL, SOILED BY FLAGSHIPS AND X MARKS ON MAPS

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OUR HOMES BORE THE WEIGHT OF STRANGERS TURNED LANDLORDS WE BECAME TENANTS OF SPACES WITH PRE-EXISTING HISTORIES AS IF HISTORIES CAN BE FORCED INTO A BOX AND STORED IN AN ATTIC WE WERE FASHIONED TO BE FORGOTTEN 94

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AND YET, WE REMAIN.

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OUR LANDS ARE REMINISCENT OF SILK AND SILT, MUD BROWN EARTH AND EVERYTHING THAT ONCE WAS, EVERYTHING THAT COULD HAVE BEEN WE LIVE WITH A RENOWNED STRENGTH PASSED DOWN GENERATIONS LIKE A FAMILY HEIRLOOM OUR HEIRLOOM IS SURVIVAL THE SYNTAX OF OUR MOTHER TONGUES, THE FABRIC OF OUR CLOTHS THE TASTE OF INDIGENOUS SPICES THAT LINGER IN FAMILY DINNERS OUR IDENTITIES ARE SPLIT BUT NOT TORN FRAGMENTS OF GENERATIONAL TRAUMA CAN FIT WITH FRAGMENTS OF GENERATIONAL TRIUMPHS, THE SMILES AND LAUGHS OF OUR ANCESTORS THAT PERSISTED AMIDST ATTEMPTS TO BE ERASED THOSE SMILES AND LAUGHS ARE ENCODED IN US, RESURFACING IN THE 21ST CENTURY OUR TRIUMPHS SPAN OVER BORDERS, OVER WATERS, ACROSS LINEAGES THEY EXIST IN US LIKE A DIM FLAME SOFT BUT NEVER PUT OUT

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OUR LANDS

ARE COLORFUL PALETTES MADE OF SONG AND DANCE AND CELEBRATION WE PAINT OUR LANDS WITH WHAT WAS FOUGHT FOR, WITH WHAT COULD HAVE DIED BUT STILL EXISTS

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OUR LANDS ARE NOT WHAT THEY WERE BUT ALAS, THEY

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Life & Love Areesha Rahman

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photograhpy by ANTHONY MUNOZ & NATALIE SALINAS styling by VICTORIA HALES hum by VICTORIA HALES modeling by VICTORIA HALES & CHASE SMYTH layout by GRAY MABRY

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ollege is typically a chaotic time for all young people.

Balancing school, a social life, work, maybe even love?

But in a generation where love is still the thing most valued among people, yet so few are willing to do what it takes to achieve it, how can anyone be sure that one day they will defy the odds and find what they are looking for?

Love a century ago looked a lot different than what is known today. Instead of Snapchat streaks, booty calls, and Tinder pick-up lines. It consisted of courting, a parent’s blessing, and planning your impending marriage. Even COVID played a crucial role in digitizing modern-day romance. Despite its constant shift, love still prevails. Want paroof? Look around you. `Just as nature triumphs against all odds, love always finds a way into our lives. Even in the darkest of times, our planet perseveres despite challenging conditions.

Dear Jane, It is the year 3000. As an elderly woman recounts her tumultuous life from over 50 years ago, she wonders how they survived the nuclear wars.

She met her husband on a vacation abroad in Madrid before the war was declared, and he enlisted in the army. To combat distance instead of soldiers, he wrote her letters every week, detailing the struggles of the barracks and his fear that they would never be able to reconnect.

Today was hard. We took a group of men to Berlin today to scout the area. We didn’t expect them to be there or for them to defend themselves. I can’t even talk about what happened after.

As we made our way back to camp, I was excited for supper. They served us chili with beans. It’s not my favorite, but the day took it out of me.

Next month, they’re allowing me to take a leave for a week. I must visit you. I don’t know how easy it will be to get travel documents in this state, but I will try.

Until next time, John

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...love still prevails.

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Want proof?

Look around you.

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There were times that tested their courage. He was sick of the violence and often lost hope of making it.

Her responses to his letters kept him optimistic. So did the necklace of hers he kept a photograph of the two of them at an old rock concert, and a ticket from a movie they watched at the cinema in the middle of summer.

The war eventually ended. Cities crumbled as they were left behind. People fled to all corners, searching for a glimpse of the world they once knew.

Eventually, the world picked itself up. The clouds parted ways, and the sun came back out. Families were reunited.

Despair gave way to newly emerging comfort and optimism. Life kept moving.

Half a century later, they lived in a comfortable home in what was once suburban New York since it was one of

the only cities that survived the bombs. She has a grandson and two granddaughters, and she tells them her story, pulling out tarnished letters and postcards from a striped box she’s had since before the world was destroyed.

Still, life grows around them every day and has attempted to rebuild what was once lost. A flower blossoms from cracked cement, a new home is built in place of one that was destroyed, and a leader emerges amid the dust. The balance of the universe counteracts gloom with fluorescence. As the world tries to recuperate, their love flourishes, and they remain triumphant as they know they can endure almost anything.

Even in the most unlikely times, life and love will always find a way.

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photography by KENIA GALLEGOS styling by ARIANNA JENKINS & SYDNEY REGAN modeling by REGAN HILL & JOSEMANUEL VAZQUEZ layout by JENNY TRAN

LUCY GOMEZ

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--

“Romantic love is the most important and exciting thing in the entire world.

When I finally have a boyfriend, little else will matter.”

At some point, though, the dream can begin to feel like it is slipping from our fingers, and idealism can become an exhaustive search for something that’s not there. So, at what point do we finally get to go to the The first time I read these lines in Dolly sink and scrub our faces clean of impossible Alderton’s memoir, “Everything I Know expectations that can only promise heartache About Love,” it struck me that I had repeated and rinse them with peaceful solitude? them to myself so many times without even realizing it. Subconsciously, perhaps, but For ages, society has expected us to do it those thoughts were still very much there. all. Go to a top university, get the highest grades, eventually get a job that makes as On paper, we look at statements like these much money as possible, and, of course, and tell ourselves we could and would never find the love of your life. Do not worry have such a naive mindset. And, yet, we about rest or taking time to take care of watch the movies, we listen to the music, yourself; voices seem to drill. Do everything and read the books that leave us longing you can to meet someone, no matter for the perfect relationship. The kind that your feelings. It will all be worth it in the comes with a fairytale ending and someone end. It will all bring you contentment. who seems to know all the right things to say.

So begins a cycle of sizing people up, desperately trying to fulfill our own individualistic ideas of romance and hoping that all these feelings we’re holding in will be reciprocated. What happens next has an endless number of outcomes. In some versions of the story, one continues the quest aimlessly, while in others, one strikes gold.

Perhaps more commonly, one thinks they have found what they have been looking for and begins building a relationship based on trying to appease the dream they’ve convinced themselves will fulfill them.

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PERHAPS IT IS TIME TO EMBRACE VULNERABILITY Maybe instead of glamorous outings, it is a night at home playing a well-worn record, takeout, and a book before bed. Or perhaps it is more than a few hours at home, and it is a whole day with nothing to do but sit at a coffee shop enjoying your own company. Nothing is shameful or embarrassing about doing either of these things, no matter how often we are told that life is more fulfilling when our days start and end with a kiss.

Perhaps it is time to embrace vulnerability and push away the little voices in our heads whispering to us that we should be doing more.

As Taylor Swift once said, “I’m just too soft for all of it.” There is something to be said about taking two steps back and letting yourself live without the anxiety of never finding that perfect person. That said, sometimes we do find ourselves in a healthy relationship that gives us tranquility and confidence, and all seems to be right until the chapter closes. We are left drowning in a million questions.

But as the old saying goes, “When one door closes, another one opens.” One way to interpret that would be to think that when one relationship ends, another is right around the corner, and there is nothing false in that. But instead, maybe that newly opened door invites us to sit in the sun for a while and enjoy the quiet.

Adopting a period of solitude in between relationships is of

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great comfort. We are giving ourselves the space to think without outside influences and dedicating time to selfreflection. What happens when we give ourselves a break from all the noise? It could be eye-opening and lead to a greater sense of peace and confidence within ourselves.

The end of a romance may feel like the end of the world in the beginning, but sometimes, the best thing we can do for ourselves is take off the rose-colored glasses and put them away for a while. Let ourselves look at the world from the other side and appreciate this period of clarity it provides. Emotionally, this time will be unique for each individual. Still, the closure we get from it may finally allow us to shed our old skin and emerge from our chrysalis as a creature even more beautiful than before.

Towards the end of her memoir, Alderton describes moving into her first apartment completely alone and sitting on the floor with her best friend, eating messy Vietnamese food, and discussing late into the night how she should decorate her apartment. There is no housewarming party, loud music, or a crowd of strangers to fill the empty rooms. Just boxes, sriracha sauce, and spring rolls, yet Alderton recounts never feeling such a satisfying warmth.

“Love was there in my empty bed. It was piled up in the records Lauren bought me when we were teenagers. It was in the smudged recipe cards from my [mum] in between the pages of cookbooks in my kitchen cabinet. Love was in the bottle of gin tied with a ribbon that India had packed me off with; in the smeary photo strips with curled corners that would end up stuck to my fridge,” she details.

Ultimately, the most valuable thing we can learn from love is that it looks infinitely different for each person.

Solitude teaches us that. It allows us to reclaim our own narrative and remember the person we are outside of our relationships. We are able to establish trust within ourselves and recognize that love exists in more than one medium, as small or big, significant or insignificant as it may seem. At some point, a genuine romantic love may come along, but until then, embrace the company that will be there during every season of life. You.

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T HE PRICE OF GRACE photography by KENIA GALLEGOS & KYRA HARRISON styling by DIANA FARMER & ARIANNA JENKINS hmu by JESSICA RODRIGUEZ modeling by ISABELLA CAPUCHINO layout by SOLOMAN MEZA

MACK LIDE

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s the dancer effortlessly glided across the stage, chills ran down my spine.

Her painfully beautiful arabesque reminded me of all the years I spent dedicating my own life to dance. The prima ballerina in front of me was well beyond graceful, but at what cost?

One of the most competitive, fear-inducing, and mentally draining arts. Although many people believe ballet is nothing more than an after-school hobby, this sport instills immense pressure on dancers.

Children as young as three years old begin training to become the best of the best. Pre-professional students around 8-10 years old are expected to have already developed muscle memory, basic technique, and proper discipline, yet the intense training does not stop there.

Unlike most sports, ballet does not have an off-season.

Dancers are expected to train year-round to maintain their flexibility, stamina, figure, and technique. From the very first dance class to the final performance, there is no rest in becoming a professional ballet dancer.

A typical ballerina schedule consists of 1-2 hours of technique class with several rigorous hours of rehearsal right after. When show season finally comes around, there is a performance nearly every night following class and rehearsal. Fatigue sets in, injuries accumulate, and the mental and physical setbacks can be daunting.

Dreams of becoming an extraordinary dancer can lead to unrealistic expectations and unhealthy competition. When constantly surrounded by topnotch talent and fierce coaches, you push yourself to work harder than you ever thought imaginable.

Come on Bella you’re better than this. Point harder, squeeze tighter, perform bigger.

In seeking recognition from teachers and peers, dancers often lose sight of their pure love for their craft.

“Bella, try that again it was sloppy. You could all learn from Reina’s technique - show

them, Reina, from the grand jeté 5, 6, 7…”

Of course, Reina was called out. She is beautiful, and her jeté was flawless. I need to work harder. I need to practice more. I need to be better than Reina.

There is no excuse for sloppiness.

Rehearsals become battlegrounds for showcasing superior technique rather than simply dancing for the sheer joy of it.

This intense pressure to excel leads dancers down a difficult path. It fosters a culture of comparison, not only in terms of skill but also in appearance, personality, and lifestyle choices. I found myself emulating my studio friends’ diets, hobbies, and routines, convinced that my prior efforts were not reasonable enough. This harmful practice takes a toll on mental well-being and impacts physical health.

“Bella, don’t forget to take your lunch to rehearsal!”

“I already ate Mom, I’m fine.”

There is no need for food.

You cannot get away with zero injuries after performing intense physicality every day for hours. The extreme demands on their bodies can lead to a litany of ailments, ranging from the common to the severe.

Jumps, stretches, turns, lifts, and other skills professional ballet dancers do frequently cause injuries like sprains, tendonitis, stress fractures, torn cartilage, etc.. Sprains, often a dancer’s constant companion, can disrupt their rhythm and force them to push through the pain during rehearsals and performances. Tendonitis, a painful inflammation of the tendons, is another frequent adversary, affecting mobility and causing persistent discomfort.

Stress fractures, a dreaded specter in ballet, can sideline dancers for extended periods.

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T HERE IS NO EXCUSE FOR SLOPPINESS.

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These hairline fractures occur due to the repetitive impact on bones, particularly in the feet and lower limbs. Recovery from stress fractures is slow and meticulous, often involving weeks or months of rest, casting, and rehabilitation. The specter of re-injury constantly looms, making the journey back to peak form fraught with uncertainty.

Success in a ballet career is undoubtedly remarkable, but it often begs the question: does the price of grace outweigh the victory? The physical toll, the emotional strain, and the sacrifices made to pursue ballet’s elusive perfection can be too much.

So, as I applauded the prima ballerina for her impeccable performance, I reminded myself to pause and consider the stories behind those flawless pirouettes and gravity-defying leaps.

While ballet offers unparalleled beauty and artistry, it also demands a steep price from those who dedicate their lives to it.

Ultimately, it is a complex equation where the bitter aftertaste of sacrifice tempers the sweet taste of success.

T here is no time for injuries.

On top of this, these dancers receive multiple blisters, scrapes, and bruises from daily practices.

The need to be perfect can physically drain you as a dancer.

“Bella, are you limping?”

“No, I’m just a little tired from rehearsal. Don’t worry about me.”

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There

is

nothing

like

a

standing

ovation.

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Otensha Milimo

oney oney Oney 122

photography by SARAH RODRIGUEZ & BARNETT ZHANG styling by SHELBY ROSE YEARY hmu by LINDA SANCHEZ set design by FRANCESCA CADET modeling by DIANA FARMER layout by HEATHER BASHAM 123

R s f p AYDAY

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Reward reward rew satisfaction satisf fulfillment fulfi powerful powerfu hink about what you splurged on in your twenties. Was it on late-night fast food runs and Saturdays spent at Goodwill? Maybe you got your nails done or spent way too much on books and concert tickets. Now imagine a world where, instead, you splurge on all the newest Apple products, three designer handbags, and airplane tickets to Paris for you and all of your friends - all on a Sunday afternoon.

Congratulations! You are rich now, which means that life just got a whole lot easier - and loads more fun. Your income is not just stable nor impressive. And to describe it as exponential does not capture how financially free you really are. Your income is something more than that, it is disposable. This is what it feels like to be a millionaire.

During your first shopping spree as a millionaire and counting, you go to the first stores you can think of. But it is not Gucci, Chanel, Tiffany and Co., or even Neiman Marcus - you will get there eventually. Louis Vuitton and Prada have not exactly been on your radar for the past fifteen years. By the beginning of the day, you are

This is what it feels like to be a millionaire. shopping for jeans at American Eagle, shoes at the Converse outlet, and tops at Urban Outfitters. But that same day ends with you in line at the Gucci store while looking up what time the Rolex store closes.

But you know better than anyone that you worked hard for your money, you earned it. You gave up the faith that your friends and family had in you, took out thousands in credit-card debt to give yourself one-more month of chasing your dreams, and chose more sleepless nights than you can count on both hands.

But seven months later, it took mere weeks to watch everything you gave up rebuild. The friends, the followers, the connections, the viewers, the sponsorships, the deals, but most importantly, the money - it all came flooding in as if it had been waiting to burst.

Reward. Satisfaction. Fulfillment. Powerful. This is what it feels like to be a millionaire.

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FALL THE FAL LTHE FALL TH FALL THE FAL HE FALL FALL he looks are always the first to go. And it looked to you like wealth was your ticket to everlasting joy. Did it not seem as if ninety-nine percent of your problems were from a lack of money? How could more of it possibly become an issue?

In the beginning, you were enchanted by how ineffable it was.

You paid off your student loans in a mere instant, you were able to afford the retirement home you dreamed of by twenty-seven, and brands practically paid you to go wine tasting with your Mom and your sister by the Santori seaside. You were even able to put enough money away to grant yourself financial freedom even if it all turned to Hell. But you begin to worry that Hell is closer than you think – and that you will still have all your money when it arrives.

People see you differently now, not as a person, but as an anomaly, something to be speculated. Your problems do not mean anything to anyone because you are totally and officially unrelatable. You value your family, your friends, honesty, charity, loyalty, and making sure that you are connected to the world around you. You feel all of the emotions you felt before all of the money. You laugh at the same jokes, you like the same music, and you enjoy hobbies as you did before all the money.

So, why do you feel like a shell of your older self? You feel them/ her there, inside of yourself – like a glass box with hands pressed up against the glass, waiting for someone to see her. But no one ever does.

And now you wonder: is this what it feels like to be a millionaire?

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LL HE FALL LL

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THE

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I D O

nd so now you ask yourself: Is it true? Were they right all along?

Somewhere along the way, your own fiery ambition that used to blaze so brightly has blinded you with its own beauty. The definition of success to you was clear: do what you love and make millions doing it.

But now that you have done that, you realize that something is missing.

Is it the company of a spouse and children that you crave? A new career? Friends that you can trust?

No - what you want now is simple: a world that exists as a completely separate entity from your wealth.

And you know now that genuine people come cheap, but you happen to wear dollar signs on your sleeve.

Friends and family have revealed their cupidity to you in strides. Ghosts of the past reach out to spend a mere moment in your new sphere, people you consider friends use you as a stepping stool, and family members guilt trip you into sharing your wealth with them. Your money has become the most interesting thing about you. You cannot trust anyone.

Money was supposed to buy you happiness, but you see now that the richest people in the world are doing drugs to escape their misery, hiding away from the world in depression, or making documentaries to tell the world about how much more miserable they are than everyone else. You can see now that their misery was there all along, and now that you possess the money that makes the rich so ill, you have purchased the ability to see through it all. You have climbed your way to the top, and it was fun. But now, there is nowhere else to look but down.

This is what it feels like tobe a millionaire.

They were right.

Money doesn’t buy happiness, does it?

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To Live & To Die

Aarzoo Modha photography by JOYATI MODAK styling by JEONG EUN (JADE JANG) hmu by ARIA MAKAN modeling by SUPARNA SWAROOP layout by KENDALL QUICK

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Once we pass, There is no certainty We remain relevant forever.

We only are now.

Such a dangerously beautiful thing To live within Our losses and hopes, Our ability To decipher a world thrown together in chaos.

We are threads of energy, Packed together of stardust and dreams.

We are only an Illusion of formlessness In an oblivion, we come to once again.

We are forever whispers Of the mosaic of memories We whisk into history.

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The fear of not doing enough Or doing everything at once, Becoming infinite in our existence.

Our names interwoven In the tapestries of life, And the fabrics of the time, The hearts and heads of those we love.

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Permanence remains a foe, As our essence and being Become a fearless transition to other worlds, And a celebration of our existence As we did.

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We are not lost.

We are not gone.

Alive.

We are

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Th e A Age of A Anheodonia photography by JOYATI MODAK & CAMPBELL WILLIAMS styling by ARIANNA JENKINS & SYDNEY REGAN hmu by HARMONY CHARLES set design by SYDNEY REGAN modeling by HOPE KNUTSON layout by CHASE SMYTH

Campbell Williams

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T

hese are the best years of your life.

My juvenile preconceptions of my 20s were full of vivid imagery of being surrounded by community, excessive traveling, an established career set up for a clear, ambitious path, and self-confidence in who I wanted to be, and where I was heading.

Champagne rivers and designer clothes.

Weekly dinner parties and company trips. A home adorned with finery. I

the most confusing day of my life.

Here I was, in full maturity, uncertain about everything. My disconsolate attitude about aging was born.

You

need

to

be

doing

more.

The fear of missing out is isolating.

However, something more isolating is not knowing what you are supposed to be missing out on. While some of your peers may be using this time to party, to start families, or to grow professionally, you are being crushed by the sheer weight of your own existence. You are simultaneously burnt out from the disillusionment of adulthood, while also

These are the best years of your life. daydreamed about this beautiful life I could be living in a few years, and it fueled my ambitious drive growing up.

If I work hard now, I can enjoy the fruits of my labor later. My twenties will be much better. I will make something of myself then.

I told myself this religiously. I was hellbent on making a name for myself early on, living out the rest of my life enjoying my success accompanied by financial freedom, countless friends, and countless opportunities I established in my 20s.

I need to be something, or I am nothing.

It was not until I got to the age I was completely disenchanted with this conviction. My 20th birthday was

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placing expectations on yourself to do everything. You need to travel while you are young. You need to settle down while you are young. You need to start your dream career while you are young. You need to branch out now and settle later.

Everyone is looking to typecast you, to prescribe your identity depending on if you are a failure or a success story now. The optics of what you will make of yourself are magnified; society is a panopticon of checkpoints you are failing to achieve. Every social media scroll is a jab to your ego: Another engagement, another homeowner, another new parent, and another promotion. The quarterlife crisis is among us. How will I cope?

Your coming of age has come and gone. Your success story is in the now.

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w

hile I wallowed in shame of what I was doing with my golden decade, inside and alone on another Saturday night, I meditated on how there was something so stylishly comforting about the women of Sex and the City that offered me solace about the impermanence of my youth. Revolutionary in its time, Sex and the City forever changed how society saw an unmarried, childless woman in society; the thesis of Carrie Bradshaw is incongruous to a world that tells you you expire by age 25.

32-year-old Carrie is constantly in combat with the expectations of her to be financially stable. To have children. To settle down. To have it all figured out.

Even in all her antics, she takes on new experiences, new relationships, and new opportunities to keep on redefining herself as uniquely Carrie. Her and her friends prance around the Big Apple in their fur coats and Manolo Blahniks, sexuality oozing as they increasingly become more confident in the unconventional lives they choose to live. Their legacies are not predetermined by one decade in their spanning lives, but they age into their identities with ease and grace.

Achievement is superficial. To instead look at your life with insouciant freedom is preferable. By the end of my binge watch I started to understand I am too young to be bogged down with the expectations of life, as if there is ever a specific time to live. Like Charlotte who has her first child at 40. Like Carrie who wrote her first book well into her writing career.

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Defining yourself by one decade in your life is a disservice to your future self.

Like Miranda who lands a career defining promotion at work years after leaving school. Like Samantha, who settles down – in her own right – in her 50s.

Erasing the invisible timeline hanging in front of you is the first step to reclaiming your identity.

Even if you do not achieve everything you set out to, or your life is not panning out how you saw it, you have the rest of your life to get there. You are not a perpetual self-improvement project barreling towards an expiration date, but you are human, able to make new connections and change at any given moment in your life. Defining yourself by one decade in your life is a disservice to your future self. You are able to completely turn your life around in any decade — to be adventurous, to make mistakes, and to love.

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It is a privilege to age into your identity. To allow your legacy to be shaped by decades of achievement, connections, lessons, and failures. To embrace the human experience every year, not just while you are young. And just like that, your legacy is defined instead by the collection of experiences you gather on your spanning peregrination through life.

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The

Lazy

Olympics

FATIMA

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GRANO

photography by DAIARA GARCIA styling by BRIANA STUBBLEFIELD hmu by ITZEL CASILLAS modeling by HAILEY WALKER, NIAMH CLANCY, ALEXA SANCHEZ & SANDRA CONG layout by GRAY MABRY

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O

ne day, silver and bronze medals ceased to exist because everyone deserved gold. First-place runners slowed their pace so fourth-placers could catch up because the podium was big enough to fit them all. Special kids in the classrooms were not moved to the next level because everyone else was also special. Pageants threw their crowns in the air because whoever caught them could become royalty. And the corps de ballet was lacking cygnets because they all turned into Black Swans.

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Triumph was losing meaning in this world, one given 1st place at a time. Because what could be left of perfection if there was nothing greater than that?

Sometimes in an attempt to bring fairness to everyone, by handing trophies in hand, we do not realize it can actually become harmful. We need to fall down sometimes, to learn what it is like to get up. Just like birds need to fly off the nest to grow stronger wings, or sea turtles complete their

journey from shore to water to survive, competition keeps us alive. It is in our human nature that we need to satiate that feeling of achievement.

In a different world, gold seemed incapable of evoking satisfaction. A gold medal was great, but not as much as two. And after two? Three. And if numbers did not suffice, there was always the strive to stay golden forever.

There was no “highest peak” because “highest” was a temporary meaning

that could easily be replaced with a newer challenge. Could an A define you? Perhaps not, but an A+ indeed could. Big could always become bigger, and better had to turn into best.

In this world, triumph was losing meaning, because achieving perfection was no longer enough.

How many Victories does it take to forget how you got there? And how could you ever praise your trophy if you’re already thinking about how

to get the next one? Yes, competition is good, but without getting drunk in the taste of power, and without losing ourselves when we cannot taste it.

Achieving victory is one thing, but staying there forever is a different story that can result in toxic obsession.

Then, there came a third world where golden medals could quickly turn into bronze in a breeze. Everyone was one slip away from falling off the podium but could also stand up and climb again. Some days gold meant

productivity, others it meant crawling out of bed. The meaning of being special was valued because exclusivity gave it relevance.

Numbers and letters did not define you because you were perfect just like that…were you not? No. No one was perfect, nor could they ever be. But everyone was okay with that because that was the beauty of life in this world.

That not every day was a win, but as long as you kept running the race, you had already succeeded.

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How many

Victories

does it take to

Forget

how you got there?

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what makes you the excec ption? photography by EMILY BERGERMAN & PAMELA GUARDADO styling by JEONG EUN (JADE JANG) hmu by ARIA MAKAN modeling by AARZOO MODHA & ISAIAH TREVINO layout by JILLIAN BAILEY

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Anum Tayyab

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“I

vow to remain tender-hearted in spite of all that hurts me.”

I repeat these words and stare wide-eyed at my reflection, dreaming of how I’ve upheld my distinguished perfection.

Before me I see, my rationality in all of its glory.

My masterful abilities to always think clearly.

For my judgment is never clouded by immaturity, as I will always rise, noble and wise— declaring all trivial in comparison, to love.

I smile with love, and I choose it with ease, using my gratitude to cure their disease.

I enlighten every person I meet, reminding them that life is just bittersweet.

We must swallow our words before we can speak, conceal our pain so they do not see us as weak— for only the angry and bitter cannot recognize, that they would be stronger and well-liked if they were simply always kind.

We must sacrifice our declarations of pain, for we cannot risk being seen as vain— for only the angry and bitter act in self-interest, Indifferent to their vulnerabilities the world has witnessed.

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My character is invincible to hatred, as I guard it fiercely— I am the standard, and my heart is sacred.

I am always victorious, exalted by my kindness.

Winning every battle against my sheer blindness.

I repeat my affirmation once again: “I vow to remain tender-hearted in spite of all that hurts me.”

Only this time, The words crumble at the sight of whom I cannot recognize.

My stare becomes vacant looking at multiple faces, the ones I achingly wore with good graces.

To all, I performed them pridefully without ever questioning their efforts to strip me of my authenticity.

How can I now bear to face my humanity?

Human—lumped in with the rest, I should have never strived to be “the best,” My expectations for perfection only left me repressed, and now my self-expression faces its true test.

I have lived in wonder, curious of my desires.

Suppressing them, I could not unleash my soul’s fire.

For my pain could never be expressed but only transformed, into all the loving phrases and faces I performed.

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I must now relinquish society’s control, for without reclaiming my emotions I will never be whole.

And while I fear to unveil my truth, My mind reminds me of my redeeming pursuit: “You must not fear what you were created to feel, as illusions of pure benevolence distort what is real: No human is the exception to feeling angry and bitter.

No human is ever superior to their nature— as its intrinsic power will always be greater.

So, embrace what floods in and acknowledge it as a win, For you are now victorious in your reborn skin.”

I marvel at who stands before me.

Who they deemed would be “blind with fury.”

Confronted by my humanity, I will not run from what makes me free.

Beautifully uncomfortable, this is who I was meant to be.

I rip into my flesh and reveal my heart, It is not pure, nor does it set me apart.

I am not above what I am destined to feel, So I lean into this wrath to finally heal.

I repeat my affirmation once again: “I vow to embrace my humanity, and feel victorious in my own skin.”

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S O, WHAT’S NEXT?

SARAH MATTHEWS photography by DOMONIC ROMO & FAIZAN FIRDAUS styling & set design by RACHEL XING hmu by SANDRA CONG modeling by NICOLE FISH layout by ALEXA SANCHEZ

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I

t is the night of your retirement party. The large room is filled with your closest friends, family, and colleagues.

The champagne is flowing, the music is booming, and all throughout the night, people keep congratulating you for reaching the next chapter of your life.

In the midst of all this excitement, you cannot help but wonder what happens next. You have worked so hard for so many years to achieve retirement, but something still does not feel right. What will you do now each day since work is no longer a commitment?

How are you going to define your self-worth?

Many of us have aspirations in life. For some, it is moving to a bustling, big city and working in a dream career. For others, it is raising a loving family and living in a nice home. Whatever your

dream is, it likely guides your choices each day, as you move closer and closer to achieving your goals.

For many of us who are young, we have not achieved these aspirations yet. Maybe we are taking steps toward that dream career by enrolling in classes and working in internships. Maybe we are working overtime in a minimum wage job, eager to save enough money to move to L.A. Maybe we do not even know what we want to do with our lives yet and have changed our minds multiple times.

Regardless, these goals take up a large amount of headspace each day. We face pressure to know what we want and how to achieve it from our parents and peers. We face self-doubt and worry over if we can even achieve what we set out to do. Sometimes, we face judgment from others about what we have chosen to work towards.

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y the time we are about our parents’ age, we will likely have achieved a decent amount of these goals, if not all, assuming that they have not changed. Change is a real possibility, as it is common to want different things in different stages of life. For some, maybe they realize that they are not happy with what they thought they wanted all those years. We can see this through examples like divorce, career changes, and the infamous mid-life crisis.

In our society, there’s quite a bit of stigma around these major life changes. People may initially feel like they have failed if they are going through a nasty divorce or switching their job after years of doing something else successfully. This stigma can damage self-worth and cause some individuals to feel even more lost than they did as young people.

For others, maybe things generally did go as planned.

They have a calm life in suburbia, a stable job in something they relatively enjoy, and a strong network of friends and family. However, nothing is perfect, right?

Even though they may have what they wanted on paper, there is always more to the story. Maybe their children are unruly and rebellious. Maybe their neighbors are super annoying. Perhaps they really do not get along with their bosses or coworkers at their jobs. All of this is to highlight that we can never truly have it all.

Once we hit retirement age, we have most likely achieved what we set out to do, at least for the big things. We probably have some form of an ideal family, home, and work experience. Since these ideals have been accomplished, retirees will use other aspects of their lives to define their self-worth. t this point, maybe they start placing more value on self-growth through hobbies. To get to this point, they have likely spent many years of hard work.

Because of that, they probably did not have much time for hobbies like painting, writing, or gardening when they were younger. Retirement can be a great time for people to better themselves or their skills through hobbies and work at their own pace.

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In nearly every life stage, we are taught that our self-worth is derived from things like our colleges, jobs, status, homes, and goals.

While goals can be helpful motivators, the rest of these things place a heavy amount of pressure on us and are not really related to who we are as individuals. Where you went to school or worked definitely is a part of you, but it is not the only part.

Self-worth should be found in what makes us unique. It should be defined by how we treat others. It should be defined by how we keep persevering, even when it is difficult. It should be defined by our confidence and self-love.

By allowing self-worth to not be limited to just our achievements, we can learn deeper truths about ourselves. We can learn how to value and love who we are on the inside. By having a strong sense of positive self-worth, we can keep growing emotionally and spiritually; even when we slow growth in other areas of life.

Ultimately, this complex journey of uncovering our inner value is what makes life worth living.

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we can never truly have it all.

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