I to I

T A B L E O F C O N T E N T S

preface

This project came to us in a fever dream, born from the pain, beauty, frustration, delight, and absolute chaos of becoming a woman. What started as a month-long endeavor became an experience where we let the words enter our consciousness and let them bleed into the page. Identity is such a mercurial, ephemeral object that we wanted to honor its every reflection. We wrote to answer questions like, When do little girls become women? What does being a woman mean? What makes a woman anyways? Every turn of phrase was carefully thought out, every theme a gritty idea of a rock we pounded into a diamond. Our work was a delicate little thing we breathed life into and now we set loose into the world. As you flip through the pages of our work, we invite you to think about your identity; to rethink, rediscover, and look at yourself eye to eye. - indi & ingrid rose

Creative Directors

INGRID BAUTISTA

INDI JIMENEZ

Photographers

INGRID BAUTISTA

STEPHEN MICHAEL CAMALIG

RACHEL FROGOSO

INDI JIMENEZ

ROMELLA KIRONG

MAERYLL QUIJADA

Model LA ARNIE TAGANA

Studio GARAGE X STUDIOS

the woman is OF THE HOU

a woman is an empty house a constant state of disarray the halls are empty, thumbtacks on the floor her mother closed the door hurriedly and left some room to grow

she comes by and inspects the built-ins, the lights she knows her bonesthe cement, the steel, the wood she picks each piece of furniture, from the linens to the tiles

every single thing is hers the light softly touches her hair, her life this wide, wild space is hers this house is she and it is a privilege to be invited in

THE LIGHT SE

What does it feel like?

To have a home that genuinely welcomes you With curtains that don’t dull your color And with doors for inviting and not farewells?

In the wee hours of the morning, they serve me words of refusal for breakfast And remind me to take reality pills after supper Still hungry for acceptance, I make myself dinner with the leftover crumbs of what I could’ve been

In this space that traps me in, I sit and stare at the crumbling walls, While I comfort myself with my eight-legged past that creeps up behind me, Intermingling with the webs of my unfortunate present

pain is sweeter than cured meat percolating in sugary trauma its cloying flavors go way back sliding down, down, down my throat

us girls keep our pain on the back burner until it burns the house down, lights out us girls keep our closets full of skeletons they dance when things go south

pain is hotter than a May summer sun its feline shape burrows in the uterus it crawls and stretches, making room bleeding out, out, out for days on end

us girls keep close - holding sermons at the clubs after all, who else will keep us safe but us?

us girls keep our nails sharp and ready don’t forget to text when you get home

pain is shinier than department-store lip gloss

you can feel it on my lips before we kiss every woman has their shade of pinky pain

our smiles are well acquainted with it

on the painful jo OF

The night draws long, And you start to grow weary Your body feels the strain

As you carry the weight of a thousand fears

You navigate the long winding road ahead

Without a map and only the stars to guide you

Still, you drag your feet, and see That this wasteland is devoid of life

Nestled in between your toes is the coarse sand

And your skin feels the chilly wind echoing your silent call for help However, you don’t mind You still carry on

This journey to liberation

Is one that you started Coming from a need of your own To come to terms with the wholeness of your being

Whenever you see the end in sight, Everything around you feels a little bit more against you The gust feels stronger

And your fragile back seems a little bit heavier

Then, it crosses your mind

It would be good to have someone to bear this burden with While exploring the barren field of your form

Oh, how good would it be, how better it would be…

ourney F BEING A WOMAN

sometimes i marvel that i am alive that i have a warm body that has all its working parts that i have this indescribable soul born of a multitude of stars how strange, how infinitely incredible that somehow, from all the decisions and actions my mother and father have led them to me they have dreamed of me, spoken me into existence and now i am here, well and alive! how queer, how decadently sweet that electricity runs through my veins, lighting thousands of fireworks in my brain i am young and so divine if i was made to liken the face of my Creator then I too, have the indescribable, magical power to create worlds and make light i am alive, so very alive, words crumble before the mightiness of my life how beautiful it is to be alive!

ON LoV SE

VING LF

Take it or leave it, I am known by the letters they brand me

From the day the seed yielded fruit

Someone tilled the land for me

Laying the ground for what I shall grow into

I turn into a sprout With the thirst for more, So I absorb more The sun I take, The water I drink, The air I breathe, The dirt I lay on Everything I coexist with becomes me

Am I only going to wither at the end? Without growing into my fullest The abundance of the “ me ” in me wanes Should the moment my stem lean to what they cultivated me into A tree that gives and only gives.

But even I don’t know how tall this tree shall stand Nor how far it could reach, One thing is certain, To be upright Is something I’m not

That, I want to show to the world

How my leaves could blossom into the most colorful kind

on the exploration

i have a womb and it’s a secret nestled deep in my body my womb is an inhospitable place my womb is a bloody battleground its sacred grounds are war-torn its atmosphere is a frozen hell there’s nothing in it that will make me happy there’s nothing in it at all my womb sucks life’s marrow out of me my womb defines everything that i am i have a womb and it’s killing me from the inside

of the body

The glow from the rectangle perturbs I see someone I want to be

My clothes must fit like hers So I cut a portion of me to fit just like it

She was the tender type So I let the corners of my mouth show less

Her hair, the sunlight that seeps into my room Her skin, the color of the clouds I look up to

I am a fugitive, taking fragments from others To use it to build myself

But at what point did I start comparing myself to others, Telling me to love me less?

My hair, the ink I write with My skin, the color of the earth I stand upon

Every inch of my being, inside and out Is what makes me, me

But I know loving myself shall take time, And it’s a journey without a destination I shall patiently wait for.

The pests beckon us to hide ourselves, Concealing our vivid hues from the onlookers. From the cocoon they try to suppress us in, We cry for acceptance, But they holler back refusal, tenfold.

Where then shall we unfold our wings in full vibrance? To not rid us and everyone of their right to freely roam? How wonderful then is the feeling of taking flight without fear. If our conformity entails ingenuine balance in this garden of life, Then this space is where flowers shall decay.

At the facade is beauty, Beneath are the unrelenting pests that defile and seize the sanctuary we built, Disguising their tranquility from desolation. Undeterred, we continue to show how far we can go, And at the end of it all, real serenity in liberation can be achieved.

Thus, in this ever-changing place, What can’t be taken away is the blend of colors in us The harmony of our hues within ourselves can touch every being Lush, this garden wouldn’t be, if it weren’t for our existence Banded together, we create the most radiant kaleidoscope of butterflies.

acknowledgments

So many people were involved in making this project a reality, and this could not have happened without them all. Our photographers and model who came along and walked side-by-side in our journey, I have so much gratitude for your dedication and trust in us. Thank you for creating such beautiful pieces that helped made our words shine. To Ingrid, I could not have imagined doing this with anyone else but you. You make writing a dream and a joy; working with you was the most fun I had in the past month. Thank you for your beautiful words. -

indi

This project is the brainchild of my wonderful partner, Indi. If it weren't for her inviting me to work with her on our Media and Gender output, I wouldn't have had the pleasure to go out of my comfort zone and write about things that I usually feel, regarding loving myself and expressing myself. The kind words we heard from people regarding the project we are doing, motivated us to pursue this. Seeing it all transpire, my heart is full of gratitude and joy.

To you, our reader, I hope you can get something from the words we have written. Always remember, acceptance of yourself is foremost.

- ingrid rose