Issuu

Hope Armstrong

The first time I fell in love with was when I was 19.

by RR

For most of my life, I was afraid of cats, thinking they might scratch or hurt me. Of course, I soon learned that cats are angels and amazing creatures. My neighbor who lived above me adopted this elderly cat from the shelter, his name was Cricket. He was about 13, black fur with big bright green eyes.

This cat was the sweetest soul, he flopped all over your shoes and gave countless headbutts. He would spoon you on the couch and loved just about everyone. Meeting him showed me that cats are kind, funny, adorable, mischievous, and all around spectacular.

Since then, I now proudly claim being a crazy cat lady. I’ve had my own cats and even work doing adoptions for a local cat rescue. I LOVE CATS!!

*notCricket

I've always loved the water and everything in it. The beach, the river, the lake, event the mud puddles made after a heavy rain. Water brings me life. Maybe it's because I'm a Pisces. Maybe it's because Silvermist is (one of) my favorite Disney fairies. Or maybe it's because I religiously watched Shark Week every year. But the water and all its' creatures fascinate me. Let me swim, let me dive, let me surf, and I'll thrive. Throw me in with lemon sharks or turtles, I wanna explore the seas and see them all.

Yeah... slight problem with that... I don't know how to swim. Believe me, I've tried and I'm still trying. But this has not been a beach picnic, a walk on the boardwalk or Sunday stroll by the lake. This has been some seriously stressful sh*t. Maybe it's because I feel (slightly) burnt out from all my efforts. Maybe I'm being a little cynical. After all, I didn't always used to feel this way. The first time I tried learning how to swim felt so freeing. I felt one with the water; seeing the tops and bottom of the surface line simultaneously while the sun's light painted rainbows atop the watery reflection. A little water filled my ears but I didn't mind it. I guess that's what connection is like. It was nice, at first. Well... the water and I got a little too connected.

The water became obsessed and started to pull me down. Pulling me towards the bottom of the pool, where we could fully embrace. I was scared of this sudden commitment. I mean, I was only seven.

A little too soon to settle down with the chlorinated waters of my auntie's backyard pool. Unable to float back up to the surface. Far away from the pool ladder and even farther from the steps. Seven years old and seven feet underwater; buried in a watery tomb.

I guess this was a fun way to go. And after all, I've always loved the water and all its' creatures. I've always admired its' grace and power. The rain puddles, the streams and the seas I've never seen... A lonely fish in a pond far away from home. She may not make it all the way but what a great journey it has been. Well, I obviously didn't drown. Better yet, I think the experience grew me into something more.

All these failed attempts to float and swim while everyone else seems to have it so easy and figured out. Is there a point in continuing to try when you've embarrassed yourself too many time to count?

Maybe I'm not meant to swim with the sharks and the turtles and the fish. Maybe land is all that is meant for me.

And yet with every failed attempt, with every sinking to the bottom, every milliliter of water in my lungs, every anxiety that I might not make it, that I will never make it and that I am destined to fail... I still love the water and every living thing in it.

I am still not swimming but I am still here. And I know one day the water and I will finally meet in the middle.

by@raquelcool

first time I got stuck in an elevator, I was 10 years old, my brother 8

Our apartment building had a tiny elevator that we liked to joyride one day

Between floors 9 and 10 it jolted to a stop

I remember this decisive moment where I knew

I could either stay calm and trust, or just freak out!

I chose the second one.

I remember the tears, I remember the hours, but Mostly I remember noticing That fork in the road

Where you get to choose

butMostly I remember noticing

That fork in the road

Where you get to choose

I used to think healing was about moving on. Leaving the past in the past. Growing up and getting over it. But then I met the part of me I thought I had buried… the younger version of me who was still there, still waiting. And I realized they weren’t a ghost. They weren’t gone. They were alive inside me, curled up in the corners of my mind, holding their breath.

The first time I truly saw them, I was doing parts work: a kind of inner conversation where I met the different versions of myself, the ones that had been hurt, silenced, or forgotten. I expected them to be angry. Maybe even defiant. But they looked up at me with wide, tired eyes and asked, “Why didn’t you protect me?”

“Why didn’t you protect me?”

I didn’t have an answer. But I did have something I had never given them before: my full attention. My softness. My love.

That day, I sat with them. I didn’t lecture her about how strong they were. I didn’t try to explain away what happened or why I did the things I did to survive. I didn’t blame them for being scared, or for how they tried to cope. I didn’t say “you should have known better.”

Not in a rushed or dismissive way. Not a “sorry you feel that way.” A real, tender apology that poured out from the deepest part of me. I told them they didn’t deserve what happened. That I should have listened to their cries for help sooner. That I should have let them be a kid, instead of making them grow up so fast. I told them they mattered then. That they still do.

Then I did something else I had never done before… I held them. Not physically, of course, but in the only way I could: I imagined their small frame resting against my chest, and I wrapped my arms around them with everything I wished someone had done for me.

There were no harsh words. No scolding. No shame. Just breath. Just presence. Just love.

And in that moment, something softened inside me. I didn’t have to exile them anymore. They weren’t something to “get over.” They were someone to welcome home.

It was the first time I realized healing isn’t about fixing what’s broken. It’s about returning to the parts of ourselves we abandoned and whispering, “You never deserved any of that, and I’m here now. I won’t leave you again.”

I just said, “I’m so sorry.” And I meant it. I just said, “I’m so sorry.” And I meant it. by Miranda

There'saFireToday

It must have been sometime in late November, because I remember the air getting cooler and cooler as the sun set behind the horizon: a sign that Miss Winter was on her way. We had strung a few hammocks around a cluster of trees and bundled in pairs under layers of jacket and blanket.

Someone had a speaker–I can’t remember who. We were listening to a tune or two, swaying as the sky turned pink and orange. I was content, feeling the good energy coming from the people in my company. And then, the damn song played.

At once, the sweet-sounding strum wrapped me up and pulled me into its delicate web. I was entranced by the melody playing through the little speaker. Despite its size, the song sounded significant, weaving itself through trees and rolling down the hills of the knoll.

It was as if I had crawled inside the belly of the guitar, feeling the chords course through my veins. My heart beat alongside the rhythm–slow, soothing, yet awake, alive.

The song, full of Cs and A & E Minors, seemed to paint the picturesque scene before us. The tree-littered hills rolled down into the glittering ocean. The sky was pink and orange and yellow and delicious. I think Billie Marten may have recorded “Cartoon People” just for me. I never wanted that song to end. I wanted it to go on forever and ever, preserving the moment, surrounded by friends, bundled up, beautiful. If I could, I’d make a home inside the belly of Billie Marten’s guitar, sleeping to the sounds of her harmonies.

By ZD

aanodetomyseamripper nodetomyseamripper

byST

We met on a rookie mistake a sleeve sewn on backwards, stitches crooked and proud.

At first, I cursed you. You are a little blade of shame, undoing all I thought I’d done right.

But now I know better. You are not a failure; you are freedom. A reset button in pink plastic.

I love you, seam ripper. Because of you, I keep sewing.

byd.laluz

The first time I smelled pavement I was elated.

I had moved here from Mexico not long beforehand and I hadn't laughed in a while.

I was at the daycare with the red door. Did it have a name? Who knows? We always called it the daycare with the red door. It was a hot day and the teachers had set a sprinkler on the asphalt. It was the early 80's and stripping down to your underroos on a hot day was a privilege and no one thought it unusual. Now, it would shut a place down in scandal. We stood by in our skivvies and waited for the water to be turned on.

As it sprayed we started running through it, first with giggles then accelerating to full laughter as we chased each other. I didn't speak much English at the time but we were all communicating the language of joy.

When I smell hot pavement now, that distinct smell, it still brings a smile so big, the corners of my mouth reach my ears. Again.

by @sbinlover

I fell in love was when I went to a kpop roup called ATEEZ. Now you ’ re probably was my first kpop concert or concert in . This was not my first kpop concert or the way ATEEZ was performing was so ne. Their stage presence was something mething I had never seen before or even breathtaking. I can ’t recall every single one song that they performed that has n my mind ever since was ‘fireworks’ . oyoung perform ‘fireworks’ was so He had so much energy to put out. It’ s to be there, was enjoying himself, and he was doing. There aren ’t words to uch that performance meant to me and had on me, and I will never forget it. It engraved in my brain..how he moved and hat song. How much he was enjoying are such great artists. I hope one day I m live again, and fall in love once again.

A Fond Farewell A Fond Farewell

by Milo (she/they)

Farewell to a dream I once held, Farewell to the safety I thought I had found.

Farewell to the redwoods And the fog’s soft embrace.

Farewell to 60 degree summers, And deer on every trail.

Farewell to koi ponds, And movie nights.

Farewell to tiny dorm rooms, And long flights of stairs.

Farewell to comp sci majors, and creepy forest paths.

Farewell to lighthouses, And stoners on every corner.

Farewell to sunsets on the squiggle, And bus rides down the coast.

Farewell to gentrifiers, And tech bros on every corner.

Farewell to surfers and floods, Farewell to banana slugs, Lounging in the mud.

Turns out there’s more to the Bay, Than bridges and flower crowns.

rewell to grind culture, ewell to steep sidewalks spooky Victorian homes. o sea lions lounging at the pier, And coyotes lurking in the dark.

Farewell to midnight trips To Safeway and Ferrell’s Farewell to dutch crunch bread, And screaming college kids “I’m trying to go to bed!”

Farewell to dining hall chicken sandwiches, And soft serve machines.

And farewell to friends who never called, Who never cared, To check if you were okay.

Farewell to friends who weren’t there, To hold you through Your very first breakup. Farewell, Farewell.

When I grow up I want to be loved

by Val (he/they)

I want so badly to know who I am

And who I will become

Ripping myself into pieces

In the hopes that somehow

The answer lies in the scraps.

So much of me was a lie

Sewing myself into skin that never fit

Stretching tight over my bones

Until I couldn’t breathe.

Now I shed my old skin

Searching for a new identity

One that will fit.

They say beauty is only skin deep

So I am stuck wondering

What lies in my bones.

All that’s left is the desire to be more than this

All I know about myself is that I want to be something

To someone else.

I keep telling myself that If I just make it out I will be okay

That I will find my people

But what if I really was the problem

All along?

What If I can’t run away

Because no matter how fast or how far you go

You can never outrun yourself.

I’m scared that I’ll leave and it will be the wrong choice

I’m scared I won’t be able to make it alone.

I don't know who I am

But I am frantic

And lovesick

And rabid

I am a wild animal with its leg caught in a trap

Attempting to gnaw my way out.

I don’t know a lot

But I know that I cannot stay like this

Or I will lose some part of myself.

I don’t know if I will survive the next few years

In this body

But I will fight for it, tooth and nail.

I don't know if I will make it

To the point where I get to be myself

I don’t know If I will get to grow up.

But if I do

I know that I want to be loved.

When I grow up I want to be loved.