Spring Issue 2024

LELYGAAN

EDITOR’S NOTE

Spring! A season which brings new life to all things on earth. It gets us all excited for the new cycle of life we’re about to start, to get back in the sunlight, and inspires us to be creative again. A new season, a new Lelygaan year, a new perspective. This issue’s theme is ‘moving in, moving out’, as we are all ever-changing through the seasons of life, spring even more than most. Much change has happened in my world lately, both professionally and personally. I moved into a new place, turned twenty, made friends, and lost friends. I’m moving into a new decade of life and am moving out of my teenage years. It all falls so perfectly into place, leaving parts of myself in the winter and embarking on a journey to find new parts of myself, and life, between the flowers that are popping up everywhere in the city. A new story, memory, or person, hidden between the green leafs that unfold from the trees in the Noorderplantsoen. Lelygaan has been a terrific outlet for the feelings all this change has brought along with it, something I was initially terrified of. Now that I’m in it though, I find myself simply writing about it, and channeling all the fear and doubt into something I know I can hold onto, which is this very magazine.

Everyone featured in this issue has done a terrific job of channelling the feeling of moving in and out. Whether that means moving between physical places, states of

mind, or phases of life, it’s all here. As we all evolve through our seasons, let Lelygaan be a place where we can stand still in time for a second and appreciate the brilliant force that is art, in all its forms. Create a space for yourself in the world this spring, and above all, enjoy it.

With all my love,

NICOLE PEREIRA FEATURED

SONIC DATA AUDIO

REACTIVE VISUAL

Transitioning from Zimbabwe to the Netherlands as an international student, I’ve exchanged the familiar comforts of home for a new beginning abroad. The journey has been enriching and is an adventure I’d eagerly repeat. One thing that I was confronted with while moving in and out of these two lives was the extreme contrasts of environments between the two different countries.

Raised among the tranquility of nature and wildlife, I found myself yearning for that amidst the Netherlands’ advanced infrastructure. This yearning inspired the creation of this artwork. As a graphic designer with a keen interest in audio reactive visuals, I’ve produced a piece that responds to sound.

The artwork is a sonic visual representation using six sounds that hold personal significance, reflecting my life in both countries:

Each sound influences the Sonic Data Visual, drawing lines that vary in response to their pitch and intensity. Intriguingly, the lively tempo of the developed world generates more lines than the sounds from the developing world, which prompted me to contemplate the issue of noise pollution in highly industrialized countries.

This artistic approach offers a unique perspective on environmental contrasts through the lens of sound. Constantly navigating between these two realms, I’ve come to cherish the distinct beauty each one holds.

The Weeds

by Anju Kamaly

I will continue to rip out my roots in hopes to keep the rot from spreading

‘The weeds’ started as a form of contemplation before my nineteenth birthday, as I was thinking about how I’d grown as a person over the past year, having become an adult and started University. The poem is a short and bittersweet moment for me as it looks at the way change is vital but necessary for growth.

The concept of my roots is especially important for me as a Bangladeshi woman living within the Western Diaspora, as I’m constantly battling with different definitions of self, and contemplating which ‘roots’ are mine to claim and which are not. My hope with this poem is to mourn who I was while cultivating who I am, as I’m moving in and moving out.

A visit to Grandma’s

I went back after eight years. A slight nip in the air pinched me when I stepped out of the car. A line of orange and yellow chrysanthemums danced up the driveway. The smell of spring, the warmth of the sun, and the shade of the mango trees that I grew up climbing. Round windows on the second floor made the house look like a big white ship. Carefully placed cane chairs were waiting for us on the verandah. There was a woof, and the clickclacking of a hurried walking stick trying to make its way through cousins, aunts, big hugs, and loud laughs. The chaos of childhood was trapped in the walls, photographs with seeping colours framing the house. Serious faces and straight spines stuck in time. I stared at pictures of my dad when he was younger than I am now, trying to find the resemblance everyone always makes sure to point out.

“Lunch is ready! Come to the dining room!” The aromas of chicken, fish, and fresh rotis made my stomach growl. All of it was prepared by the frail hands of a woman who would never know what any of it tastes like. Conversations and life updates hummed as we went around the table.

“Food made with love tastes different. Mmm!” Tea was served after lunch and eyes got heavier as we sat in a circle on the verandah, watching people on the road. Hawkers went by with carts full of fresh vegetables, bellowing lyrics - “Aloo, Pyaaz, Tamatar-rrrr,” - disturbing the post-lunch peace.

As the eyes started drooping one by one, I made my way upstairs. The door knobs had gathered dust. Stories echoed in my head.

Grandma’s

by Shrila Kanth

The house was built generations ago, and retellings of summers spent with all the cousins under one roof seemed to play out in front of me. I touched the doorknob, taking on the dust, and entered the room. The room that traded hands too many times. It was my uncle’s, then my aunt’s, then my father’s. I tried to imagine his posters on the walls, cigarette cases hidden in drawers, windows wide open as his friends sparked more than just simple conversations. The room was taken over by my cousin. Her diaries and stickers on the mirror remained in the same place, making it all feel less abandoned.

People came, they grew up, and they left to pursue life. The rest remained untouched behind dusty knobs. Baba’s library is the crown jewel of the property. Black and red leather-bound books lined every wall, world histories and the nation’s struggles kept safely behind glass cases. I was there to find a book that I was desperate for; the primary source for my graduation thesis. Baba’s shelves were stacked with great promises. After spending the whole afternoon rummaging, I found the pages I’d been looking for. I stepped out and locked the room behind me.

Another one leaving to pursue life. The rest remained untouched behind dusty knobs. I excitedly went to my grandmother to seek permission to take the book far away from its home. It was granted in a heartbeat. So we sat on the verandah in cane chairs, talking about thesis ideas, the past eight years, and a man who loved his books.

FEATURED ARTIST

LIZ AUER

My name is Liz Auer. I’m a twenty-fouryear-old professional photographer based in Vienna, Austria. Art has always been a part of my life - I was always quite musical, loved drawing when I was little, and started playing with my parents’ digital camera at the age of about seven.

After a series of changes and dropping out of schools, I had an identity crisis at just twenty years old. I didn’t know where I belonged and was unsure of what I wanted to make of my life. It felt like being in an open sea without having a destination to swim to and getting pushed by the waves of others’ opinions in one direction or another. It made me feel like I was about to drown in expectations I couldn’t ever fulfill. Turns out, life is trial and error and I’m terrified of failure.

So, in the past four years I’ve been taking steps forward, but to be honest from time to time again also some steps backwards. I moved 5 times - from Tyrol to Graz (where my first shared flat experience wasn’t great, but the second one made up for it; I’ve met one of my closest friends there),

back to my hometown after finishing my studies at Akademie für Angewandte Photographie in Graz. After half a year of living and working with my parents, I decided to move out again and move to Vienna. I’ve seen 3 different therapists in that time, and still go to therapy more or less regularly. I’ve taken countless photographs in the past four years, but didn’t show most of them out of fear of not being good enough - would others ever deem my work worth showing? Will it ever pay for my living? Will people book me for portraits, will they think of my name when they hear of somebody looking for a photographer? Will my photos hang on walls in living rooms, in galleries, will they get printed in magazines? I will never know unless I try, send emails, show my photographs, and allow myself to fail - over and over again. Here’s what these photos mean to me: I’ve been sitting in my feelings. In my fears. Hurt. I’ve been grieving situations I can’t change anymore. I’ve been looking at how I’ve been growing. This is to moving in and moving out, packing and unpacking, taking the experiences with you, letting them shape you. Be open to what’s coming, and be open to taking steps for yourself.

Instagram, Threads, TikTok: @liz.auer

www.lizauerfotographie.com

info@lizauerfotographie.com

Saoradh

by Leon Christians

Liberation will come. Liberation must come. We stray from the driven path into an abyss of pain, but are ignorant to this change of course. We have become complicit; stuck at Station Status Quo. The Rage we all should feel at the death of our siblings should be strong enough to strike fear in the bones of gods, but here we are, barely striking fear in politicians. Have we all sold our souls to the money gods, the spirits of greed and hoardery? One feels abandoned, or even worse betrayed.

If we let the light of liberation vanish into that abyss of pain, our hope will vanish too. The Fight for Liberation is a path to freedom, the fight for liberation is a fight for safety, land, and bread for all; a fight for all the souls lost in the wars of the past, the present, and the avoidable future. If we just stand up…

But alas, we lie down, heads low when the rockets start to fly.

We aren’t a community willing to fight for each other. We are individuals, bred and conditioned into a way of life that alienates us from each other, a way of life focused on who we are and want to be; isolated in a crowd, isolated even from ourselves. Have we lost what our ancestors so valued? I don’t think we have, but maybe the West of us has. Ignorance is bliss - what is another thousand dead children to us?

What cruelty we speak of. I know the crying and screaming you would do, the blaming and fighting you would do, were you in the shoes of those oppressed people you don’t bother to think twice about.

Where does this land us? We’re back at a crossroads, dear friend. Liberation for all to one side of our winding existence, life behind a shield of ignorance and privilege behind the other. Humanity or Money, Humanity or Profit. Your choice defines you and mine defines me.

Let it speak, whisper in your ear of a better tomorrow. Let it whisper of the birds, the leaves that shake in the wind, slowly wagging along to the innate rhythm. Let it speak of the people, the land, and the love that is out there for all to grasp. Let us scream and be the hope, for a tomorrow not of peace, but of liberation.

Tiocfaidh ar lá, saoirse don Phalaistín.

“My

music production music and the irresistible

Listen local:

Groningen’smusical

Groningen is a vibrant hub where creativity thrives. After platforming writers and visual artists for three issues, we want to explore the dynamic music scene of our city, which truly offers a little something for everyone We live in a breeding ground for artistic flair and dynamic emerging talents - from indie bands to cover artists to electronic DJs, Groningen is the ideal setting for locals and internationals to captivate audiences!

Keep an ear out for these upcoming artists around town!

production comes from a deep love for irresistible urge to create.” - Filip

“Music

is everywhere I go.” - Ruby

local:

Groningen’s risingmusical talents

by Shrila Kanth

“My song lyrics are about what I feel; from love to grief, and the multitudes of what it is to be human.” - Annika

“Music

is something I am very passionate about; it is what defines me.” - Jahangir

Filip Cudic

I am Chudix, a music producer from Croatia. My music production comes from a deep love for music and the irresistible urge to create. Making music has allowed me to express myself fully, and let my ideas come alive.

My musical journey began back in 2015 when I experimented with genres like pop, hip-hop, and electronic music. Drawing inspiration from the works of artists like Diplo, I immersed myself in experimentation with different sounds and styles. I teamed up with my best friend, a talented singer, who taught me the essence of songwriting and encouraged me to develop my production skills.

After moving to Groningen, I crossed paths with an Italian rapper, Gaddo, and started a collaboration that pushed me into different production styles, ranging from indie and synthpop to liquid drum and bass. The internet has really helped me learn and experiment with these genres. In recent years, my focus has also shifted towards crafting laidback beach house tracks inspired by Minimum and AfroHouse.

Soon, I will release some of my new tracks under the LibertasMusic Label, and in the future, I plan on collaborating with more artists and start DJing, which I love to do!

Jahangir Zahur2.

When I was three years old, I started playing the piano when my father put a small keyboard in front of me. Since he used to play the piano as well, it wasn’t long before I started playing and started my journey into music. Over the years, my parents recognized my growing interest and bought me one of the latest keyboards and for that, I’m so grateful. I also learnt how to play the guitar and that helped me further expand my repertoire.

In 2018, when I came to the Netherlands, I was lucky enough to find a Job at the Huis de Beurs and the Van der Velde bookstore as a pianist and musician.

At the Huis de Beurs, I played four times a week and switched between singing, playing the guitar, or playing the piano.

The performance bug stayed with me and I decided to put myself out there and advertise my music online. I managed to gain invites to perform at weddings and parties.

Today I continue to play at weddings and many other events. Music is something I am very passionate about; it is what defines me. Artists such as Gregory Alan Isakov, Ed Sheeran, John Mayer, and Simon and Garfunkel truly inspire me in terms of songwriting and making something meaningful.

Annika Brug3.

I’d describe my musical style as a mix of folk, indie, alternative rock and sometimes even pop songs. It’s a mix of all the genres I listen to and which inspire me. Some of my biggest inspirations lately have been Leith Ross, Mistki, Radiohead and Fontaines D.C.

My song lyrics are about what I feel; from love to grief, and the multitudes of what it is to be human.

I’ve always played instruments from a very young age. I had recorder lessons and played a lot of classical music until I was 12. Soon after that, I found my mom’s guitar in the attic and taught

myself how to play it so I could write songs. When I was 15, I discovered bands that inspired me to take making music more seriously, and I started posting covers of songs on YouTube, along with some originals as well! I started experimenting with producing those songs, and so the next logical step was to upload some to Soundcloud and Spotify.

For the past year, I’ve been focusing more on live performances and having a band play with me at shows. I’m also the bassist of a band called BLOOM, and working with them and other musicians has taught me so much already!

4.

Annika Ruby Daun

My name is Ruby Daun and I am a 22-yearold graduate and musician from Brussels. After completing my bachelor’s degree in Groningen, music has clearly surfaced as a priority for me. From singing ever since I could talk, to dabbling around in music production for the past few years, music is everywhere I go. Though I know very little about music theory and production, and though my equipment is minimal, there always seems to be a way to create something. It is that specific lack of knowledge that allows me to express myself with no rules or expectations. My ethic as a musician, for now, is very DIY and playful. I want to prove to myself that not only can creativity come out of any set-up, but an impactful work of art can also be made with minimal tools.

For my latest single ‘Oh Man’, I used GarageBand on my iPad, a microphone, and sound samples I got from YouTube to do my best at speaking out on climate urgency and sociopolitical issues. As an artist, I want to explore how I can communicate my thoughts to people but also find it important to foster discussions and awareness on important topics. I think music, however produced, has immense potential to inspire people, and I hope to achieve that in the future.

Go have a listen to my two singles on Spotify, and stay tuned for an upcoming homemade ambient-experimental EP and other projects!

I encourage everyone to get their hands on GarageBand or any program that is available to you, and see what your mind can create!

who are you afraid of ?

by Ray Angel Spiller

in our world, i won’t stop, “i’ll burn that house i mean it”

my hands flinching as i picture you screaming,

“anyways don’t become a stranger” your eyes black and bleeding.

in my world, i hit you hard, then blue

“i know it’s for the better”

i’ll shove remorse down your throat, until you’re sorry.

you ?

i’m ray. a writing student in galway, ireland. this is a little poem inspired by a lot of the music i listened to this summer. after a friend hurt both me and my other friends, the shock and anger i was feeling led to a lot of strange big emotions. which i then turned into a collection of poems including this one!

by Noa Bente Maureen Prins

‘This is stupid’, I mumble to myself as I type ‘what age do girls lose their virginity’ into the Google search bar.

‘Wow, you literally became an editor-in-chief before you got laid.’ It was meant as a joke, I was fully aware of that, yet the words kept swirling around my head for days after hearing them. I did become an editor-in-chief before I ever had sex. Was that a bad thing? Why did they say it like that? Did it mean I was doing things in the wrong order? Is there something wrong with me? I hit search and sigh as my worries are confirmed. ‘17.’

I’ve failed to meet the deadline. I’m 3 years too late. Every time I hung out with my friends and the topic steered towards everyone’s sex lives flashed before my eyes. I just sat there and listened, having nothing to contribute but a nod and a smile at things I could never relate to. I think about the times I’d overheard my neighbours or roommates having sex; something so intimate happening only a wall away.

I’m definitely doing something wrong.

‘Maybe I should just do it, get it over with.’ I think the minute my friends have gone back home to their partners. It’s not that big of a deal, they say about their first times. To me, though, it is. Maybe that’s weird, maybe that’s my ever-overthinking mind running its course again. All of my friends have had sex. All of them, and they seem perfectly fine. Yes, I’m definitely overthinking this. It’s not at all that I don’t want to - I do. I simply need to have feelings for someone for it to even be an option, and so far, that has only happened once which certainly didn’t go well. I throw my laptop across my bed and contemplate all the choices past me has made.

Part 2. Reality Part

A chill ran down my spine as he whispered into my ear that he wanted me. I wish it had been one of anticipation, not one that foreshadowed the regret I’d feel the next morning. Sure he was nice, sure he was a good kisser, sure I took him home and let him lead me to my own bed. What does wanting me even mean? I wish it meant he wanted to know my thoughts on how I think it’s dumb we only look for water on other planets when there might be a different kind of life entirely, one that doesn’t need water to live. I truly did. The chill turned my stomach upside-down and suddenly all I wanted was for him to leave; for my safe haven to be mine again. He stayed for a couple of hours. His hands wandered a little too far. I didn’t like him enough. I didn’t love him. Maybe that’s just my ever-overthinking brain again, though.

A chill ran down my spine as she smiled at me when I looked up from her neck. A good one. Maybe this could be it, I think to myself, maybe this could be happening. Her hands were wandering a little bit but they were cautious and soft. She doesn’t ask me about my thoughts on space travel but her fingertips feel like they leave little stars on my neck. The chill turned into my stomach churning as she broke it off with me a week later. Maybe I should help NASA in their search for life and move to Mars, that way I’ll never have to think about this again because sex is not allowed in space travel.

Part 3. Aftermath

‘This is stupid’, I mumble to myself as I type ‘This is stupid, I mumble to myself as I type’ in the Google doc. My entire family will read this, my friends, colleagues, hell maybe even classmates. Everyone will know.

‘And so what?’

‘So everything.’

The lines above are the ever-arguing two opposites in my brain. ‘Sex is no big deal, just have fun.’

‘Only do it with someone you have feelings for.’

This debate started when I was about 16 - when I first seriously considered having sex. It had always been an interesting topic to me, but I’d never met anyone I wanted to do it with. And whilst everyone around me was ‘losing’ their virginity, I got chills from the idea of sleeping with anyone I knew. When I started university, I realised I was a student now. And a necessary part of student life was having sex, at least in my perception. Yet here I am, the number of degrees I have higher than my body count, a double bed that only I have ever slept in, and a head full of worries spiralling over what this says about me. I’m sure it won’t go away until I have sex with someone, whomever that may be. Until then, I’ll just be the outlier to fuck up the standard deviation of the Google search that confirmed all my worries.

Moving to and from the MountainsRocky

by Sandra Mako

and Rocky

Sanchez

I sat on my aunt and uncle’s back porch, smoking the weeds I had grown with them in exchange for rent. Smoke curled up from the still-lit bowl of a marble-colored bong, round and soft in pale wisps of blue and green. Through the white tendrils, I looked out at the backyard I had just finished raking. The leaves had fallen from the trees, revealing the windchimes; hung on their branches. A breeze played high notes through their strings. The shiloh shepherd, a dog as big as a small bear, rolled around in the grass, periodically looking back at me.

Breath escaped from me, long and heavy; the weight I had carried for so long slowly unburdening itself from my body.

An ocean away from the rain and fog of my childhood, I could see more clearly now in the sierra sun. Although it was painful, I had to look back at my memories. When I was there I was too close to see them. Here, now, I could finally begin to make sense of what was there; why I was unhappy when I was told I should smile.

Imagine you see your younger selves. Imagine you give them a hug. Imagine you see your older self. Imagine she’s holding your hand.

My aunt had been a reiki healer, back before she had become relegated to the bed through some post-stroke, indescribable sickness that had left her exhausted forever. She said to me these words when I asked for help. I was afraid of her when I first came to live with her - I was afraid of everyone those days. She would burn fires inside the house to ward off bad spirits and tell tales of sweat lodges and peyote; all things alarming at first, but with time we warmed to one another. I began to wash away my mask of apathy and let her see some more of me, and of the hurt I truly felt.

I hadn’t planned to stay here this long; to reveal myself to extended family. Colorado didn’t seem far enough. I wanted to go further west,

to the northern coast of forested and frosted Washington; as far as I could go.

Yet, on my first morning here, I sat eating breakfast in the spacious and bright dining room; a large contrast to some previous stops on my journey. My cousin came to sit next to me, her eyes sharp as a hawk. She asked me about my plan. I said I had none; just to see what was out there and find my place in it. She shook her head.

Everyone keeps telling you that everything is going to be alright, but it’s not. The world is a hard place. Stay here so we can keep you safe.

My cousin had just gotten out of rehab again. This time, she had moved back in with her parents, deciding to go to college and build a life she could stand sober. From her, I could feel a pain that outmatched mine; a pain grown by gangs and blood-stained knives. Perhaps she was right, I resided. She took me to get a job the next day.

I told myself I would leave after a couple of months. The next thing I knew I had spent over half a year here.

In this time I began to feel childhood naivety and adolescent anxiety meld and transform into something akin to adult determination. vMy choices were my own now. They could be fueled by a pursuit of pleasure and purpose, instead of by running away from fear.

Envisioning my younger selves, I said

It’s okay that you’re sad and afraid, there’s no need to hide these feelings. I am proud of you for being strong enough to not let them consume and stop you.

Envisioning my older self, I saw someone who never had to lie when they said they were doing well. I saw someone who was not ashamed to love things, to love people, to love themself.

I saw someone who could help others to find their voice when it was lost or taken away. I took her hand and asked her to guide me.

The sun began to set behind the mountains in the distance, turning them a cold purple while the sky radiated orange and red. In the growing darkness, they seemed to be moving further away. White sparks, the first evening stars, began to speckle the sky. Warm wind twirled pink and red flower petals in the cupped palms of a stone Buddha statue.

I was far from home, if home was back where I had lived the longest and not where I was born. I needed to return to Europe so as not to feel like I was running away. Here, I had learned to be strong enough to face my fears. I would return to the place where these fears first sprouted, and pull them out by the root. There was still fertile soil there, and I had learned to grow.

In 2017 I graduated from high school. At the time, I was very lost. I felt disconnected from my family and friends; our lives and the way we perceived things were so dissonant from one another - and still more from what we began to title “the real world”. “The real world” was everywhere outside the American military base I had grown up on.

After graduation, everyone seemed to be becoming a soldier, a military wife, or going to America; so I followed suit. Why not learn what the real America is like? The base had attempted to simulate the US - the same consumer goods and a constructed replica of a middleAmerica suburb; backyard grill included. Yet although they shared some things in appearance, their contents were far different.

Car rides and buses took me all across the Southwest and California, before stopping to breathe in Colorado. There I found a shelter from the storm, a place to rest and let rise all that remained buried; so I could pick out the treasure from the muck.

I grew a lot that year; learned about people, learned about myself. Yet I knew I did not want to stay there; the land felt too foreign and far and I missed Europe. After some time, I applied to come to the University of Groningen and make my home in the Netherlands.

FEATURED ARTIST

ANCA BARBU

With every bittersweet ending comes a new beginning, and for me, that was coming to the Netherlands to pursue my passion for design. I’m Anca Barbu, a graphic design student at Academie Minerva in Groningen. Moving away from home at just 18, this theme is very relevant to me. Oftentimes it’s difficult to express the feelings that come with such a change, but I find myself coming back to “Dor”, a Romanian word with no direct translation to English. “Dor” means a longing for loved ones; it’s the feeling of missing places and people, an emotional ache that comes with wanting to return to a familiar place.

This series started with my wish to visualise this word and to make others understand its meaning. In the process I found myself wondering; are there more words which hold a similar meaning, but fail to be translated, and thus to be understood?

I asked my international friends this question, and I was left with 3 more of these terms. “Sensucht”, a German term, has a similar meaning to “Dor”, while “Fernweh” (German) and “Ikigai” (Japanese) hold the opposite emotion, the excitement that comes with new beginnings. These works are my attempt at visualising the meanings of these terms in the way I know best: a play with typography, textures, and photographs.

Mother-wound

Mother-wound

by Sandra Longmore

When you first scraped your knee it felt irreparable, as if the blood would never stop. When it did, and the wound wept, you believed the weeping would never end. The eventual blood-crust brought relief from the pain, but the itching persisted. Angry wasps buzz in your knee with each motion, clamouring for your attention. Your body revealed the transience of pain, leaving behind only a small scar—a reminder of your accident, your pain, and your ability to heal. From that point on, scratches, bruises, and broken bones didn’t faze you. Healing began from the moment of injury.

You grew up with both parents, but your first mother was Beatrice. When you cried, she put you on her back; when you were hungry, she fed you, and when you were lonely, she was there. Then she left. You were old enough; you didn’t need her anymore. That’s what your parents tell you as she walks away. You press your face to the window, tears streaming down your wet cheeks. You believed the streams would never end. The searing pain in your chest, initially mistaken for acid reflux, is treated with an antacid by your second Mother, whom you knew in the womb. The burn persists, but you believe it will get better, just like the first time you skinned your knee.

At eight years old, your second Mother called you a selfish bitch. Locked in your bedroom, you sob into your pillow. Why would She say that? The reason escapes you, but you think it must be true. Beatrice never lies; why would Mother? Once more, your chest-wound opens up, and the void within burns like a ring of fire. You believed the burn would never cease. When you woke with tear-stained cheeks, the heat intensified and metamorphosed into anger. You wrote and felt better, realising that internal wounds seemed to heal faster. A scribbled hate letter addressed to your Mother is stashed in your chest of drawers. You felt better, realising that internal wounds seemed to heal even faster.

At twelve, you got your first boyfriend. You heard your parents comment on how cute it was, cooing amongst themselves. Your ear meets the hardwood door of their bedroom and you strain to hear their hushed whispers. Overhearing Her concerns about a string of boyfriends and early pregnancies, you convinced yourself of its truth. Beatrice never lies; why would Mother? The burn expands. You believed its spread would never stop. A tear-stained letter joined the crumpled one in your chest of drawers. Closing the drawer dulled the ache. You broke up with your boyfriend the following day and avoided boys for the rest of secondary school. This time you didn’t know if it would ever get better.

Retreating to your bedroom became the new norm, and slowly you became recused to your safe place, away from Mother-pain. Books became your escape, lining your shelves with countless worlds. Safe in fictional worlds, you faced verbal pricks from your Mother, unaware that with each one, the hole in your chest grew wider. The burn spread over the years, leaving numbness behind. Petrifying all that made you - you. Much like a skinned knee, a protective layer enveloped your psychological wound. You became a porcelain doll—hollow and numb. Verbal pricks now clinked off your ceramic armour. You believed that the pain was over. You were finally healed.

Years later, one statement pricked fissures in your armour. As the deluge of malicious words floods your mind, nothingness follows. The cracks develop and spread, breaking you apart until you are nothing but the jagged pieces of an emotional shell.

“You are just like your Mother.”

THE PERFECT SPRING PICNIC RECIPE:Mau’s Lemon

The arrival of spring means that we can finally bust out our finest picnic attire and go to the Noorderplantsoen again. Not sure what to bring to the next picnic with your friends? I got you! This recipe is super easy, looks beautiful, and tastes like Italy came in your mouth. Yes, you absolutely read that right.

SPRING Mau’s Raspberry Lemon Tiramisu

INGREDIENTS:

Main filling

250 ml whipped cream

250 g mascarpone

Zest of 1.5 lemons

60 g sugar

Raspberry sauce

250 g frozen raspberries

20 g sugar

30 ml of water

Zest of 0.5 lemon

Lemon Juice

Juice of 2 lemons

1 tablespoon of sugar

Additional

200 g lady fingers

50 g white chocolate

EQUIPMENT:

Hand mixer

Medium size oven dish

PREPARATION:

Raspberry filling

1. Put the frozen raspberries, sugar, and water into a pot and simmer on low heat for about 15 minutes, while stirring continuously.

2. Add the lemon zest, and simmer for another 5 minutes.

3. Move into a bowl and let cool while you prepare the main filling.

Main filling

1. Mix the whipped cream and sugar in a mixing bowl on high speed until stiff.

2. Then, add the mascarpone and mix until incorporated.

3. Lastly, add the lemon zest and mix until incorporated.

Lemon syrup

In a bowl, combine the juice of two lemons and a tablespoon of sugar.

ASSEMBLY:

1. Chop the white chocolate into small pieces. (You can also use a peeler to make pretty curls, but this will get a bit messy.)

2. Dip your lady fingers in the lemon juice, and then in the raspberry filling. Lay them closely together in your oven dish until the bottom is fully covered.

3. Scoop one-third of the main filling on top of the lady fingers and spread evenly.

4. Sprinkle one-third of the white chocolate on top of the main filling.

5. Repeat steps 2 to 4 twice, building layers.

6. Let the tiramisu rest for at least 4 hours in the fridge (preferably overnight).

7. Enjoy with your favourite drink, I love a rose lemonade with this!

Noa Bente Maureen Prins

Hey! I’m Maureen, editor in chief and founder of Lelygaan. If I’m not at work, studying the city. I do many different things, but Lelygaan is my favourite of all. Setting up so far, and I’m only 20; so many years to come...I can’t wait to see you at one

Beth Casserly

Hi, I’m Beth! I study Modern English literature, write poetry, read 24/7, and teach lurking by a university coffee machine or debating the world from a friend’s couch. surrounded by beautiful minds in the creation of this magazine. I hope you love

Hi-ya! I’m Ty. Currently I’m studying Design, specializing in Illustration and Animation. to share with you all of the work we have created under Lelygaan. Hopefully it’ll

Hey, my name is Flavia and I am currently in the third year of my graphic design event campaign design. I am passionate about creating and curating designs that wholesome team, and I can only hope we continue to grow together as we did

Heyo!! I’m Arșaluis, currently finishing my Bachelor in Design at Academie Minerva. designs. Being part of Lelygaan and having the opportunity to take you on a visual I enjoyed designing it! :)

Hi, I’m Shrila! I’m a writer and currently I’m a student of English literature at the Post-Colonial works and I hope to shed light on the Indian experience through a platform. I believe in using my words to make a difference and take up space across cafés in the city or recreating my mum’s recipes in the kitchen!

studying linguistics, or performing poetry in a bar, I’m probably in the gym or walking around up this platform of creativity with so many beautiful people has been the journey of my life of our publishing events soon! ;)

teach English; I exist entirely in a world of writing. If I’m not buried in a book, you’ll find me couch. I deeply believe in the incredible societal power of writing, so it’s an honour to be love our writing as much as I do!

Animation. In my free time I read comics, go to gigs and draw (for fun). Genuinely cannot wait it’ll inspire you to join us in this journey!

design bachelor. I am based in Groningen and Amsterdam, and I specialize in editorial and that bring people together. It is so exciting to try out the art director role in such a small and until now. Director Director/Illustrator Editor

Minerva. I am passionate about giving people a bold and colorful visual experience through my visual journey through out the magazine thrills me! I hope you enjoy reading it as much as

the University of Groningen, specialising in Modern Literature. I am greatly inspired by my writing, as well as aim to provide South-Asian female voices and experiences with space this world. Aside from writing, I occasionally sketch, read and can be spotted hovering

COLOFON

EDITORS: Noa Bente Maureen Prins

Beth Casserly Ty Victor Sanchez

DESIGN:

ART DIRECTION

Flavia-Elisabeta Sandu

CONTACT: Arșaluis Negrișan

maureenlelygaan@gmail.com

(Editor in Chief)

@lelygaan (Instagram)

Published by Lelygaan Publishing lelygaanpublishing@gmail.com

ISBN 978-90-832610-7-2

Copyright No part of this publication may be reproduced, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronical, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written consent of Lelygaan Publishing.

Copyright © 2024 Lelygaan Publishing

Cover photo by: Daniel Damev