A Note from the Editor Whenever discouraged, I take a deep breath and remind myself: this is just the beginning. The finish line isn't anywhere near, and I say this not to torment myself, but to ground myself. It is an acknowledgment that I wasn't fully armed, that I neglected my mental reserve, or that I simply have room to grow. My mind often asks why I default to "I"—I didn’t do this, I failed at that. But who we are is rarely a solo act; we are the sum of many shifting processes, influences, and moments. Falling short or feeling off balance is natural. Think of it like an oil change: a temporary pause to ensure smoother driving and a cleaner journey ahead. September greeted us with the timeless gifts of Autumn—leaves shifting into gold, the crisp morning air, and that comforting familiarity only Fall can bring. Now, entering October, it feels as though the end zone is finally in sight. Yet, precisely when the urge to collapse onto a couch is strongest, I know it is not time to check out. Now is the time to remain fully present, refuel, and prepare for December. Stay grounded, stay present, and enjoy this issue. Warmly, Sambulo Kunene Editor-in-Chief
October arrives with a suddenness that makes the rest of the year feel like a blur. Just a moment ago, we were ringing in January, and now the crisp autumn air demands a complete reset. Summer clothing—no matter how tempting that last sleeveless top might be—is officially packed away in favor of heavy knits and warm layers. It is a season of major transitions: ● Life Moves: Last spring’s high school graduates are making their way to college campuses, navigating packed trunks, dorm deliveries, and tuition payments. Others are taking their first steps out of their parents' homes, eager for independence. ● Seasonal Escapes: For those with second or third homes in sunnier regions, October signals the time to migrate south and leave the cold behind. ● Holiday Prep: Thanksgiving is already on the horizon, and with Christmas around the corner, now is the time to start setting aside extra cash to avoid a financial squeeze in December. ● Entertainment: Crisp fall evenings offer the perfect excuse to catch up on the wave of new movie releases. "Gesundheit"
Sitting in silence, absorbing the latest wave of aching chronic pain with no known origin, I finally gave up. I stopped trying to treat it, choosing instead to simply be present with it. Deep in my soul, I saw myself as a seven-year-old child. She looked okay. She looked pain-free. She looked like she had been healed and taken care of—so whole that she almost didn't seem like me at all. She smiled at the old, tired version of me standing before her and said, "I knew you would miss me. You have no idea how much you miss me." At first, I wondered what she meant. Was she referring to my mother? To everyone I had ever known? Had she visited them, too, offering the same quiet reassurance she had just given me? I let the thought sink in, feeling a momentary wave of dejection and confusion. It wasn't until a couple of days later that the truth struck me: there are many versions of me. There is the seven-year-old child, and there is the woman in her fifties, soon to be in her sixties. That is who she meant. We miss each other. We are the ones who truly know each other. My birthday is in September, and no gift in this world could ever surpass that realization.
She checks her reflection in the mirror, searching for anything out of place, before finishing with a light spritz of perfume. If a roommate is around, she asks, “How do I look?” A week or so ago, she met someone she hoped to keep as a friend—or perhaps more. The idea of meeting for coffee, dinner, or drinks felt simple enough. It had started easily: she extended her hand to a stranger after sharing a joke or two, typing her contact information into his phone. When he called, she was thrilled, weary of the quiet loneliness and monotony. She didn't hesitate to set a time to meet, driven by a modest spark of hope. Across town, it is lunchtime in a high school cafeteria. He has noticed her for years, but he has finally reached his limit: today he will ask her out, or he will let her go and never think of her again. He walks over slowly, hesitant, and gently asks if she can step away from her laughing group of friends. He has a question, he explains. When he asks, she looks at him, bewildered—she had no idea he even knew her name. She glances back at her friends, silently seeking permission or feedback on the boy standing before her. Then, looking directly into his eyes, she realizes it might actually be fun. No luck needed; she says yes. In another room, a final grief counseling session is wrapping up. Drinks and chocolate ice cream are being served alongside quiet, polite murmurs among those who survived their losses. It feels like bad taste, but she decides to take the chance anyway. She approaches him and asks if it is too soon for a date—nothing serious, just occasional dinners to ease the isolation she knows lies ahead. He pauses, his eyes welling up as a memory of his late wife surfaces. But then he recalls a painful argument from their past, using that fleeting resentment as permission to agree. He rationalizes that a little company might keep him grounded, though he secretly promises himself that if it becomes too emotionally taxing, he will simply stop answering her calls. Somewhere else, she has just dodged one date to sneak off to a second. He, too, was already on a date, faking an emergency the moment he remembered his promise to meet her instead. Dates are fine, so long as no one gets hurt and intentions are clear. How people navigate these moments depends entirely on the couple. Some dates end poorly—one person might stand up in a huff and walk away. Others might suddenly remember they are married, losing interest mid-meal and retreating into soft excuses: “It’s not you, it’s me. Maybe if we try again later, we’ll click like we used to.”