South Asian Feminism(s) Alliance Spring 2023 Zine

SAFA

editor's note

Inthemidstofseeminglyrelentlessgriefandviolenceinour worldtoday,it’shardtofindsolaceandpeaceofmind.Howdo wechallengeorovercomesystemsofviolence?Howisviolence exacerbatedbytheintricaciesofmarginalizationand intersectionality?Howcanweenactresistancetobrutalities anddiscrimination,atboththemicroandmacrolevels?How canweengageinradicaljoyandloveinthewakeofsomuch pain?

SAFA's2023zine"TheGriefIsNever-EndingbutSoIsthe Love"aimstoprovideaspaceforwritersandartistsacross BarnardandColumbiatochanneltheirfeelingsonthetragedy andinequitypervadingourworldintocreation.Tofindkernels ofagency,joy,andresistanceinthefaceofgriefthroughart andwriting.

-Armaan,Fatima,Mahdia,Menal,Naira&Nyah (SAFABoard22-23)

table of contents

page2 editor'snote

page5 multimediacollage,FatimaMinhas'23

page6 dasrupayforManto'sSarita., Armaan Bamzai'25

page7—watercoloronpaper,NairaJ.Mirza'23

page8—alias,NairaJ.Mirza'23

page9—inkstampsonpaper,ChlöeBerlin'24

page10—mymotherhoped,NyahAhmad'24

page11 CreationMyth,gloss

page12 MangroveForest/ThePlaceIWantto

Escapeto,KetakiUmaKrishnan'23

page13 ReturntomebyHabbaKhatoon,trans. ArmaanBamzai'25

page15 watercoloronpaper,NairaJ.Mirza'23

page16 landofthepure,FatimaMinhas'23

page18—acryliconcanvas,NairaJ.Mirza'23

page19—ihopethehoneybeesmakeithometonight, MenalSiddiqui'24

page21—multimediacollage,MenalSiddiqui'24

page22—TheWrongThing,JaneMcBride'23

page23 BittersweetFlowers,NishatAkhtar'23

page24 TheGreatWar,gloss

page28 oilpastelonpaper,gloss

page29 multimediacollege,SunayaMueller'26

page30 TheYearFellowshipComesOut,Jane McBride'23

page31 multimediacollage,ArmaanBamzai'25

page32 thegriefisneverendingbutsoisthe

loveeeeee:aseriesofpseudopublicdiaryentries,Nyah Ahmad'24

page36—somewherebetweenhereandthere, photography,AllisonAzuaraSalas'24

page38 watercoloronpaper,NairaJ.Mirza'23

page39 acknowledgements

dasrupay forManto'sSarita.

ArmaanBamzai

azipperpurredopen

twochestlidsclanged twinly.themotheremptied, andintoit,adeck,athumbprint akiss,ahalf,ascratch,aplea.

Sarita,thebowlofherbottomjaw

astiffintention

astranger’shandreviving herbatteredhem

inthegarden,Mayunspooling andbedsbedsbedsbeds

bathroomsbrickwalls

thedrippingcarwindow

awhitemoonfacebehindit theexhaustmurmurs

asyllableasong.

themotherhandledthewheel, andthedaughter:cargo

hergirl’supturnedbodyshaken andtumbling herransackedremains.

NairaJ.Mirza

whenistareattheblankpage iamreminded ofstandingontheverandah,the airpungentwithwhiterose butthisisalie

rather,iamweavingstories likecherrystemswithmytongue thesaccharinepulpburstingforth andstainingmered,only stemshavenoflesh

pleaseforgivethisfiction itisonlythedutyofthepoet

ithinkmyselfScheherazade

andtheniremember thecolonialharem, theanguishofthephotographer facingadarkcloud–asubject whoseeswithoutbeingseen andithink

thispageismyveil andfrombehindthegossamer, youcannotseemyexpressionfalter asiplacateyou

CreationMyth gloss

ioftenforgetwe’renotthefirst/thatcreationexistedbefore us/beforeourhandsmetforthefirsttime/therewasanother us/picturethem/sittingbytheravi/picturethem/carefully braidingoneanother’shair/perhapstheytoo/thoughtthey werethefirst/perhapstheytoo/trembledintrepidation/in exhilaration/looknow/shepeelsbacktheskinofanorange/ andplacesasliceinhermouth/dowenot/dothesame?/are wenotall/justrepeatinghistory/watchhowshetakesher hand/watchthekissshepressestoherknuckles/watchasshe turnscarmine/bloodrushingtohercheeks/theylooklikeus/ andiremember/wearenotthefirst/andwewillnotbethe last

ArmaanBamzai

Enraged,enraged,goneaway.

Comeback,floweredlover,you’vegoneaway.

“Come,let’sreapdandelionleaves.”

Noonecanundodestiny.

Peoplenowspeakillofme, Returntome,floweredlover. “Come,let’shuntfortulsileaves.”

Youraxeslitmyheartininjury.

Youdidn’tcarewhatbecameofme, Returntome,floweredlover.

“Come,let’splucksweet-scentedblooms.”

Deadmenneverreturnfromtheirtombs, Iwonderwhatyou’llbringhomewithyou. Returntome,floweredlover.

“Come,let’sstopbytheriver.”

Whilethedreamycosmosslumbers, Iwaitforyoutoanswer.

Returntome,floweredlover.

“Returntome"byHabbaKhatoon (originalversionastoldbymygrandmother,inKashmiri)

“Come,let’sroamtheheavywoods.”

Yourearsarespoiledwiththeirfalsehoods; Youbelievethem,likeanyfoolwould.

Returntome,floweredlover.

Comehome,shedyourupsettemper, YouaretheonlyoneIdesire.

Afterall,theworldisnotforever.

Returntome,floweredlover.

Themorningsuncourtsthefleetingmoon, Destinycastsafoggygloom.

WeareguidedbythesesignsfromHabbaKhatoon.

Returntome,floweredlover.

wheniintroducemyselftothem,icannothelpbutannouncemyself asanAhmadiMuslim,justtoseeiftheywillshudderatthethought ofthosetwowords,AhmadiandMuslim,beingputtogetherina sentence.itisalitmustest,isuppose,formetofindoutwhetheror nottheyseemeasanapostate.

letmeexplain.iamconsideredahereticinthecountryofmy origin.thoughiamaMuslim,theIslamicRepublicofPakistan refusestoseemeassuch.since1974,Ahmadishavebeenconsidered non-MuslimsbythegovernmentofPakistan,aswrittenintothe secondamendmentofitsconstitution.

allofthefalseallegations,thedeliberatemisunderstandings–they aretoomuch.it’salltoomuch.i’mtiredofhavingtoprovemy sincereloveandrespectfortheProphetMuhammad(peacebe uponhim).i’mtiredofexplainingit.whattrulymattersisthis:i knowwhatiam.iamMuslimandiamAhmadi.iamanAhmadi Muslim. butthat’snotwhattheycallus.tothem,weareQadianis,or Mirzais.thesearetheslurstheyuseforusinplaceofourchosen name,whichisanodetoourbelovedHolyProphetMuhammad (peacebeuponhim)andhisalternatename,Ahmad.instead,they spewoutthesederogatoryterms,whichrefertoourdearfounder, HazratMirzaGhulamAhmad(mayAllahbepleasedwithhim)and hishometownofQadian,India.theseslursarenotonlyusedby radicalMullahs,butalsoordinaryPakistaniswhosimplydon’t knowanybetter.

isn’titbizarre?ifeelilljustthinkingaboutit,butthat’sthething

ionlyhavetothinkaboutit.idon’thavetolivewithit,likemy fatherdid,likemymotherdid,likemygrandparents,cousins,aunts andunclesstilldo.myparentscametotheUnitedStatesbeforei wasborn,seekingrefugefromreligiouspersecutionintheirhome country.

myparentssavedmefromthattorment,andso,icannotimagine whatitwaslike.

icannotimaginewhatitwasliketobefloggedbyateacherinthe thirdgrade,simplyforthecrimeofbeingAhmadi.icannotimagine whatisliketobebarredfromvotinginmyhomecountry.icannot imaginewhatitisliketowakeuptonewsofanotherarrest,another murder,anotherdestructionofanAhmadimasjid.icannotimagine whatitwasliketohavemychildhoodhomedesecrated,theKalima beinghackedoffofit.icannotimaginewhatitisliketohaveknown peoplewhowereshotandkilledforhavingthe‘wrong’beliefs.

icannotimaginegoingthroughallthatandnotbecoming disillusioned.

thelandofthepuredoesnotincludemypeopleinitsvision.yet somehow,despiteallofthispain,theyremainhopeful.

ihopethehoneybeesmakeithometonight MenalSiddiqui

IlostmyNano’sringseveralweeksago Afterwearingitforseven straightyears,Ilostit.Itis(correctionwas)mymostprizedpossession. Duetothelossofit,Ihavebeenthinkingaboutmygrandmaalmost daily,butitdidn’tstartthere.Forwhateverreason,IfeellikeIhavereenteredtheprocessofgrievingher Ifeelherwithmeconstantly,andfor whateverreason,sheiswhatoccupiesmostofmythoughts.Sheisforever thepersonIthinkIwillmissthemost.Mylifeessentiallycompletely tiltedonitsaxisafterherdeath,plummetingmeintoprobablytheworst fiveyearsofmylife.ButwhenIcameouttheotherside,IrealizedIwas solostinmyselfforsomanyyearsthatIcouldn’trevelinthejoyfulpart ofgrief.It’snodoubtthatIhurt,butIdidnotletmyselfsitwiththe memoryofher.Ididnotmullthroughyearsofmemories.Ithinknow thatIamolder,Icanfinallybegratefulforeverythingthatshegaveme. Thememoriesusedtohurt,morethananything,thatIalmostdidn’t wantthem.Butnow,IcanfinallyfeelsuchareliefthatIgottohaveher foraslongasIdid.WhenIlookinthemirror,IpickmyselfapartuntilI canfindher.AndIsmile.

It’sbeenalmostayearsinceoneofmybestfriendslosthermother,and wheneverIprayIalwaysthinkofthetwoofthem.Ionlymethermother inpersononce,andverybriefly,butshealwaysheldatenderplaceinmy heart.Icannotimaginelosingasoullikethatasamother,asIcould hardlybearitasafriend.Mybestfriend,thus,hasbecomeoneofthe strongestpeopleIknow.Sheistheexactimageofhermother.Inher grief,Ifoundmyselfquestioningwhatdoesonedowhentheyaretheone leftbehind?Theysaydeathdoesnothappentoyou,buttothoseleft standingatyourfuneral.Intheabsenceoftheoneswelove,wheredoesall thelovewehaveforthemgo?Wheredoweputit?Howdowelearnto putitdown?Griefisasymptomofthehumancondition.Toliveisto lose.Wemustallexperienceloss,andhowdoanyofusdealwithit?

Nomatterhowmuchwelovethepeoplearoundus,itwillneverbe enough.Thisisn’tmebeingnihilisticandsayingthatthereisnopointin love,orthatloveisuseless Instead,Isaythatnomatterhowmuchwe lovethepeoplearounduswewillstillneverbeabletogivethemallthe lovewehaveforthem.Somelovejustcan’tbegiven.Somelovejustsits withusforourwholelives,instead.AndIdon’tthinkthat’sabadthing!I don’tthinkthat’sabadthingatallandinfact,Ithinkit’skindofsortof beautiful.Wecannevergivethepeoplearoundusallthelovewehavefor thembecauseonedaytheywillbegone,buttheloveforthemneverwill be.IwillneverbeabletotellmynanohowmuchIloveher,rightnow,at twentyyearsold.Shewillneverbeabletotellmehowmuchshelovesme, asIam,attwentyyearsold.Butthatisn’tabadthing,itis,asAndrew Garfieldsays,justthenatureoflove.

Toanyonewhoisgrievingorhasevergrievedbefore(astheprocessis neverreallytrulyover),Iamsendingyousomuchlove.Yourlovemaybe never-ending,butyourpainisnot.Oneday,eventually,thewaveofgrief youfeelinthemorningwillnolongerdrownyou Eventually,youwill feeltheslighttouchofdewdrops.Thestormwillpass,andwhenit’s done,youcansitwithyourghosts.Theywillholdyourhandandkissyour forehead.Theymissyoujustasmuchasyoumissthem.Ithinkthisgrief willstaywithmefortherestofmylife,andIusedtobesoterrifiedof that.ItusedtoterrifymethatIwouldhavetocarrythisforever.But that’slove,isn’tit?Toloveistoopenoneselfuptopain,toacceptthatthe personholdingyourheartcanhurtyou.Thehurtwillalwayscome becausesomeonewillalwayshavetoleavefirst.

Death,however,isalwaysthemostpainfuldepartureofall.Butthen again,“Whatisgrief,ifnotlovepersevering?”

TheWrongThing

JaneMcBride

Inthebadyear,Igotsick

Ofthesoundofyourknockatmydoor.

Yourhesitationonthethreshold, Sosureyourwordswereworthless, Butdeterminedtobewithmeanyway.

Iwouldthink,Justgiveup.

Spareusboththestrainand

Leavemetolickmywoundsinprivate.

Succumbtothecursethatmakes

Applesunrecognizabletotrees

Andchickensstrangerstoeggs.

Thenagain,Ispentalongtimetalking

ToaFatherwhorepliedsorarely, Andthenonlyindouble-knottedriddles. Henevermadeamistakewithme.

Neverinterruptedormisunderstood Orsaltedacuthemeanttosoothe.

Theperfectparent,Ihavelearned, Istheonewhoisn’tthere.

Pleaseknockonmydooronemoretime. Pleasesaythewrongthingagain. Don’tleavemealoneinthesilence.

BittersweetFlowers [acrylicpaintoncanvas]

NishatAkhtar

TheGreatWar gloss

Myhistorystartswithawar.Asallthingsdo,itstartswithawar.It’snotsafe anymore,soweleave.It’ssimple,isn’tit?Topackupawholehistory,awhole life,intoonesuitcase,onesack,onebag,andleave?Myhistorystartswithawar, anditwillprobablyendwithonetoo.It’smyfather’swar,though.Oratleast,his mother’s.Mymother’swarisn’tevenherownwar.It’shermother’smother’s war.It’sawarthatIcannotputintowords.It’sawarthatisstillhere,threequartersofacenturylater.It’sawarIwasborninto,andawarIwilldiewith.It’s awarthatwedon’tspeakabout,awarthatIfeelsofarawayfrom Sometimes,I don’tevenknowifIcancallitmine Idon’tcaresomuchaboutownership anymore

Myfather’swaristhisone.SirCyrilRadcliffe’shandsshakeashesplitsa countryintotwo.HindustanisnowIndiaandPakistan.Hewipesthesweatfrom hisbrowasheripsthemapapart,carefullyandcarelessly Hiseyeshadnevermet thislandbefore.Unbiased,theBritishcalledhim.No,notunbiased,but uneducated.Unknowing.Unaware.Howcanyousplitthatwhichyoudonot know?Butitgoeslikethis:wecannotstayononesideofaborderdrawnbya whitemananymore,sowecrosstotheotherside Thetrainsarehotand cramped,fulloffearandtrembling.Weholdontotherailings.Wecan’trisk falling.ThedescendantsofAbuBakrR.A.wereforcedintoatoo-fulltraintogo toalandwehadneverseenbefore Totrytocallithome Myfather’swaristhis one.Howdoyoulearntocallaplaceyouhaveneverseenbeforehome?

Everyfamilyhastheirpartitionstory.Everysingleone.

Butmyfatherisnotstreakedwithtragedy.Hedoesnotgetangry.Hedoesnot raisehisvoice.Hehassofthands,andhealwayskissesmeontheforehead.Heis soft,ineverysense,despitethehorrors Hepraysfivetimesadayandis constantlyonhiskneesforGod.Hepraysforhisfather,andwhenheisgone,I willprayforhim.Iwoulddoanythingformyfather.IturntoGodbecauseofmy father.Formyfather.MyfatheriseverythingIwishIcouldbe.Unwavering. Unshakable Hestandstall,likeatree,andIwonderwhatitmustbeliketonever beunsureofyourself.Myfatherknowshisnamewell.Ihavetowhispermyname undermybreathtentimesadaysoIdon’tforgetit.

Mymother’swaristhis.Well,mymother’swarismany.

Mymother’swaristhis ItistheeveningofApril3rd,1979 Herfatherdrives herthroughacityasitburns,andshesmilesinglee.Shedoesnotknowthat,in themorning,theformerprimeministerwillbehung.Hesitsinhisjailcell, writingtohisdaughter.Mygrandfatherswitchesoutthelicenseplate.Hefears whatthepeoplewilldotohim,andtohisgirls,knowingthatheisagovernment worker.Theyaretheonlythingthathecaresaboutrightnow nothisposition, hisjob,orthemanwhousedtocallhimselfprimeminister.No,noneofthat matters,becausetheyarenothisgirls Mymotherwatchesthepeopleburnthe townstotheground,watchestheskyfillwithfire.Thedriver'shandsgripthe wheelsohardthathisknucklesturnwhite.

Mymother’swaristhis Oneland,threepeople It’sawarthathasplayedout timeandtimeagain.Youdon’tneedmetotellyouaboutthiswar.You’re readingthispaper,holdingitinyourhands,soyoushouldknowitalready.It’sa warIcan’tseebehindmyeyeswhenIclosethem It’sawarI’mnotsureIcanlay myhandson,soIonlywhisperittomyselfinthedark.Icheckunderthebed beforeIsayit,makingsurenomonsterhidestheretohearmyconfessions.Then Iwhispertomyselfaboutthewar.Threecountries.Oneland.Octoberof1946. NotIndia NotPakistan Notyours Notmine Definitelynotmine Butnot yourseither.

Ifeellikeafraudthesedays Ifeellikeafraudmostdays Ifeelstupidtelling thisstory.Idon’tknowthisstorywellenough.Let’stellanotherone.Letmetry again.Letmestartover.

Mywaristhis Itakeaclassonthepartitionandtrytolearnwhathasbeen stolenawayfromme.Idon’tunderstandwhyI’vealwaysfeltsocheated.Idon’t knowifI’mevensupposedtofeelcheated.ItakeaseminaronKashmirandtalk aboutmygrandmother Everyoneinmyclasswhisperstoeachotherintoofast PunjabiandUrdu,whichIcannotunderstand.Ismileatthem,bearingtheawful teethmymothergaveme.Ithinkaboutthewaymyprofessormustgrimace whenheseesmynameontherosterlikehemustknow,somehow,thatI’mnot liketherest Ithinkaboutthewayeveryoneinthatclass,mustknow,thatdeep down,Idon’tbelongthere.Ifeellikeafraud.Idropoutoftheclassandenrollin ShakespeareIIinstead.Ibreatheeasieratnight,evenifIamafraud.

Mywaristhis.IbookaflighttoSrinagar.Myfathercannotgothere,my grandfathercannotgothere,mymothercannotgothere,andmygrandmother cannotgothere Iftheycannot,thenIwill TheMughalking,Jehangir,usedto spendsummerdayshere.Oncehesaid,“IfthereisJannahontheearth,thisisit, thisisit,thisisit.”Itakepicturesofthetulipgardensandsendthemtomy grandfather,whohasonlyseentulipsintheNetherlands.IwalkintheMughal gardens,breathinginthesweetscentofjasmineandorangeblossoms Ibooka shikaraonDalLake,andthedriverdoesnotunderstandalickofwhatIsay.We makedoanyways,andwhenIstartcryingatthesightofthesnow-capped mountains,hedoesnotsayanything Backinthehotel,Icallmymother,andshe pretendstonotcryontheothersideofthephone.Shewillneverstepfoothere, soIdomybesttoshowherwithmywords.IdescribeeverylastinchofHazratbal Masjiduntilmymothertellsmeitislate,andIshouldgotobed.Ismile,andtell herokay,beforegoingtobed

Mywaristhis.Idon’ttakeanymoreMESAASclasses.ItakeNewMillenial Fiction,TheArtoftheEssay,WomenofColorinSpeculativeFiction, PsychologyStatistics,WorldLiteratureRevisited,andeveryotherstupidclassI cangetmyhandson.Idon’ttakeclassesonPakistanorIndiaorwhateverthe fuckthey’recalled.WhenIdreamatnight,IseeMuhammadAliJinnah,abottle inhishand,sittingbythefire Anewcountryhasjustbeenborn,andhedoesn’t knowwhattodowithit.Hetakesaswigofthebottlebeforeburyinghisfacein hishands.Hedoesnotknowwhathehasdone.Heisscared,andwhenIwakeup, coveredinsweatandgaspingforair,IunderstandthatfearbetterthanI understandanything.

Mywaristhis.Myroommateasksmewhat’sbeenbotheringmesomuchandI justshrug Idon’tknow Ireallydon’tknow ItellherIthinkI’mbeingpossessed bytheghostofalong-deadalcoholicfounderofPakistan.Shelaughs,awkwardly. HerlastnameisSmith.SheisfromConnecticut.Herancestralhomeisthe outletmalloffofI-95

Mywaristhis.Icallmymother,andshedoesn’tpickup.Shesaysshe’stiredof answeringmystupidquestionsaboutPakistan.Iswallowthelumpinmythroat.I sitinmyadvisor’sofficeandshelooksatmydegreeauditwithaconcernedface

“Thisdoesn’tlookgood.Ithinkyouknowthat,”shesays,allnervous politeness

“IthinkIshouldgohome,”Isay,pickingatmycuticles.Idon’tlookdirectlyat herandstaremoreattheposterbehindheronthewall.VisitMaine!Itsaysin

boldletters It’svintage

“Right.Delaware,right?”sheasks,andIhalf-smileather.Iwanttosayno, that’snottherightone.Thereisnorightone,actually,butthat’stoolongofa storytotryandtellher Ihatethatstory,soIjustnod

“Idon’tthinkthisplaceisforme,”Isay,andfeelthelumpriseinmythroat.“I just,Idon’treallyfeellikeIfitin”

“That’sperfectlyunderstandable,”myadvisorsays,notwantingtomeetmy eyes.She’sneverbeengoodwiththecounselingpartofthejob.Iclosemyeyes andfeellikeI’msixteenagain,recitingthesuicidehotlinenumberbacktothe shittyguidancecounselorfrommyhighschool.Ireciteit,quietly,undermy breath.Sheushersmeoutoftheofficeafterthesetthirtyminutesshe’dputaside forme,sendingmeoffwiththenumbertothecounselingcenter Ithrowitout onthewayoutofthebuilding.Insteadofgoinghome,IwalktoRiversideand smokeahandfulofcigarettes.Iwatchthecouplesandthebabiesandthedogs walkpastmeandwonderwhatitwouldbeliketobethem.Iwonderwhatitwould beliketocarrytheirwarinstead Iwonderifitwouldhurtanyless

TheYearFellowshipComesOut

JaneMcBride

TheyearFellowshipcomesout, sodoI.Wetandpinkandfive hourslate,alreadyunimpressed withthepaceofthings.Mydad takesmetoseeitintheaters andIsleeptheentiretime.Nineteenyearsfromnow,Iwillwatch thesemoviesagain,freshoffa secondembryonicjourney,thisone asunexpectedasthefirst.Then, Iwilldespisethegoodfolkofthe Shire:theirlackofgratitude,their happyignorance.Hatefully,Iwill think,howcouldyoueverreturn?

Worse,youshouldhaveletthem burn.Twoyearsafterthat,Iwill bebackintheShiremyself,loadingthedishwasherlikeallpeaceful peopledo.Whatisthedifference betweenforgivingandforgetting?

Iwon’tknowforawhileyet.For now,Iamasleeponmydad’schest, ridingtheriseandfallofhisbreath asarmiesclashbeforehim.In and out.In—andout.

thegriefisneverendingbutsoistheloveeeeee:

aseriesofpseudopublicdiaryentries

preface:

iamnotawriternorwillieverbeone.thisisnotanactivityiwishto pursueprofessionally.ilackknowledgeofthewesterncanonto perfectlyarticulatemyselfinacademicsettings.iusedsparknotesin highschool.iamnotaswellreadasishouldbe.iamnoteven studyinganyformofliteratureincollege.however,idoreadand writefrequently.whatimeanbythatiswheneverican’tunderstand myownthoughts,ichallengemyselftowritethemdownand articulatethehappeningsofmymindinthebestwayiknowhow.i feltineededaplacetodumpallmywritingsratherthankeeping themstoredinadisorganizedfolderonmyipadnotesapp.i physicallyshivereverytimeithinkofthechaoswithinthatfolder.

pseudopublicdiaryentry#1i'mcalling“flowerlike”:

formy20thbirthday,iwasgiftedapinkyringbymyparents.ithad mynamewritteninurdu(ﮧﯾﺎﻧ)andlookedsoelegantasmyname huggedthechunkybaseofmyleftpinkyfinger.iaskedbabahowhe knewmyringsizesinceiusuallyhaveahardtimefindingringsthat fitmyoddlyshapedfingers.hesaid“youhavemymother’sfingers. soijustknew”.whilethatwasnotthefirsttimeihadthatrealization, ithoughtinthatmomenthowmuchiremindedmyfamilyofmy dadi(paternalgrandmother).andhowmuchtheysawherinme.and howiamanextensionofnotonlyherappearance,butherthoughts, herfaults,herdreams,hersolitude.ifindcomfortknowingthati’m notcrazybecauseiamlikemydadi.iamofherverynaturethat madeherlovedbysomany.ititledthispiece“flowerlike”.dado’s namewasgulrukh.itmeans“rosefaced”infarsibutinpakistan,it'sa

nametodescribeonewhoseappearanceisthatofaflower,hencethe nameofthispiece:flowerlike.imightchangeitlater.ihaveafeeling “flowerlike”isgoingtoannoymesoon.humdekhenge.

iamdedicatingthistogulrukh.iwishicouldwriteforhersoshe couldreaditrightinfrontofme.shelovedtoread.shelovedtogoto thepubliclibraryandpickoutenglishromancenovelstoreadat homewhenshevisitedfromlahore.inlahore,shelivedalone.here, shelivedwithme.shecontinuestorestwithinme.itendtodwellon thisfeelingbylisteningtosongsthatmakemethinkofher.theyalso makemethinkoftheloveiholdforothers.justlikehowshedid.and howthepainwearebornwithmimicstheloveandcareweholdfor others…whichiswhysooftenwearehurtbytheonesweloveand carefor.

pseudopublicdiaryentry#2i’mcalling“comfortprivately exchanged”:

iwroteapoeminhighschoolwheniwas15.itistothisdayoneof myfavoritepoemsihaveeverwritten.lookingback,somelines soundforcedandsilly,butitmeantalottomeatthetimeiwroteit. itwaswrittenforanassignmentthatitooktooseriouslyformy sophomoreenglishclass.ilatersubmittedthepoemtobepublished inmyschool’sliterarymagazinetwoyearsinarow.itwasrejected bothtimes.theydidn’tunderstandwhatiwasgoingthroughand whatiwasfeelingwheniwrotethatpoem.ihadbeenreckoningwith religiously-fueledguiltforyears.questioningeveryoneand everythingabove,around,andbelowme.somanypeoplewriteabout theirreligioustrauma.butihadnodesiretowriteaboutmytrauma andletothersknowhowiwasfeeling.rather,iwantedthemtoknow whatidesiredtofeel.afterall,icalledthepoem…

tobeatonce. leapinglightly, sayingthings aprizetoamusemost. helpmewithlaughter toamusetheLordforlight, onetimetodieinthisworld onthatdayatthehighestseat, therewaslaughter comfortprivatelyexchanged andeveryonelistens. joyhadagentlersound; itwouldgowithoutstopping. ittookhisownway andtakesholdandleads andthanksthegreatfavorbestowed. inhonoringandgracingspirit whileilive,ishallbebetter.

pseudopublicdiaryentry#3i’mcalling“instagrammemesdictate mylife”:

iam20yearsold.iamtryingtobebetter.thisyeariwanttobethat girlattheclublookingforgoodconversationandunderstanding(see below)…continuingtomakeconnectionswithpeople.ihavesomuch lovetogiveandmostofthetimeidon’tknowwhereitallgoes. wheretoputit.whogetsit.itdoesnotallbelonginmyheart.my heartistootenderandfatiguedforthat.plusheartdiseaserunsin myfamily.ilivemylifewithcautionbutnotenoughcare.my parentsbredmeassuch.

“dyingforjoy”

@xanaxbaria.Twitter,23Jan.2023, https://twitter.com/xanaxbaria/status/1617443172896108550.

thereissomuchmoreiyearntosayandshare.butithoughtiwould startsmall,short,andsimple.thankyouforreadingmywords.i knowitalldoesn’tmakesense.andsomeofitisself-explanatory. sendingyouallloveandaprayerthatyoucanexperiencecomfort privatelyexchanged.nowileaveyouwiththis,ahardlessonthati wasforcedtoswallowafterwatching“everythingeverywhereallat once ”.icontinuetolivemylifethisway.oratleasttryto.

from“misconceptionsofus”ontumblr(may28,2022)

iwanttochallengethatfinalphraseof“chasingafterlove”.ireally don’tthinkthatprocessneedstobeongoingandeverlasting.it’s okaytostop.andjustbe.ifindthatsimplyexistingtodayisanactof love.nolongerexistingisaformoflovetoo.it’sjustdifficultfor mostpeopletoseeitthatwayasgrieftakesholdandbecomesan overpoweringforce.afterexperiencingripplesoflossandgriefover thelastyear,irealizedthat“dukhsekhushbuaatihai”…withgrief comesfragrance…justlikegrief,thesweetnessofloveisnever ending.

acknowledgments

Thankyoutoallthecreatorswhosubmittedtheirart, withoutwhomthisZinewouldnothavebeenpossible.

AndaspecialthankyouaswelltoJennaandClaudiafrom theBarnardZineLibraryforalltheirsupportinthe creationprocess.

frontcoverbyNairaJ.Mirza'23

backcoverbyMahdiaBegum'23