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Illustrations by Zori Swanegan
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Cover by Pauline Thai
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Email contact.kiwimag@gmail.com Website kiwimag.org Instagram fresh_kiwimag
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FORWARD It’s about those moments of extreme embarrassment that come flooding back to you while you are brushing your teeth before bed. It’s about that time when you thought of a funny joke when no one was around but laughed out loud anyway. It’s about nights where you can’t sleep because your mind has too many tabs open. It’s about how we all honestly spend our Saturdays—between attempting to relax or be productive yet accomplish neither. It’s about throwing away Target receipts in the hopes of forgetting how much money was spent. It’s about how many times you delete and re-download Tinder. It’s about the guilt that follows after eating too many Oreos in one sitting. It’s about that anxious feeling of bubbling in too many A’s in a row on a scantron. It’s about that awkward moment when you say ‘goodbye’ to someone and then both of you walk away in the same direction. It’s about learning from other creators what cannot be taught in a lecture hall. It’s about the absolute need to share. It’s about the life-long process of gaining and maintaining confidence. It’s about asking yourself, “Who am I really creating for”? It’s about the realization that no one actually knows what they are doing. Kiwi Magazine is just that—the rawness of experience that rests somewhere between the outlandish and the sincere that manifests in creating art for yourself without the limitations of a classroom setting. Like Deborah Needleman said, “And many things in design benefit from juxtaposing counterparts that give them some tension and excitement. Maybe the same can be said of magazines”. (T Magazine, pg. 40) Risley Cline
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WHAT IS MIXER
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Imagine a grocery basket. Inside are some organic fruits and vegetables because you are trying to be healthy, wine to please the in-laws, a packet of brownies to treat-your-self, chips you don’t need, some new Toms shoes because your old ones have a hole in them, and a slew of other ingredients for recipes that you want to get around to making but never do. You will, inevitably, make premade mac & cheese for dinner at the end of the week. You pause for a moment after setting your groceries down on the kitchen table at home. “I am missing something”, you think to yourself. Q-tips. You only went into the grocery store for Q-tips. Mixer: A Plethora of Things From Every Aisle, the theme of Kiwi Magazine’s first issue, is about the diversity of human experience inspired by the plethora of choice found inside grocery stores. A culmination of products, gathered in one basket. Emotions, ideas, livings, happenings. Fears, triumphs, failures, and celebrations. How we identify, how we see the world, how we live within it, how it shapes us. How we shape it.
Words by Risley Cline
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Table of Contents 4 5 9 11 17 19 21 30 31 33 45 47 49 51 54 55 57 59 61
FORWARD WHAT IS MIXER? KIWI STAFF ISOLATED FOOD WORKERS SELF-IDENTITY CRISIS RIPENED FRUIT PLETHORA OF FRIENDSHIPS DO NOT TOUCH CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS DISCOVERS THE ETHNIC FOOD AISLE DEBRIS A BIG TANK OF SALT WATER THAT MAKES YOU FEEL NOTHING RAMEN HOROSCOPE THAT ONE DAY SQUISH REVIEW OF FLAMING HOT CHEETOS AISLE 3 RANDOM MEAT DEPARTMENT HOW TO AGE GRACEFULLY (OR NOT): ADVICE FROM MY 94 YEAR-
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OLD GRANDMOTHER
$10.99 GUAC THE LITTLE CART FRUIT BY THE POUNDING
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THE S Pauline Thai
PRESIDENT/CREATIVE DIRECTOR
A person, like a grocery store, has a certain capacity to withhold a number of experiences. These experiences are sorted, organized, reassessed, and filtered over time. Their packaging varies, as well as their substance. Some are colorful, with powdery cheese, some are verified as 100% natural, and some have more packaging than entirely necessary. Each person has an odd lot of experiences, with a variation including soy milk, dog food, American cheese, and extra-dark chocolate. The outcome of these experiences are not particularly important in themselves, rather the experiences are important in their existing. It is the bank, the store, of experiences that is valuable.
Zori Swanegan
VICE PRESIDENT
Working on this publication has shown me the many ways in which we create. How we look at things. How we react to things. How things react to us. Kiwi Magazine is a catalyst for self-exploration and personal ambition, remaining at its core the desire to share the purity of the human experience. Rad. Putting together this issue was a fun and wild ride. Our awesome staff and board members were absolutely vital in bringing Kiwi Magazine to fruition. We’re a bunch; a bunch of bananas, a bunch of grapes. Simply put, a bunch of great people. We’re artistic creators, and together as a pack, herein lies our collective produce. Check us out and see you again at the next register.
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STAFF
Board Members
Illustration Editor Photo Editor
Brenna McNamara
Israel Antonio Cedillo
Writing Editor
Alex Tillman
Head of Structure and Organization Head of Finance and Marketing Head of Design
Aaron Yih
Creative Content Contributors Jasmine Don Oscar Barboza Reggie Lin Teresa Ji Vanessa Yang Will Gu
Risley Cline
Connor Thompson
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Israel Antonio Cedillo Isolated Food Workers
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Words and Illustration by Brenna McNamara
Self-Identity Crisis I can’t be your Hello Kitty lollipop. I am mixed-race—half Japanese and an unknown amount of Irish, Norwegian, German, English, and maybe French—yet I don’t have a culture to call my own. I become whatever a person finds convenient to identify me as. If I don’t seem Asian enough, then I’m white. If I don’t seem white enough, then I’m Asian. Sometimes I’m Latina because I seem Latina. Because someone wants me to be one thing, I am nothing. I am labeled as the “ideal” mix, as if I’m some attractive half-breed. These people who love anime think being Japanese is cool. They even tell me they are more Japanese than me, as if I am only an honorary member to being myself. They forget that I am more than just Asian. I am asked if my mom or my dad is “the Asian one.” People tell me my dad must have an Asian fetish because he’s white. I don’t want to be a fetish or an ethnically ambiguous fantasy. Not your exotic baby girl. Not your special hapa. Not your sugar baby. Why do you approach me, expecting me to say yes when you don’t care to know me? I can’t be your emotionless sex toy, and I can’t un-complicate myself so that I am easier for you to understand. I can’t be a checkmark on the list of ethnic girls you’ve fucked with. I am 18+. I am when expectations don’t meet reality. And I say no because I know you expect me to not be me.
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Ripened Ripened Fruit Fruit Words by Oscar Barboza
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Despite the hustle and bustle of today’s society, it is always possible to dedicate time to grocery shopping. Upon entering the supermarket, one already has a keen sense of what products and produce will be purchased. As one passes the produce stands, the endless aisles of food, and the bustling patrons, the eclectic and eccentric array of items can be baffling. At one point it all seems tedious and monotonous to search for the right item that one desires. But will the right product truly satisfy one’s desires? Shopping for groceries, like any task requires investment. Rather, the desire for quality products takes time, much like a quality relationship. From the initiation of the search for the perfect dessert, to the voyage for a pristine and proper pineapple, there is some level of alertness in obtaining what looks best for use. Although one may only see fruits merely externally, there is always more lying underneath the surface. For instance, a strawberry may appear to be the most divine red and very voluptuous in color, but can deceive one after the first bite, where it’s brittle and more bitter than expected. Looks can be more deceiving than expected, and it seems that people are surprisingly creating this moment of bittersweetness in the most delightful way. Although the initial tendency was to view this person as coming off in the wrong way, it just seemed that I was not really enjoying the true pizazz that this person evoked within my life. Rather, I took them for the sour before the sweet, and it’s interesting just how much they can grow on you. My perception has been altered by the flavor they’ve allowed me to experience, and if I would have let them in sooner, it might have been just as tasty earlier. My point being that one should not avoid a person even if they come off the wrong way. They, like fruit, can deceive you. The reality is not all fruit is as tasty as it may appear to be. Some of the best fruit may be what we least expect, because they ripen and heighten our senses of flavor with time.
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Teresa Ji Plethora of Friendships
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Illustration by Zori Swanegan
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Do Not Touch Words by Alex Tillman
Do not touch me. I did not ask for your hug. I did not want it. I do not want it. Do not mistake my steady eye contact as an invitation to wrap your vulgar limbs around my cringing ones. See my cringe. Notice the wariness in my stance. Acknowledge my discomfort and respect it. You do not need a billboard. You do not need a digital notification. You do not need me to say no verbally; My body screamed it.
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Christopher Columbus discovers the ethnic food aisle. Words by Jasmine Don
32 Christopher Columbus discovers the “ethnic food” aisle. (He got lost trying to find the spices.) His hand hovers over the tortillas, the rice vinegar, the canned beans, the soy sauce, the garam masala, the corn husks. “This is it,” he thinks. “A whole new section of the supermarket that no one else has seen before.” Behind him, a family is trying to buy some dried chiles, but he’s standing in the way. Christopher Columbus clears out the shelves. He buys every jar of salsa verde, every package of noodles, every bottle of pomegranate molasses. “Look what I discovered,” he says. “Never before seen.” He and his crew go back to the supermarket the next day. They take things from the shelves and put them back in different places. They stand in the middle of the aisle, blocking everyone’s way. They knock over the displays and don’t bother cleaning up. They call the manager and demand some discounts. By the time they’re done, there’s nothing left. Oh, and you should really wipe down that shopping cart. They’ve been getting everyone sick. Christopher Columbus gentrifies your lunchbox. Have you been to that gourmet taco place in Silver Lake? Did you know that kimchi is a macrobiotic superfood? Do you know what coconut oil is? Christopher Columbus wants to make some changes. He is the cheddar cheese yakisoba. He is the curry flavored popcorn. He is the $25 Chipotle gift card. See, doesn’t that taste better? Christopher Columbus picks and chooses. Christopher Columbus makes you palatable. Christopher Columbus gives your culture his permission. So, to all the kids getting picked on for the food they like to eat: (and I was one of them too) Don’t worry! It will pass. Because your food is only weird and smelly and gross until white people discover it ten years later — And it becomes the new big thing.
Zori Swanegan Debris
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a big tank of salt water that makes you feel nothing Words by Aaron Yih
“I want to get out.” I have this thought at least 30 times throughout the duration of the float session. Amongst a sea of equally salty other thoughts, this central question berates my unhearing, unfeeling, unseeing, untasting, unsmelling self. “I did this to myself,” I thought—one of many coping mechanisms employed. I chose to sign up. I chose to pay $40 for two hours. I chose to walk into the building. I chose to strip naked. I chose to open the chamber door and lay my body down onto the bed of saturated water molecules.
And yet, I find myself wanting to get out. Stuck with nothing but your thoughts is a daunting task, better left to those with something useful to think about. But me, all I can muster up is thoughts of people. Ones in my life who were there, who are here, and who will be there. It’s all very overwhelming when this is all you have. The technique of distracting oneself from thoughts with meaningless things does not work well when you’re inside a fucking blackbox bathtub. But the little things, you’ll settle for: an exploratory feel with slippery hands around the perimeter of the tub, the gentle motion of the water rolling into your body from all directions, the small zero-gravity journey from one side of the tub to the other. The mind finds novelty where it will. But soon enough, motion and touch are no longer interesting. Curiosity rests there unsatiated, and I’m stuck again where I started: thoughts. Fuck. I don’t want to think about the people in my life. That’s why I came here, to get away from them. For once, I thought I was safe, but thoughts follow you everywhere. I remember something that Nilay told me once. He said, “when you’re meditating, you want to think about your body and what you feel.” I always attributed this statement to Nilay’s hidden, inner buddha, not exactly with the one whom I trusted and knew. But nonetheless, his insight offered me an opportunity to run. I latched onto it with the ferocity of an Epomis beetle larvae. *kck…knck, kck… kck, knck, knck* A light tapping sound came from the back of the container. It seemed controlled, but so uncertain that I convinced myself to wait another few minutes to see if it really was time to get out. Sure enough, *knock, knock, knock…KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK * I arose from the thing, a little disoriented from the need to now support my own body weight. The slimy-ish salt water rinsed off my body and I stepped into the shower. I felt like making the sound that MacBooks do when they’re powered on—that immortal Duh-aaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. It was as if I had just installed a software update. After taking my shower, I gathered my belongings and opened the door into the long hallway. I turned left onto a staircase which led up and out the back of the lab— a parking lot of one of those dilapidated sections of developed Westwood. I walked.
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Illustration by Vanessa Chang
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That One Day Words by Will Gu
There is no escaping memory.
He is at Ralph’s walking between aisles. He looks at the other shoppers walking about, keenly focusing on their eyes, smiling, and then gone. The girl beside him hums gently, occasionally making playful noises, the type a three year old may make, innocent and incomprehensible. He walks into the candy aisle. Pushing his shopping cart, his pace slows as he enters the aisle. Options line the shelves, Mike and Ike’s, Trident wintergreen gum, Hersey’s cookies and cream, and the potential for overconsumption. He recalls the time his best friend and him were in Ralph’s buying flour, Ziploc bags, and of course: candy. “Let’s just buy a ton of shit! Toilet paper! We need toilet paper!” he had uttered that day in expectant haste. His friend had followed behind him, silently, unassumingly, examining the items on the shelves introspectively. Maybe he was always like that, but it was different back then. “Brup?” the girl chimes, her way of saying, are you okay? He closes his lips into a tight smile, candy. He grabs a few lifesavers and throws them into his cart. Onwards. “It’s hard to think about it,” he offers. She nods her head, but her eyes are empty. They continue walking. In the time that passes, his face slowly morphs into displeasure. Other college students line the faceless grocery aisles, sharing sympathetic musings about their days. There is laughter, energy, friendship. The sight of popcorn catches his eyes as he nears the end of the aisle: kettle or butter? A happy old man stares back at him from the popcorn box. There are no movies without popcorn. In the cart. He reaches the end of the aisle. There is a certain hum to the car as they drive back, he looks at the side of her face almost expecting an answer to come from it: why are you here? Why am I here? What does “us” mean? But nothing responds. He munches on the last cheez-it from the box he had just bought. Maybe he’ll remember this too.
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Pauline Thai Squish
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Illustration by Alex Tillman
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Review of Flaming Hot Cheetos Words by Not Connor Thompson
I was just a boy when I first laid eyes on the flaming Hot Cheeto Man. I was young and naive. I didn’t think an anthropomorphic cartoon cheetah could affect me in such a way. But he did. This is my story. He smiled at me from across the Kroger. No one had ever smiled at me like that before. He was so coy, playing these games with me. It only made me want him more. I approached him with both caution and curiosity. I looked around, making sure we were alone. My fingertips grazed his bag. He was flamin’ hot, I was just flamin’. I ripped him from the shelves, ran to the counter, and threw my cash at the bewildered cashier. She didn’t understand, nobody would ever seem to understand. We were alone in my home, blinds drawn, hearts exposed. I tore him open, dove my fingers deep down, retrieved a single cheeto, and cried a single tear. He was spicy, yet not pretentious. I couldn’t stop myself, I swallowed everything in one sitting, but I couldn’t bring myself to buy another bag. The world would never understand our love, those special minutes I spent with him, and the subsequent hours I spent on the toilet. He was so special to me, so different than the other snacks I’ve been with. We exchange glances every now and then when I visit the snack aisle. We had our moment, but we must both move on. I guess sometimes it just ain’t easy being cheesy. 5/5 kiwis
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Aisle 3
Words and Illustrations by Pauline Thai
Ingredients for a Better Wellbeing
With the overwhelming accumulation of stresses, from balancing school, social spheres, and personal life, I sought means to reduce my building anxiousness. These are some ingredients I found useful to be more at ease and promote better focus.
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More Sleep
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Sunshine
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Less Makeup
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Planners
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6 Good Friends
Warm Tea
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Avocadoes
Self Love
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P.S. This was not part of any of my proposals: just random: feel free to use it or not use it. Cheers, Will Gu You “Mind if I take this Mountain Dew?” he echoes to his roommate. “Yah sure, just go for it,” his roommate replies. It’s 2am. His phone rings, his girlfriend. He doesn’t pick up. Inside his room one of his roommates is with a girl he met on Tinder. He doesn’t bother going in and sleeping, so he leaves. “Alright, well… I guess I’m heading out again,” he declares to his other roommate in the living room with a faked chuckle. “Yah sure, nice seeing you, you’re never around anyways,” his roommate states. Outside he walks slowly so he can focus: a sort of thought through intense concentration on the moment. He notices a moldy old boot, the gray-lighted night sky, and the observer, himself watching himself. This is enough for his mind to wake, to talk: “Duudde: what the fuck was that! You’re going to get upset, leave your girlfriend’s apartment, and then come back with a Mountain Dew? That’s the best you can do?” He listens out of spite, and in his spite fights back with his own thoughts: “Yah, what else can I do? My other roommate is banging some girl from Tinder in our room, plan A is gone. Man, fuck that guy, he was being a dick to me on Facebook earlier too.” “Tell you what, you go back and see what happens, I dare you. Crawl back, make this entertaining for me.” Instead, he ends up at Ralph’s. He’s sitting outside with another Mountain Dew, this one is a bottle however. “Thank God it’s 24 hours huh?” his mind chimes. “Sure,” he replies. “What? Don’t tell me you actually care about her!” He drinks his Mountain Dew.
Words by Will Gu
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MEAT DEPARTMENT
By Pauline Thai
It only took over the course of four days for me to accumulate an abundance of matches over different online dating apps. Little was I interested in who I was matching with (I swiped right for every person that came across my screen), and focused on what first liners these straight, cis-gender men had to say. Below is a sample of the seven pages worth of pick up lines and comments that I recieved. It’s a full selection of meat - unedited, premium, rotting, tasty, and mildly horrifying.
You think you can be a good girl for daddy? I think this might be love at first SWIPE Are you the bottom of my laptop? Cause you’re hot and making me nervous Are your legs made of nutella? Because I’d love to spread them! Can I wife you up already Were you by any chance raised in a chicken farm? Cause you really know how to raise a cock. On a scale of 1-10 you’re about a 9 and I’m the 1 u need (:
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Hope this superlike wont make it awkward between us. Hey gorgeous any plants for tonight? Let’s grab a couple of bottles, spark up a couple of fatass blunts, and pop some bomb ass Molly :p mmm a wasian If i were a fart I would always be floating around you lol Are you my appendix? Because I have a gut feeling I should take you out. :) I don’t know how to Ollie or kick flip but I can sure teach you how to grind Exotic!
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How to Age Gracefully (Or Not): Advice From My 94 YearOld Grandmother Words by Risley Cline
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Curse in German, it’s more rewarding.
2 The best birth control is this: ask yourself this question every time you are about to sleep with a man, “Can you imagine bearing his children?” and most of the time the answer is simply “no”.
3 Write things down because, no matter how hard you try, you will forget it later.
4 Spend your money—your kids are going to do it for you anyway. 5 Never put anything in your body for anyone else but you. 6 Self-love is portable. 7
Mind over matter. Even if only one of your knees works simply refuse to take anything but the stairs.
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Indulge your sweet tooth.
9 Love and lust will inevitably fade but compassion lasts a lifetime.
Opposite Page Illustration by Zori Swanegan
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64 By Pauline Thai
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The Little Cart
Words by Connor Thompson
When I was younger my father would take me grocery shopping with him. He called me from work, telling me to make a list of the items I wanted. I never did make any of his lists, but he didn’t mind. I watched him pull up in his black Expedition from the window and ran outside, both to greet him and escape the hell that was my afterschool daycare. He opened his car door for me, offering his hand to boost me into the seat. He let me sit in the front even though I was too young, my velcro Skechers barely touching the floor. We arrived at the supermarket in a frenzy. We never knew exactly what my mother was cooking for dinner. Instead, we prayed for the right ingredients in hopes of escaping her due wrath.
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My father grabbed a shopping cart. He rushed to the automatic doors, still donned in his work clothes: black pants, pale blue shirt, and plain tie (telling society he worked in finance without saying any words). I trotted close behind. Smiling, I picked one of the carts designed for kids, the small ones with the large metal poles topped by red plastic flags. My little cart and I weaved between the aisles, dodging soccer moms, food stamp families, and personal assistants. The store was a mosaic of the strange bedfellows that made up my neighborhood, both overwhelming and intriguing me. But my father was there to keep me safe. Our last stop, always our last stop, was the snack aisle. “You can pick out whatever you like,” he said to me. I piled my entire life into a child-sized cart, confused by all the choices my father had given me. I grabbed the Double-Stuffed Oreos I liked to eat while watching Courage the Cowardly Dog, the Ritz Crackers I had tried for the first time earlier that week at my friend Zach’s house, and the melted Milano’s I knew my mother loved. He pantomimed a shushing motion with a finger over his grin and placed a bag of chocolate-covered raisins on top of next week’s lunches. Side-by-side we squeezed through the aisle and headed towards the checkout area. I tried my best to help him, staggering on my tippy-toes to place the last item on the conveyor belt. Together, we loaded the car. Playfully annoyed at my father for not waving goodbye to his cart, I waved to mine knowing I’d be back tomorrow with my mother getting what my father forgot. We ate dinner as a family. My brother bragged about his successes at school, my parents gossiped about work, and I sat in silent content trying to understand their vocabulary.
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I don’t remember what we ate, I guess it wasn’t really that important. But I remember the feeling of a loving family, the feeling that I was home. Time passed and my brother left for college. My father got busier with work, I got busier with school. We stopped going to the supermarket together. I shopped alone, waved goodbye one last time to my tiny cart, graduated to the mature carts my father would use. I ate out more often. I stayed out later. I was disinterested in what my parents had to say. We stopped eating dinner as a family. When my father sullenly picked me up from wherever I wasn’t supposed to be, I remember him as the savior who picked me up from daycare. When my father got sick, writhing in pain, not speaking to us for days, I remember him telling me I could have anything I wanted in the snack aisle. When my father waved goodbye to me after a bad fight with my mother, I remember my tiny hand waving goodbye to my beloved cart. I haven’t seen one of those tiny shopping carts in years. Safety regulations? Cost saving maneuvers? I just don’t know. Those tiny carts were my childhood, a childhood where trips to the supermarket were manifestations of my father’s love. I miss those little carts and I miss my family dinners. I miss him, for now and what he used to be. Lately, the distance between us that seemed so permanent is beginning to shorten. As I grow older I worry less about my carts and the uncertainty of my snacks. The world still scares me, but I want it to scare me. I’m confused and exhausted by my choices, but I’ve learned I should be. And I have my dad, the man who put me in the front seat when I was too young, the man who gave me so many choices, to thank for that.
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Fruit by the Pounding Words and Pictures by reggie lin
72 HORNY MELANIE (horned melon) 0/5 kiwis size: questionably girthy. avg. girth: 10 in length: 5 in insertable length: 5 in I don’t know what I expected from Horny Melanie. For the adventurous minded, by all means try this prodding object that is impossible to stick up into your fleshy crevices that clearly do not want this object. As for pleasure, there is none. None. I am not joking. Unless you enjoy an odd sort of masochism that involves long term rectal bleeding, it is a pain in the ass (pun somewhat intended). Beware.
73 BIG CHUY (butternut squash) 2/5 kiwis size: extra-extra large. avg. girth: 9 in length: 12 in insertable length: 8 in Big Chuy is sure a large fellow. I would say that he is a bit too girthy, but at this point, you have already committed to his size so… Regardless, you need a lot of lube for it to even enter whatever crevice you have decided to decimate - and don’t tell me that I did not warn you because I sure did. YOU NEED LUBE. This is not a joke. Please do yourself a favor and warm up with smaller sizes before you jump to him! He is a challenge, but I cannot necessarily say that he’s worth the challenge. But I mean, you can at least say that you conquered something in your life. If you can conquer this, you can do Doc Johnson’s The Great American Challenge. I believe in you.
76 SIT-UR-ASS DOWN (orange, a citrus) 1/5 kiwis size: girthy. avg. girth: 8.25 in length: 3 in insertable length: 3 in I would not recommend inserting this in a body. It lacks a flared base, which is very important for any sort of sex toy! That being said, it does have a nice feel, as it fits perfectly in your palm. Definitely had a lot of difficulty getting it in - you need a lot of lube, patience, and self-hate. It does not feel very good. And it’s dangerous to the point that you might have to get it surgically removed. Please don’t sit your ass down.
77 SWEETIE (sweet potato) 5/5 kiwis size: perfect, though larger than normal avg. girth: 6.5 in length: 10.25 in insertable length: 6.5 in Out of the entire selection, Sweetie’s my favorite. Sweetie has a larger than average girth but it is such an achievable widening of your body. With this, you really have a girth that you have to warm up to, but is something that is so pleasurable in the end. It is able to hit the right places, and the handheld quality of this specific Sweetie makes it perfectly controllable. Paired with a vibrator, you can reach full body orgasms that you really have not been able to imagine in centuries. Of course, this is for my own crevices, and they are not yours. I just hope that you can have your own informed decisions when deciding your toys. Good luck out there!
Editor's Note “It was a good time.” Pauline Thai