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IssuelayoutbyPatriciaZhangandGraceZhu IssuecoverbySelinaYang
March 2025
Patricia Zhang is a Toronto-based creative who loves writing, film, photography, and philosophy. You can reach her at @ patriciaphobic or visit her creative work @patriciazcreates on Instagram.
Grace Zhu, artist & photographer, find her @bringbbackflipside
Rachel Cheng is a student in Toronto, Ontario. She loves philosophy, reading, and music. You can often catch her playing piano, or petting her cats.
C O N T E N T S
Didion once wrote that “We tell ourselves stories in order to live”. We find the meaning in the mundane, relish in the relatable. It’s what makes us human. This cycle of creativity. And we create themes from places.
Issue 5 is Spittelmarkt. A place -- like any -entrenched in meaning. Existing as a divider and a symbol. Through these pages of prose, poetry, and art, we explore these borders. These meanings. This is what, dear readers, we invite you to explore.
Yours,
Patricia Zhang
EDITOR-IN-CHIEF, FOUNDER
For his introduction to Angels in America, Kushner calls into question the merits of introduction. He argues that the plunge must be unknown to be wholly felt, to be remembered; as such in literature, as such in life. Though this is a play from another era, from a foreign geography - it is, in a way, exactly what we wish to communicate in this issue.
East Berlin, New York in the 198os, whichever city you currently reside in during this present moment; they all carry with them a spectre on the horizon, the leaden promise of change. It is precisely when we are faced with this prospect, with plunging into which we do not yet know, when we look to history and stories.
Spittelmarkt is a story about an excerpt of history, an issue about change, and above all, its beauty. To stand on the banks of the Rubicon is no frightening thing, and neither is the bust of Ozymandias in the sand. This will be an exhibition of what can - what must - arise from division, and what to be hopeful for.
“-hope, when it can’t be discovered in certainty, can almost always be located in indeterminacy-”
-Tony Kushner
Grace Zhu CREATIVE DIRECTOR, HEAD EDITOR
Tiffany Lee
speak to me,
aber bitte nicht auf Englisch, explain the meaning of this word but in your language, so i can learn: your voice on the phone, i traverse dialectal ups and downs with tightly shut eyes to concentrate, that is all i know before i ever set eyes on you. only one screen apart, a sea separates us, country-lines away.
we arrange to meet on a saturday, wirst Du mich suchen?
navigate the labyrinthine U-Bahnhof Zoologischer Garten, take the U2 towards Pankow, will you find your way, the platform hidden in plain sight?
change to U5, get off at Museumsinsel, do you hear the still waters surrounding the island as a moat? observe as the tourist cruises are carried on, away by the flowing Spree, just as i carry words and translations on my tongue,
ich liebe Worte. frisch auf meiner Zunge, eine Oberbaumbrücke zu Deiner Sprache i am a vessel. i am an anchorless floating island. i overcome: gently wearing down the wall of languages between us, just as the waves lap, ever enduring, against the riverbank
Ach, mein liebes Berlin, meine vollgepackte Zeitkapsel; jenseits der Spree wirst Du mich finden, on the other side of the waters dort wo die glücklichen Geister meiner Erinnerungen mit meinen Liebsten tanzen, am Ufer im Sonnenlicht, in Freude
then head west on foot. look for me, please, among the many fairytale-esque Berliner Rosengärten, through which i oft meandered back when i still believed in love. but the lush Tiergarten tree canopies are nowhere near as dark as the murky places of my mind, that forest. bark rings recording the annals of my girlhood, spent tucking myself away only noiseless tears be a good little child, no trouble, where does one old part of me end, and the next begin?
we backtrack down the U6, get off at Tempelhof on the Ringbahn-line, which marks the Zone A boundary. head towards Tempelhofer Feld, park of former airstrips, where my macabre shadow past holds me ransom. but: lovingly replaced by new memories, dreams; just as shadows of the planes of yore dim away, on the open grass we all take flight
in German (loosely translated):
aber bitte nicht auf Englisch: but not in English, please wirst Du mich suchen: will you search for me?
ich liebe Worte. frisch auf meiner Zunge, / eine Oberbaumbrücke zu Deiner Sprache.: i love words, fresh on my tongue, / an Oberbaumbrücke [a bridge crossing over an important river, the Spree, which flows through Berlin] to your language.
Ach, mein liebes Berlin, meine vollgepackte Zeitkapsel; / jenseits der Spree wirst Du mich finden, / dort wo die glücklichen Geister meiner Erinnerungen mit meinen Liebsten / tanzen, am Ufer im Sonnenlicht, in Freude : O, my dear Berlin, my fully-packed time capsule; / you will find me beyond the Spree, / where the happy spirits of my memories with my dearest ones dance, on the waterfront in the sunlight, in joy
Straßenbahn oder U-Bahn?
Schwierig, ich mag nämlich sowohl Straßenbahn als auch U-Bahn fahren Die U-Bahn aber vielleicht ein kleines bisschen mehr, weil ich sie mit zwei meiner Lieblingsstädte verbinde (Berlin und Hamburg) Es ist auch etwas Besonderes, eine Stadt unter- und oberirdisch vom Fenster aus beobachten zu können Ich liebe zusätzlich auch U-Bahn-Karten und die unterschiedlichen Farben, die verschiedene Linien repräsentieren. // That is a hard one, because I adore both travelling on the Straßenbahn and the U-Bahn. But maybe the U-Bahn just a tiny bit more, because in my mind I connect them with two of my favourite cities (Berlin and Hamburg). I especially enjoy being able to observe a city both under and above ground. I also really like the U-Bahn maps and the different colours which represent various lines.
Rename the poem.
I had also considered “i am an anchorless floating island” or “U-Bahnhof Zoologischer Garten”, but found the former too wordy in combination with the German title, and the latter too specific
The Perfect Song?
A cappella folk music with multiple voices, detailed imagery and a coming-of-age or fairytale story; OR a piano/violin-based song telling a story about nature via mysterious metaphors
What wouldn’t you do?
I find it easier to answer this question when relating it to a specific context, so I will refer to language learning. I have on occasion joked, “What wouldn’t I do in the name of language learning purposes?” Indeed, I have gone from the usual (reading novels, listening to music) to the hilarious, such as watching preteen dramas about 12-year-olds falling in love and clips about nonexistent relationships which randomly appear in my feed. I justify this to myself by pointing out that this helps with everyday vocabulary and slang
Artist Statement: My piece examines the figurative borders between people, as bridged by language, as well as personal borders within one's own identity I have been inspired by my fascination for the metro system (U-Bahn) in Berlin, the way it crosses from one end of the city to another, through a vast variety of neighbourhoods The poem describes parts of a journey, punctuated by stops at particular landmarks or areas of the city which I often have visited or are dear to me, due to fond memories with friends. The physical journey is intertwined with an exploration of how I personally have experienced multilingual friendships, and how my language learning has been an important bridge for me to reach others This piece further delves into aspects of my own self, considering the boundaries between memories past and present. I have written parts of the poem in German, and at the end supplied a loose translation
And I counted flies and dreamt and bled.
Daniel Z. McKenzie
Liquid silver streams Along the verdant velvet seamsThe world’s priestly robes. A bishop defrocked Is a Father no more.
we went out hunting, your camcorder thrown over your left shoulder as a mist net, & I followed behind you, unspooling it all.
We were always running those days. our steps were made of light, & the light bent under itself. I thought often about reflections, back then, but only those in rivers & sometimes mirages. I had those, repeating, too. In philosophy class (you took this, I never did), you learned that mirages only bloom in certain places. the desert, as water; open arms, as salvation. When we hunt, I see them everywhere. You pass each one by. your camera flash gorges your trailing path & you don’t notice a thing. You say
you’ve got a lack of it. by IT beliefs, reflections. awareness so dramatic, I said, so you’d add dramatics to the list. Colors.
A songbird humming its path through the trees The maples, cerulean-bright. a color! you’d say, so I’d shoot my hands out.
The bluebird blurring its way through my palms. Your right eye closes; you filter your fingertips into photographs. the maples loom.
THERE. Wasn’t I enough, wasn’t I. in these vignettes I believe in movement. Philosophy says this is a mirage too a snapshot
my mind eye produces simply because it wants something to be there There were infinities, believe me, infinities perhaps it was us, reflecting cornflower blue in your camera lens; we were there & then gone. Come over. Fill in the blanks. in the polaroid you take of me, I am blurry. the film refuses to sit right & in your path I am ever so little
a blueblur with wings a pool of water philosophy says exists simply & what I mean is this I have held the mirage.
Ink on watercolor paper with pen detailing
I keep thinking about the time in high school when you drew me a map of the city, I still have it somewhere. It was so easy to get lost in a place where all the trees look the same. And now every time I see a missing person's poster stapled to a pole, all I can think is that could have been me. Missing, disappeared.
But there are no posters for people who just never came back from vacation, from college, from life.
You haven't killed yourself because you'd have to commit to a single exit.
What you wouldn't give to be your cousin Catherine, who you watched twice in one weekend get strangled nude in a bathtub onstage by the actor who once filled your mouth with quarters at your mother's funeral. The curtains closed and opened again. We applauded until our hands were sore.
But you couldn't shake the image of her lifeless body, the way she hung there like a marionette with cut strings. And now every time you try to write a poem, it feels like a eulogy.
So even though you haven't found the perfect ending yet, you keep writing. For Catherine, for yourself, for all the lost souls who never got their own missing person's poster.
Because as long as there are words on a page, there is still hope for an unfinished exit to find its proper ending.
Sybil Williams
Inspired by biological processes such as neuronal reconfiguration and the female menstrual cycle, I wanted to investigate the porous boundary between flesh and interior.
Swelling, visceral corporeality tissue, organ, and rupture unravel the tension between what is contained and what spills over Through the body as my subject becoming a red shifting terrain, I wanted to depict the instability of female identity, and perhaps memory, caught in dissolution (2025, oil on canvas, 40 x 60cm).
Conversing with Sybil Williams
What artwork out there did you wish you’d created?
‘Silueta series’ by Ana Mendietathe most viscerally impactful collection of drawings, sculptures, photography and film.
The perfect song?
What an impossible question. It could be ‘peaceable kingdom’ by Patti Smith, a tribute to Rachel Corrie, an activist who fought for freedom in Gaza
This painting involves scattered fragments objects found, misplaced, and remembered This was a reminder for me to slow down and hone in on the act of noticing, giving significance to the overlooked: a ring, a rotting seed, a drilled hole in the pavement… now a network of fleeting moments all colliding upon canvas.
Echoing neuronal pathways, each form hums and abstracts with anatomical effect, weaving in and out of each other I like to think of this as a map of nonspecific yet heartily enduring memory, change, and small things noticed once again ( 2025, oil on canvas, 40 x 60cm).
Lifetime admission to any museum in any city, which would it be?
Wow My answer is less so a museum but a site? It would have to be the Mogao Grottoes in Dunhuang China (also super happy with the Met, NYC classic)
2D or 3D?
3D. surface texture and tangibility is something im desperately drawn to in my own practice!
‘Afew small things to noticeagain’ Sybil Williams
Using acrylic paints on poster card paper, the piece was created using squeegee techniques. Texture was differentiated by changing the movement of the squeegee to make beautiful backgrounds or abstract figures and landscapes.
Cyrus Carlson
Human form, fragile in skin, devilishly grimace in eyes, mind, thoughts and touch.
A hand, an eyeball, a blood vessel
A thought, an impulse, a dismissive cunt.
A roaring disaster, an anomaly, a strange discography.
Carry my headless body, fingers of unspoken tongues, & plead for justice…
… conquer forgiveness
Serve us the fucking finest of crimes.
Ekphrastic Poetry
Media: The Hinterland By Glenn
Brown
An attempt to explore juxtaposition through contrasting elements to evoke complex thought and emotion The piece challenges us to consider if warnings can truly save us or if they’re just an illusion of safety.
Grace Zhu
Spittelmarkt is the name of the U-Bahn station where Leipziger Straße meets the Spree the closest entry into Berlin’s underground from where I was staying To walk towards it every morning is to walk upon a median: on the right rises reflections in steel; on the left sinks the perspicuous concrete of the Eastern Bloc Spittelmarkt services Mitte one of the most prominent protrusions of East Berlin, where the Mauer made an almost complete circle around its perimeter Today, the wall is gone, leaving only the cobblestone scar weaving across the city; yet even without it, where the division once ran remains still entirely decipherable especially here where the East met the West and the difference can be consolidated by a half-turn of the head A sprawling, neon-red Coca Cola sign sweeps across the roof of the brutalist apartments behind the Spittelmarkt U-Bahn entrance; tram lines; manhole covers; Plattenbauten; yellow street lights remnants and all pieces of anthropological evidence in the wild
Today, the U2 line cuts through Berlin from Pankow in the East to Ruhleben in the West. Nonetheless, it’s no difficulty to ascertain where the severance was once inflicted; every station from Thälmannplatz (now Anton-Wilhem-Amo Straße) and east of it became part of the East German Line A one of the two U-Bahn lines established from the East German transit divorce from the much vaster Western counterpart (DDR employed an expansive S-Bahn network instead). U6 and U8, both Western lines, are the only other tracks that run through East Berlin; though to say that they are any sense of a unifying factor would be excessively idealistic
“-and when two p their coffee have it in th other in the
Both these lines are ones that primarily run through West Berlin, save for small intermediate sections that interject into Soviet territory; after all, borders are almost always arbitrary and the Mauer was far from straight. Remarkably, the trains were still allowed to run (for a price, of course), however it obligated the closure of all stations on those lines that fell within the East; the West Berlin trains would not be stopping at any of them though for technical reasons, they had to tantalizingly slow down In these geisterbahnhöfe (ghost stations), West Berlin travelers would only be meters away from the East German guards that constantly patrolled every deserted and jaundiced yellow platform, but they would not be there for long; the train will mechanically make its way to the next geisterbahnhof and the next and the subsequent thereafter, until it finally finds itself north enough to emerge into the western side of the wall
1969 West Berlin subway map showing line 6 and 8 (U6, U8) and their ghost stations passing through East Berlin.
sometimes, people take es - one will he East, the e West.”
Friedrichstraße is almost one such station, situated on the U6 line east of the wall, its chief difference is that the trains did stop As an official border crossing with its unique circumstance of being the only one entirely within East Berlin, it was a predictably popular defection site. While the Fernsehturm (Berlin TV tower) is visible from almost every vantage point in the city centre, it’s just out of Friedrichstraße station where it seems deceivingly close, a lingering reminder that one has not yet left the DDR.
To travel further west until the very edges, one will inevitably happen upon Potsdamer Platz a public intersection left devastated by the aftermath of WWII and remaining stagnant all throughout the Cold War. By 1961, Potsdamer Platz similarly ceased operations as the closest station to the newly constructed Mauer Above ground, the square (or what was more of a deathstrip during the division) is bisected by the same wall. In Wim Wenders’ 1987 film Der Himmel über Berlin (Wings of Desire, not direct translation), Potsdamer Platz is seen as a desolate lot punctuated only by the graffitied concrete Mauer and scattered rubble likely the most eminent delineation of Cold War era Berlin’s public perception When one arrives at the same location now, it’s almost entirely unrecognizable Potsdamer Platz is conceivably the closest one may get to American skyscrapers in Berlin
Housing one of the largest shopping plazas, it’s perhaps the overzealous reaction though merited to the perceived execution of socialism; the modern plaza is poles apart from the neoclassical architecture present prior to WWII. What one will see today is no testament to the history of the city truly no part of it speaks Berlin’s name save for the constant cyclists lacing through traffic, and that so much is able to arise so quickly out of nothing.
One of the few remnants of history left in Potsdamer Platz is the staggered clefts of concrete wall still standing in the centre of the square against gasoline and tarmac Between the six sections stand infographic boards; possibly to educate possibly to create just one more link between every visitor and the Cold War Berliners, that regardless of time we both are unable to pass through what seems so unimposing, arbitrary, and ridiculous when presented face to face. Once the tallest structure (low bar given Potsdamer Platz was nothing more than flat soil) for meters, it’s now considerably dwarfed by the urban offices and headquarters sprung up around it; one cannot help but feel incredulity that something so insignificant in retrospect had ever been claimed impermeable Stretching away from both ends is a two-brick-wide cobblestone suture line marking where the wall once stood. It’s common to find the double row disappearing into coffeehouses and then reappearing from the other side To stand atop these stitches is to do what no East or West Berliner could never do from 1961 to 1989, yet today pedestrians cross the fault lines without a glance, children kick their footballs across and chase after them, outdoor tables are set up directly over it, and sometimes, when two people take their coffees one will have it in the East, the other in the West
Heading north from Potsdamer will be the most recognizable symbol of Berlin and Imperial Prussia From the Western side of the Brandenburg Tor, looking east one may again find the sight of the Fernsehturm between any of its sandstone columns if stood at the right location Conversely, from the Eastern side peering west, the Siegessäule (Victory Column) will be visible the exact same way. Of course, none of it would have been visible during the years with the Mauer slicing right in front of the gate; passer-bys were kept back with roadblocks, and troops were never a rare sight as such it was for more than three decades When the wind from Leipzig arrived in 1989 and the political storm that was brewing refused to scatter, innumerable
Berliners who rightly believed that they were standing at the verge of history, and were eager to taste the static, congregated at the Brandenburg Tor on both fronts Around eleven in the evening of November 9th, the Mauer fell; barriers opened and crowds flooded through those who could, climbed and stood on top of the wall directly in front of the Brandenburg gate presumably the first to ever do so Others, known as wallpeckers, took to the wall with hammers and pickaxes to chip away at the concrete, whether in frenzied rapture or to preserve a piece of tangible history before it slips from between their fingers, it’s impossible to know. What can be known, however, (bar from those already standing on the Mauer) is that as more and more of the wall slipped away to dust and rubble, the East Berliners will have been the first in their generation to once again find the Siegessäule peeking through the Brandeburg columns, while the West Berliners will have been the first, ever, to see the Fernsehturm (completed in 1969) in the same context.
Today, Berlin much less Germany has hardly achieved its quixotic utopian ideal post-reunification Division is pervasive if one knows where to look From East Berlin’s livery sodium-vapour lamps besides West Berlin’s LED being still visible from space today, to socialist architecture, the Glienicke bridge being painted two different shades, and widespread political polarisation stemming from extensive long-term inequality between the former West and East (die Mauer im Kopf), it’s evident that the detritus from Germany’s cleaving has not yet retired There are few paradigms more obvious than that of Berlin’s underground take the glass of West Berlin’s Zoologischer Garten against the blue-green tiles of East Berlin’s U5 Alexanderplatz; Berlin’s culture, like countless others, has been irrevocably shaped by the 20th century and the Cold War. While its history does undoubtedly extend far beyond just its momentary division, it’s redundant to pretend the consequences of that division must be entirely reversed and homogenised. Berlin is uniquely what it
is today because of the distinct customs and way of life developed on both sides of the Mauer. Though nothing will ever be perfect and certain contentions must assuredly be addressed, to not celebrate the riveting outcome no matter how unfortunate the cause is more than a shame. Given that, this will be no elegy for the debris of Berlin’s partition, but rather an ode to how much it’s gained in spite
“Given that, this will be no elegy for the debris of Berlin’s partition, but rather an ode to how much it’s gained in spite.”
Selina Yang is a Grade 12 student from Toronto that utilizes colourful palettes to paint vivid scenes from the depths of her (somewhat limited) imagination. She blends her canvases with a passion for photography, where she finds inspiration from lens that show her the familiar world in a fresh new light.
Page 41
Grace Zhu
Pages 4-6
Patricia Zhang
Pages 14-16
Jerusalem Debru puts a lot of detail into their work, focusing on contrast and intricate designs. They like to experiment with different ideas and visuals to create pieces that stand out
Sonia Ravindran is a Grade 12 student planning to pursue architecture, though she’s not completely sure what her future holds. Her art twists everyday feelings and issues we encounter to spark discussion She enjoys sleeping in, exploring random topics on the internet (e.g, music production at the moment), reading, and watching shows/films.
Tamir Mumin is a cat-loving, water-dwelling manga enthusiast with a secret passion for the cosmos (astronomy, not astrology let’s be clear). A self-proclaimed Shakespeare reject, he navigates life as a non-confrontational skeptic. When not managing projects with precision, he indulges in his many hobbies, including pastry-making. Proudly Bengali, he brings a dash of spice both literal and metaphorical to everything he does.
Sybil Williams is an artist fascinated by notions of ‘the In-between’ She weaves memory, texture, and tangled histories into layered works that blur the female body, culture, and identity – drawing inspiration from her Chinese British heritage. @vivaa888.
Cyrus Carlson is an abstract painter and comic artist from Lindstrom Minnesota. He goes to Saint Paul conservatory for performing artists and is currently a junior.
Gina Gidaro has a bachelor’s degree in creative writing, a minor in studio art, and an associate degree in arts and humanities from Ohio University. She received a graduate certificate from the Denver Publishing Institute and is an editor for the Same Faces Collective and SeaGlass Literary Magazine. She is passionate about stories and anything spooky. Her publications can be found at https://ginagidaro.wordpress.com.
Linus Elkins is a poet and writer from Seattle, Washington. They currently serve as a member of the Youth Speaks Seattle board of directors, where they work to organize poetry opportunities that are both youth-led and youth-focused in the Seattle area. They thrive through the practice of creating and sharing art, and hope to one day see their writing on a library shelf. Their work has appeared in New Words Press, Literaturmagazin Bremen, the Seattle Arts and Lectures blog, and is proudly displayed on a bookcase in their high school language arts teacher’s classroom
Noralee Zwick is a student and poet based in the Bay Area. A California Arts Scholar and Iowa Young Writers Studio alum, their work can be found in Prairie Home Lit, Fleeting Daze Lit, and Dishsoap Quarterly, among others. They can be found teaching and researching art, admiring old jewelry, and making an unholy amount of Spotify playlists. Find them on Instagram at @noraleewrites.
Tiffany Lee grew up in an Asian megacity with a local and international-school upbringing She currently attends university in Germany, pursuing her interests in crocheting, knitting and language learning in her free time. She writes poetry as a cathartic outlet, inspired by personal relationships and the uncertain future. Her work has appeared in “The Infinite Blues Review”, “Catheartic Magazine” and "Iceblink Literary Magazine".
Claudia Wysocky, a Polish writer and poet based in New York, is known for her diverse literary creations, including fiction and poetry Her poems, such as "Stargazing Love" and "Heaven and Hell," reflect her ability to capture the beauty of life through rich descriptions. Besides poetry, she authored "All Up in Smoke," published by "Anxiety Press." With over five years of writing experience, Claudia's work has been featured in local newspapers, magazines, and even literary journals like WordCityLit and Lothlorien Poetry Journal. Her writing is powered by her belief in art's potential to inspire positive change. Claudia also shares her personal journey and love for writing on her own blog, and she expresses her literary talent as an immigrant raised in post-communism Poland.
Daniel Z. McKenzie is a senior college student studying English, Greek, and Linguistics at Liberty University in Lynchburg, Virginia Daniel was raised in Cusco, Peru and constantly misses the Andes Mountains but now contents himself with backpacking and general tomfoolery in the American outdoors. When he is not out sleeping in the back of his Subaru or climbing a mountain, Daniel can be found studying long-dead languages while sampling his own expansive tea collection.