Issue 1: Words we were to scared to say by sincerity_literarymagazine

staff

ABOUT US

founded by Saodat Tursunova and Safrina Haniff, fueled by our love for writing. We aim to inform, inspire and create.

Saodat Tursunova

Hi, I’m Saodat, I’m 14, and I’m from Tashkent, Uzbekistan.

I was born on the 15 of March, which makes me a pisces, and that explains why I’m so dramatic. I love talking, and as a result of that, writing! A couple of my hobbies and interests are reading, music, songwriting, baking and running! And getting on Safrina’s nerves :)

FAVOURITE

Female Artists who areshamed for their

and I’m rom eading which as I got many mming, ng and athons, s thinghing and elf a denote: ng, trust me.

Theanthology:issue1

A Lighthouse Of Mist

a crying, young lamb, a lighthouse of mist all drudging calmly towards the abyss and a roaring crowd, all screaming " go!” forcing the lamb into: decades ago a merchant, a salesman, and a daughter all getting walked, to-ward to the slaughter pushing them, harder, into the darkness, into the place where nothing can harness the people are looking, but pretend they dont see, the sidelines are silent, when they have to be some sort of savior, an anti-hero, if you will, they all turn and run, “oh they know the drill”

my hands are untied, i m running and free the books and the pen and the scripts have the keys i m singing a song of freedom to see it ' s all in the spaces, it’s inside of me

come read my honest, and unfiltered truth come hear my sorrows, my secrets of youth,

come see the untold, gospel of truth and maybe you ' ll protect it, it might be of use

I sit, waiting for the apologies Apologies that would never come I rehearse the conversations Ones we ’ll never have Every line, I would shout and every word you would cry How you ’ll play victim, and justify The excuses you would throw, all the nonsensical accusations I would run, maybe hide Details of a day that only exist within my soul Only for me to feel and hold You needn ’t even defend yourself You needn ’t give me excuses, though I know you would I had thought out every known explanation you would give Every possible shot at my wound I stare waiting for a ding, a ring The sliver of hope I cling I know it won ’t come; I know you won ’t come You ’ ve gone far ahead, leaving me behind I don ’t blame you, though I want to Nor do I hate you, oh how I wish to I might ’ ve been able to unfollow you Change your contact name But I didn ’t have it within myself to press the block button I wasn ’t able to shut you out completely Because no matter how far I ’ ve moved on The hope still stuck on like a leech Sucking the life out of me Leaving me to bleed dry

Maybe it was for the better Maybe you leaving was a sign from god But how I wish you stayed waitingApologies would I we’ll word would How you’ll play The excuses nonsensical hide of a within for to hold needn’t even yourself needn’t know would I out every known you would givepossible my waiting a The know won’t come; won’t come You’ve gone ahead, me don’t want you, oh how to might’ve been able unfollow Change But didn’t to wasn’t you completely Because I’ve on hope still like Sucking life bleed dry the you god how wish stayed

SinceritywithSincerity

“How are you so confident ?”

I ' ve gotten asked this question multiple times, with different tones, and different meanings. To answer that question, it s hard. Very hard. Let me tell you how I ' m achieving it day by day, and how you can too.

I ve gotten asked this question multiple times, with different answer day, how you can too.

I had realized I was having image issues, when I While washbasin, watching running wouldn t got think a from Swift s Anti Hero sums

I had realized I was having body image issues, when I stopped looking at myself in the mirror. While brushing my teeth, I would look down at the washbasin, watching water running to the drain. I wouldn ' t look in the mirror after I got dressed, and while I was brushing my hair, scared of my own ref lection. I think a quote from Taylor Swift ' s Anti Hero really sums up my situation.

“ I ' ll stare directly at the sun, but never in the mirror ”

“I ll directly the but never the mirror”

I ' d like to deny having body dysmorphia, but I don ' t think I can.

I d like to but I don t think I can. destruction, I

Taylor Swift s “Miss Americana documentary, and about those words, was like back ref lection the “if feeling that, then who isn’t?

About two months later of this self destruction, I watched Taylor Swift ' s “ Miss Americana " documentary, and at about 20 minutes in, she starts talking about her body. I found myself in those words, it was like staring back at my ref lection in the world s biggest pop star, it made me realize, “ if she was feeling that, then who isn ’ t? "

It ' s what she said later, is what became my ticket out of my self hatred.

“ Because if you ’ re thin enough, then you don ’ t have that ass that everybody wants, but if you have enough weight on you to have an ass, then your stomach isn ’ t f lat enough. It ’ s all just f**king impossible. There ’ s always some standard of beauty that you re not meeting ” (umusic.co.nz)

My idea of beauty crumbled immediately. I had always thought to be beautiful, you needed to be skinny, and blue eyed. Taylor Swift was my idea of gorgeous, so to know she felt the way I did was an eye opening experience. It helped me learn, and now, I get to help you.

“Because if re thin enough, then don’t have that ass everybody if you have you isn’t It’s There’s always beauty meeting” beautiful, Swift was my to know way now, I get to help

answer

I ve gotten asked this question multiple times, with different tones, and different meanings. To answer that question, it ' s hard. Very hard. Let me tell you how I ' m achieving it day by day, and how you can too.

Very me you how m it day by day, how can too. down water wouldn look the dressed, and while was own reflection. from Swift s Anti Hero sums up situation.

“ I ' ll stare directly at the sun, but never in the mirror ”

“I mirror”

I d like to deny having body dysmorphia, but I don t think I can.

About two months later of this self destruction, watched Swift s “Miss Americana and at about 20 minutes in, reflection ' “if who isn’t?

It ' s what she said later, is what became my ticket out of my self hatred.

It s what she said later, is what became ticket out of self hatred.

“Because ’ don’t your isn’t flat It’s There’s always beauty you re not meeting” (umusic.co.nz)

One of my issues was food. I felt like whenever I ate a full meal, I was a fat pig, and when I didn t finish, I was being good. What kind of ideology is that? What you need to realize is, without the proper food to fuel you, you won t function properly. Eat as much as you want, of whatever the hell you want. You want a salad? Eat a salad. You want a burger? Eat a goddamn burger. Your body knows best, and you have to listen to it. Food is such an amazing thing that brings people together, and that gives you energy. Why would you want to deprive yourself of it? As I ’ m writing this, I ’ m eating cherry tomatoes and chocolate, because that ’ s what I wanted.

Swift was know was eye helped learn, and meal, ' won you want, whatever you want. want Eat a salad. You want a Eat a Your knows best, and have to listen to it. Food is an energy. I’m I’m that’s what wanted. 15

Another one of issues, was Weird, But I used sports as a toxic mechanism to fuel obsession of losing weight, for the longest time. But that is not what sports is about, it s pursuing passion, and getting health, thigh gap, ups stronger core, part done, didn’t

Another one of my issues, was sports. Weird, right? But I used sports as a toxic mechanism to fuel my obsession of losing weight, for the longest time. But that is not what sports is about, it ' s about pursuing your passion, and about getting healthy. Run for cardiovascular health, not for a thigh gap, do sit ups for a stronger core, not for a f lat stomach. I think the worst part about what me and countless other people have done, is we didn ’ t get the enjoyment that sports brings you, and I think that ' s what it ’ s about, honestly.

I’ve ' love body,

okay. You’ve yourself “That fine, I //can// way today” changed my life was faking till made Pretend be eventually, you will my strategies was to m celebrity, everyone wanted everyone want to meet me to me.

And now, the biggest issue I ’ ve had along with many other, self love. There s really no other way to say it, but to love myself, is the greatest joy I ve experienced in my entire life. There s nothing better than it. You just have to accept, if you re healthy, that s all that matters. It s better to think you look fat, than to look sick (Taylor Swift, my queen) What my therapist told me is that on some days, it s okay to not love yourself. You can t always expect to be happy about your body, and that s okay. You ’ ve to tell yourself “ That s fine, I //can// not like the way I look today ” Then, another thing that changed my life was faking it till I made it. Pretend to be confident, and eventually, you will be confident. One of my strategies was to pretend I ' m a celebrity, and that everyone wanted to meet and talk to me, and eventually, everyone did want to meet me and talk to me.

So, as my hopefully helpful ramble comes to an end, there ' s one more thing I ’ d like to ask. If you don ' t give a car enough fuel, why ' d you expect it to drive a proper distance? See what I ' m saying?

So, as ramble comes to an end, there s one more thing I’d like to ask. If don t give a car enough fuel, d expect it to drive a proper distance? See what I m saying?

And always remember, you are enough. However you look.

remember, enough.

MustRead the bell jarsylvia

plath

sincerity literary magazinesincerity a streetcar named desire

CookingwithSincerity

Ingredients:

2 slices of rustic whole-grain or sourdough bread

3–4 slices of roasted turkey breast

1 small red onion, thinly sliced

1 tablespoon olive oil

2 tablespoons fruit jam (apricot, fig, or raspberry work well)

Handful of fresh arugula or baby spinach

Salt and black pepper to taste

Instructions:

Caramelize the onions:

Heat olive oil in a skillet over medium-low heat. Add sliced onions, a pinch of salt, and cook slowly, stirring often, until onions are golden and sweet (about 15 20 minutes). Set aside.

Toast the bread:

Lightly toast the bread slices until golden and crisp.

Assemble the sandwich:

Spread a generous layer of fruit jam on one slice of bread. Layer the turkey slices on top of the jam.

Add a pile of caramelized onions. Top with fresh arugula or baby spinach.

Season with salt and pepper. Close the sandwich with the second slice of bread.

IntoSaodat’sMind

What on earth made you start a magazine?

I can never shut up, like //actually//. I talk so much that at family dinners, the whole table is involuntarily listening in on my conversation about where Taylor Swift went during the weekend. I also love public speaking, but there ' s only a limited amount of people who want to sit in a chilly auditorium listening to me talking about my hyper- fixations and my long list of likes, and my even longer list of dislikes. " Where could I channel that?” I asked myself, multiple times. I had the idea to start a magazine for a while, toying with the concept of writing articles, and creating cover pages, but there was always some sort of complication.

“I’ve got exams ” “There ' s that big trip coming up " “Oh shoot, I ' m totally booked for the whole week!”

So, there was no magazine to speak of for a whole year.

I was sitting with my family in our " dacha”, and they were watching the news. I ' m not one to vehemently stare at the tv, desperate for an introspective deep dive into the situations that are happening over the world, but I occasionally glance at the talking box for the purpose of my wandering eyes and somewhat curiosity.

What I saw made my face go green with jealousy.

A young girl, with a pretty face, had started a magazine, and it was published all around her country, with hundreds of readers. I thought, “I want that. I //need// that. " When I got home, I texted the only person I could think of who ' d be interested. The impeccable, and most talented, Safrina. This is how the conversation went.

Me: Safrina, let ' s start a magazine Safrina: Why not

And so Sincerity Magazine was born. Actually, Serendipity, Secrets and Sincerity was born, but we decided to change it to just Sincerity. We talked about our ideas, both of us keeping perfectly in sync and in tact with each other, like a harmonious duet. Safrina had started on our socials, and I had begun the layout of the front page.

This magazine is special to me, to us, and I really hope, it can be special to you as well.

That ' s what I think today. See you next time.

i love coffee. it ' s the best thing ever. you can have it with milk, hot, iced, sweet, bitter, the world ' s your oyster. but even though coffee brings joy, brings energy, it also brings insomnia, anxiety, IBS, heartburn, dehydration, and having to pee way more than usual. so, it got me thinking: why do we, as people, indulge in self destructive behavior, such as consuming caffeine? over 12 percent of the population drink coffee everyday, and over 10 billion kilos of coffee is consumed every year. so, where do we stop? where do we pull out the stick and draw the line?

i love coffee. it s the best thing ever. can have it with world ' your even energy, brings insomnia, anxiety, IBS, heartburn, and having to pee more usual. me thinking: why do destructive behavior, consuming caffeine? over 12 percent of the population drink coffee and over 10 of coffee every year. so, where we where we draw the line?

TheWriter Sujata Bhatt

Your The best story of course, is the one you can’t write, you won’t write. It’s something that can only live in your heart, not on paper. Paper is dry, flat. Where is the soil for the roots, and how do I lift out entire trees, a whole forest from the earth of the spirit and transplant it on paper without disturbing the birds? And what about the mountain on which the forest grows? The waterfalls making rivers, throngs of trees elbowing each other aside to have a look at the fish... Here, the sky ripples, the river thunders. Look at the way the tigers walk, see how it leaves the paper tattered.

Home:apieceofmeeverywhere

You see, moving was a norm in my life; every few years we would move to a different country and restart our lives all over again. And I suppose it never bothered me because I was used to it, but I was also a child, so everything was still rainbows and sunshine. In fact, most of my childhood friends tend to move or vice versa. That ’ s because I went to an international school, so moving every couple of years was somehow the norm. Everyone is sort of prepared to leave.

I was used to making new friends every few years, becoming the new kid again and again. I ’ ve adapted myself to attach and detach from people really quickly. I learnt to swiftly make friends, and they would eventually become my best friends. Then on a random night, I would be told that we have to move; I would have to leave everything that meant anything to me there. In fact I even prepare myself before every move not to get too attached to everything there, because I know that eventually I would have to abandon my life there.

move to a different and restart our lives all over again And never me also a so was still rainbows and sunshine In or versa. That’s because I went to an international so leave. was new few I’ve eventually my would we have move; would have leave everythingmyself move get everything eventually to my have where leave years best don’t last and if that 3 onto them like a lifeline, still leave It was like a curse, a every over my hadn’t noticed this until but I realised it was because I I to make new friends 3 and a clean slate

See i have this thing where my best friends tend to leave after 3 years. My best friendships don ’ t last long, and if they pass that 3 year stage, it tends to slowly break. No matter how hard I grasp onto them like a lifeline, they still leave. It was like a curse, a promise in every friendship that lingered over my head. I hadn ’ t noticed this pattern until recently, but I realised it was because I moved around a lot. And sometimes I like to think of it as a blessing; I get to make new friends every 3 years and get a clean slate where no one knows me.

My first childhood friend moved after 3 years, and we lost connection. I ’ m no longer in her life, but I still remember her birthday, and I remember the way her blonde hair glistened in the sun. I remember the first time we met and how we both barely knew any english. When we spoke to each other, it was all sorts of broken english with my Malaysian accent and her danish accent, but she was still my best friend. I would defend her from the bullies, and we would have playdates at her house. Now I watch her snap stories to check up on her.

And how bittersweet it feels to watch your family and friends celebrate new milestones while I have to create a new life. I had to watch my friends win the award that they always wanted, but I wasn ’ t there to celebrate with them, nor was I there helping them win. I was just here, watching from afar like a creep. Furthermore, no one tells you how fast they move on or how quickly they lose interest in you once you move. It ’ s always a promise to keep in touch, but after a year or so, we lose that spark; we lose the connection.

I’m longer her life, but still remember her we how we knew any other, english with my bullies, we would have playdates Now watch snap it to your family new while have new wanted, I ’t win I was here, from afar like a creep Furthermore, you or quickly interest in once move It’s a to in year or connection

It’s weird to that I’m no a of their life even I’m It’ll sleepovers time we’ll no be in each other’s close circles occasional We’ll other’s or die to mere friends From each other’s whole life to successes

It ’ s weird to accept that I ’ m no longer a part of their life even though I ’ m still in their life. It ’ ll go from weekly sleepovers to monthly calls, and over time we ’ ll no longer be in each other ’ s close circles. Only occasional birthday wishes and holiday texts. We ’ ll go from being each other ’ s ride or die to mere friends. From knowing each other ’ s whole life story to hearing about their new successes through mutuals.

And it ’ s not like I resent my parents for this – I don ’ t. I understand that their jobs require us to move a lot. But how happy I would feel to have a stable ground to lie on, to have foundations that weren ’ t swaying side to side. How great it would be to have 1 home and to see the same people every day. Sure, some would say that ’ s a boring, repetitive life, but when you are used to the fast-moving life, you tend to crave a little normalcy in life.

Additionally, many like to assume that moving a lot means that you have a home everywhere, but sometimes it feels the opposite. It feels like I belong nowhere in this world. I ’ m not considered Malaysian enough for Malaysians because I ’ m too whitewashed, nor am I considered from another country because I ’ m too Malaysian. I ’ m native only when it ’ s convenient and foreign every other day. I don ’ t have a distinct accent; however, many tend to label it as american, even though I ’ ve never stepped foot in America. And depending on my surroundings, sometimes I alter my accent; it ’ s automatic; I barely notice when I do it.

it’s – don’t. us move But how I would have ’t side. How would be have home and the people that’s fast-moving crave Additionally, many you opposite. I’m not Malaysian I’m country I’m too Malaysian. I’m native only it’s convenient don’t have however, american, I’ve stepped I alter accent; it’s automatic; I notice when I do it

When I’m in one it means I’m all friends and from me are over, to find those tortured of myself It makes no but I have understand me; most call me which I but it would be I’m

When I ’ m in one place, it means I ’ m leaving all my friends and family from another place. Pieces of me are scattered all over, and I so foolishly still try to find those tortured pieces of myself. It makes no sense, but I have to leave my home in order to return back home. And not many understand me; most call me overprivileged, which I am, but it would be nice for someone to understand what I ’ m trying to say.

Albeit, moving a lot does teach you some things. It teaches you to adapt but also to be unapologetically yourself. What I mean by this is, you can ’ t change yourself every time you move or adjust your personality based on your location. You have to have an idea of your identity, and you have to be ok with some people not liking that identity.

What ’t yourself every you adjust your have have have identity.

Moreover, you’ll your are, stay ’t your it’s to apart slowly forget especially when divided whole

Moreover, you ’ ll know who your real friends are, the ones that stay or at least make an effort to stay. However, you can ’ t blame some of your friends for their absence in your life; it ’ s normal to drift apart or slowly forget each other, especially when you are divided by a whole ocean.

That ’ s it from my unexpected life lessons; see you in the next issue!

That’s unexpected

Sin Reccomendations

Squid Game

One of the best TV shows I’ve ever watched, and I’ve watched a LOT. I cannot stop reccomending this to anyone who’ll listen. T third season absolute broke me, but it was absolutely wonderful nonetheless

Iced Green Te

Absolute life saver in hot weather, I honest don’t know how I’d be surviving summer without homemade green tea.

ncerity mendations

The Great Gig in the Sky

The Great Gig in the Sky is a song made by Pink Floyd. The actual song does not consist any words, but it’s something where I think everyone should hear for one time.

Blur

Blur was an English rock band. A song for first time listeners is ‘Girls and Boys’.

SOMET TO REF O SOME TO REF O

THING FLECT ON THING FLECT ON

By Zella

On First Love

Olivia Wilson

there’s an intimacy in sureness that sappy red consistency - it fills my veins and circles my insides and I am whole I would give you my favorite thoughts and trade memories if you asked me to I would soak them in saliva and wash them down your throat and you’d be thirsty for more light beams off your fingertipsfollowing my shape and tracing my spiritoutlining me in good now I will always know what love feels like in absence and in my blood and I will have caressed its soft edges and I will always come back for more.

Everyday. Craig Lowe

I need a break from everyday. I don ' t want to be suicidal but it feels like it ' s the next logical destination. I deflate because I can ' t handle everything everyday. It rarely gets better. It often gets worse. I have moments of joy, an hour, a moment - and I don ' t wish to die. But I haven ' t had a break for three years.

I can ' t handle all of this. People are not made to. Death, abuse, loss of friends. The loneliness is quiet yet smothers me.

I am happy sometimes. That needs to be enough. But something, some other force needs to give me a break. I am not my own worst enemy but I am one of them.

I ' ve worked hard to be better, but the worst part about being better is living with yourself. Memories don ' t disappear. ...I want to live.

But I don ' t like feeling like this misery is a tenant. 33

By Nasta Martyn

By Irina Novikova

MirrorMirror Nicola Koen

Mirror mirror on the wall

Why do your embers bore into the dirt searching for a diamond In my chest.

Glass, ice smooth, not a ripple

Not a crack, no crisscrossing like the spiderwebs over The crystal soul despite the beauty my emeralds stare, Frown, cry back

Though no gems were planted in this dust Only mold-infested orbs. Eyes ruining pictures. Or maybe its just – me

SOMET WENT TH

THING I HROUGH

By Irina Novikova

FishDon’tBleedin ColdLakes

Olivia Wilson

after splashing about in the blue of your iris I went to the lake and locked eyes with the hook

I saw the silver curve I recognized its intent and I still bit down hoping that the shine was simply a reflection off the gloss of the water at first the metal did not pierce and the worm that was squirming from the end wriggled in my mouth unsure and unconscious but you skinned me and scrapped guts out gloveless unafraid of what was underneath the grit of scales and you ate each bit of flesh raw from the lake leaving the eye for dessert forcing me to watch

APieceofHome

Veronica Robledo

In a glance, he made me fright; In knowing, he made me seen. A once invisible girl who thought no one could disturb her world. A world all filled with her, a world she thought was hers. A reality she stirred, one of her own making. She thought it would just be her, her beloved, all one big blur. She thought she knew who she was, who she was meant to be. But a man rocked her world, her beliefs, religion, and pedigree.

A once simple life now with purpose and stakes on the line. She thought how could this be, to be chosen by another than her own. But her own never chose her, in truth, but this man did. A spine, a mind, he granted all these things. A mend, a jest, and she felt completed all again. She realised her identity was based on immoral things. She realised that her soul was sold to the wrong being.

Slowly, she paid a debt, not knowing it was already done. The man had done so long ago, even before she thought she was seen. The man had promised before that he would protect her as her father from above. She realised this soon enough, when fighting became redundant. She sought the truth and truth she found. A red book with her name written all around. A book with all she loved, a book of accounts of love.

She hugged her father tightly, realised what she could have had long ago. A red ribbon on her neck signifying her new devotion to the one who called her home. A new found love that to the man was indeed ancient, a new found sacredness, innocent to the harm of many. She trusted again, she finally knew rest. She healed under his wing, and eternity she has achieved.

Threw your victory flag

if you’re anything like me TAYLOr swift

And you saw the ones who wanted yo Darling, later on you will thank you for that frightful day.

If you ' re anything like me, I ' m sorry. But Darling, its going to be ok

Now, as the chemotherapy loomed, I found myself clutching fistfuls of that story, trying to hold fast to the summer when my father taught me to ride a bike and my hair whipped behind me like a flag of victory. To the night of my first heartbreak, when I wept into my pillow and woke with damp curls pressed into the cotton like pressed flowers. To the mornings I had leaned out my window, letting the dawn wind braid itself through my strands as though nature itself was caressing my memories.

My hair was not vanity. It was an archive. Each thread smelled faintly of campfires, oceans, old libraries. It carried the weight of laughter, the taste of strawberry lip gloss, the sting of saltwater tears.

And yet, I said nothing. The words caught in my throat, too fragile to be uttered in a room filled with sterile instruments and gloves that smelled of latex How could I explain that I wasn’t afraid of dying, but of forgetting? That I wasn’t afraid of my body breaking, but of the erasure of all the lives I had lived, quietly stored in the strands that wrapped my body The days passed and with them, the hair began to fall. In the shower drain. On the pillow. Between the pages of my books. I gathered the fallen strands and tucked them into envelopes, pressing them between poems and photographs, as if they were relics. Words I was too scared to say found their way into gestures. A lock of hair hidden in my sister’s journal, a strand slipped into my mother’s prayer book, some tied in ribbons and left in drawers. My memory was scattered

And when at last I stood before the mirror, scalp bare, I did not cry. Instead, I touched my head gently, reverently, like one touches a wound or a new born’s head. Because I knew, though my hair had gone, the memories would not. They had already been passed on, woven into hands, into books, into the lives of others. My archive, dispersed, eternal.

And perhaps, I thought, that is what words too heavy for the mouth were meant for... To be carried not in speech, but in silence, in the trace of what we leave behind. 43

FromSilencetoSound Nicola Koen

I always loved music the way it flowed past my ears with its gentle tickling touch, not unlike a summer breeze. Or how it pulsed around me like nature’s own heartbeat; puddum, puddum, puddum. Though every tune had its end. And when that last note played you waited in agony till the next song picked it up. Until it didn’t.

You would have expected a musician’s house to be filled with music; the vibration of the guitar strings, the chords of a new song or maybe even a lullaby Not in my house The only music present was the creaking floorboards and the crying from behind thin walls. It was hard to imagine that this was once a home of laughter, of songs, of joy. But that’s all gone now. Gone like the day I came home from band practice, surprised to hear no greeting when I walked through the front door. Gone like the smile that was painted on my face, in happier times. Gone like any trace of her. Now music is the dust settling on the piano and I am simply the pianist too old and fragile to play.

There are times when I still play music, however, that is only for school. I never thought when I chose music as an elective that I’d ever dislike hate it. At the time the thought seemed impossible; how could I hate the very thing giving me life? The same way I hate the person who birthed me.

I knew there would come a time when I was forced to play again Mr. Harrison, my music teacher, never let me stop although I made a point of it to not practice at home. During breaks, after school, lunch; I had to in order to pass. Though not a singular note would be heard or mentioned beyond the music class’s walls.

Then Mr. Harrison gave me the assignment. No more piano, no more guitar; only sickening jazz.

“Let me introduce you to your new best friend,” he said, holding up a saxophone.

No longer was I allowed to use his class for practice either. “Go out. Explore the world through music’s eyes ” He didn’t know I had already seen enough. Music’s grayscale drowned me in pitch black darkness. Nothing. Blind.

Months poured into a stupid sound that had to echo around our home A tune to add to our symphony of loss I thought it would never end. But even music has a last note. In my next lesson Mr. Harrison handed me the flyer. 44

Junior Orchestra Auditions

Do you know a learner passionate about music? Have they been playing a musical instrument for several years? Send them along to audition for Fairmont’s Junior Orchestra. Where? Fairmont Hall

When? Monday 2 April, 15:00

What to bring? Just you and your instrument. Also, remember good vibes only!

What to prepare? A short piece you’d like to present. Can’t wait to see you there!

I crumbled the piece of paper up instantly; I was not allowing another wolf to come blow my house down. Mr. Harrison handed me another page automatically.

“It says to ask learners who have been playing for years! I have barely been playing for a few months. And what kind of orchestra will be accepting a saxophone-player anyway?”

Though, once again, Mr Harrison held my academic pursuit against me. With clutched fists and rhythmic stomps I left the room. The music Mr. Harrison assigned me had a habit of sticking in my head, so did the flyer. For the following days it was all I could think about.

To be or not to be? To do or not to do? I wouldn’t let the knocking wolves control me anymore, thus I found myself in an uncomfortable plastic chair in the waiting room. I was debating whether I should make a run for it when the lady called my name.

Elizabeth Hat, it is your time to shine.

Heart hammering against my chest, sweat dripping onto my saxophone’s keys I felt far from ready. The judges behind the table watched me with their sharp eyes, but I refused to acknowledge them, because I wasn’t going to play for them. I was playing for me. As the music filled my ears, I let the colours dance around me.

The song I chose was popular to say the least Kelly Clarkson’s ‘What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger’. My mother used to love this piece. We always played it together; me on the piano and she on the guitar, but that was then. This was now. I might never play piano again, because every key reminded me of her. My saxophone was new, different, me. Jazz did add something to my life. Maybe remixes weren’t always a bad thing; the new might be needed to spice things up.

A PIECE

E OF ME

eOn Lowe

say.

wave not your pain f helping someone.

ou re there g light

But when someone who hasn t felt the acid sting of your memories, the ache from a bruise that healed months ago, the pain of missing someone who you ' d never wish on your worst enemy, then that s the moment it hurts the most

I can t move away from half a decade in six months

I can t pick off a full body scab without bleeding again.

I can t make my good days stay good

I m not used to it Is it for you?

Saying “ move on ” so the self righteous relief of being in the right feels good.

I don t think you know how cruel you re being I hope you feel this hurt

This memory of my body being violated, of my love for life turning to ash, of my smile working for someone else

If you could feel how the blurred memory of my ex still paralyses me The hint of her being enough to bring out anger, stress and depression. And to be a good man who has to live with this...

To wake and know that she s still this way and she got away with it

A feather wrapped in a memory of her weighs as much as a mountain It crushes my skull.

So please...don t ever tell me to “ move on ” .

You don t know the cost of trying to live again

Fatima Azhar

My emotions are like my heartbeat on a monitor, going up and down, up and down, fluctuating up and down… but isn’t that what keeps us alive? A heart that doesn’t beat, doesn’t thud, doesn’t race, doesn’t flutter or scream inside your chest, what good is a heart like that?

My heart is beautiful as it is; my heart is beautiful even in its pain, even when it shatters like a mirrorreflecting back every trauma, and my heartdeserves to be held in hands who don’t mind the blood.

Andwhat’s a heart’s purpose if notto be lbloody?To ove andtobreak , to ffloatandto low a riverofblood , to be a strong,mtirelessuscleyetso fragile.

Red

The colour oflove. What is the colour ofhate?

theyshutmeupinprose

They shut me up in Prose — As when a little Girl They put me in the Closet — Because they liked me “still” — Still! Could themself have peeped — And seen my Brain – go round — They might as wise have lodged a Bird For Treason – in the Pound — Himself has but to will And easy as a Star Look down opon Captivity –And laugh – No more have I —

THANK YOUS

Never in a million years would I imagine writing a thank you for my first magazine issue, but here I am. I think I might be crying a little, because I am just so proud of where we ’ ve come. As I’ve said before, our magazine was created from a whim we grasped onto too hard, and it’s been so fulfilling and. So. Damn. Fun. I’ve gotten so close with my creative side, and let myself be vulnerable with my past struggles, so to post an issue that contains everything I’ve tried so hard to keep a secret for so long just feels surreal to me. I want to thank everyone who contributed to our first issue: Words We Were Too Scared To Say.

Thank you to Safrina for agreeing to this crazy idea.

Saodat

I’m so proud to have worked with Saodat and Zaara on this magazine. I’m so happy that we have created this safe space to share all our creations, whether it’s art or writings. I still can’t comprehend that we now have a full issue out and released; honestly I can’t even comprehend that I’m apart of such a lovely magazine.

We all put our blood sweat and tears into making this issue, but it’s so worth it, and I wouldn’thave done it any other way

Safrina

Much love from the Sincerity team and we hope you love this issue as much as we do.