Strike Magazine Nashville Issue 04

ISSUE 04

SONDER

NASHVILLE

Issue 04 Staff

Executive Board

Creative Division

EDITOR IN CHIEF

CONTENT TEAM DIRECTOR

Lauren Harwood

CONTENT VISIONARIES

Nathan Miao

Isabel Heuer

Bryce Tatum

Rachel Lee

Mateo Cerro Layla Ahmed Jacqueline Leung

ASSISTANT TO THE EIC INTERNALS DIRECTOR

Sona Dixit

Externals Division EXTERNAL AFFAIRS DIRECTORS

Sarah Baldino Sophia Yan

ACCOUNTS DIRECTOR

Keke Huang ACCOUNTANTS

Daniel Baek Arezou Moosavi SOCIAL MEDIA PRODUCERS

Paola Reyes Torres Hannah Johnson Rosie Padilla Isabella Tyminski MARKETING DIRECTOR

Christina Perez

MARKETING MANAGERS

Cara Kim Phoebe Yu Anna Kim

FINANCE DIRECTOR

Shea Greenberg BOOKINGS & EVENT MANAGEMENT DIRECTOR

Jordan Ginsburg EVENT PLANNER

Shayda Niksefat

Art & Design GRAPHICS DIRECTOR

Isabella Stern

GRAPHIC DESIGNERS

Laney Dark Dominique Greene Claire Abercombie Lily Britto

CASTINGS DIRECTOR

Kay Shao

DIRECTOR’S ASSISTANT

VIDEOGRAPHY DIRECTOR

Casey Elkin

DIRECTOR’S ASSISTANT VIDEOGRAPHER

SET DESIGN DIRECTORS

Savannah Taylor Jessica Du SET DESIGNER

Guinneth Sintic

Dzifa Dumenyo

SPOTIFY DIRECTOR

FASHION COMMUNICATIONS DIRECTOR

SPOTIFY ASSISTANT

Mckinna Harvin

DIRECTOR’S ASSISTANT

Kirsten Canas Shreya Gupta

Sona Dixit

Isabella Tyminski

Editorial EDITORIAL DIRECTOR

HEAD OF FASHION

Alex Brooks

STYLING DIRECTOR

Jessica Thurmond

Richard Harrison Jr. Jackie Shell

DIRECTOR’S ASSISTANT

Elijah Stern STYLISTS

Riley Chu Osaruyi Onaghinor Lauren Surles Christopher Tanaka Shea Greenburg Lesleigh Taylor BEAUTY DIRECTOR

Milani Naik

HAIR AND MAKEUP ARTISTS

Layla Ahmed Lauren Surles Lesleigh Taylor

PHOTOGRAPHY DIRECTOR

Lily Bowman

DIRECTOR’S ASSISTANT

Won Jun Seok PHOTOGRAPHERS

Sophia Yan Mehak Malhotra Olivia Forrester Rahul Koul Allen Zeng Alex Ward Guinneth Sintic

DIRECTOR’S ASSISTANT WRITERS

Lydia Thomas Trystan Fogg Ashley White COPYEDITORS

Ashley White Victoria Cruz BLOG WRITER

Victoria Cruz

A

s my second semester as Editor-inChief is coming to a close, I write this with the most sentimental of feelings.

My team and I have finalized Issue 04, and I am so happy to present such a collaborative issue.

To commit six months of your life to such a project is an experience unparalleled.

When you are involved on every level of an organization like Strike, there is a continuous loop of “on to the next’’ playing in your conscience. There is always something to begin, improve, or prepare. But then you see the end of the loop- the break at the end of each semester, and you are reminded that all things come to an end. The massive flow of tasks and projects turns into a slow trickle of final releases. You can look back at every single soundboarding meeting, fitting, photoshoot, business call, bonding event, celebration, fundraiser, and so on, and see the successes you witnessed along the way. I am always awed by the amount of talent and progress our team exhibits within such a short period of time.

To my Strike family, I am incredibly grateful for a team as amazing as you are. I am proud of Strike everyday because of how you all put kindness over everything. The safe space that you contribute to and uphold is what I will always be most appreciative of. You make my role at Strike so much sweeter than I ever could have imagined.

I love you for the time you spend on full staff, team and check-in meetings. I love you for the happy surprises and creative clicks at photoshoots or business ventures. I love you for the talent you are so humble of. Thank you for showing up each day with a positive mindset towards our production, even when I know your days are filled with school, work, extra curriculars, and side hustles.

I want to give a special thank you to Sophia Yan, Strike’s External Director and photographer, and Isabella Stern, Strike’s Art and Design Director. I have an endless amount of respect for these women, and I am confident that they are two people who truly make Strike Nashville great. Thank you for caring about Strike as much as I do, even though perfectionists working together equates to extra hours of effort. I appreciate your commitment towards your teams and your patience towards myself.

I cannot write this letter without thanking my loved ones for being by my side through this

time of my life. Thank you for listening to all the ups and downs, supporting me when needed, caring for me during my busiest weeks, and uplifting my successes. You all mean the world to me and I wouldn’t be who I am without you.

I am forever grateful to Emma Oleck, the Chief executive advisor of Strike Magazine, for being the best mentor and friend to me over the past year. Your compassionate and purposeful leadership inspires me everyday as I work alongside my own team.

Thank you to Hannah Kealey, the founder of Strike Magazine, for being such a gracious and encouraging role model to myself. Within the Strike family, you are someone who could be seen as the highest form of intimidation, however each interaction I have with you, I have always left feeling full in the heart.

And most importantly, thank you to those who support Strike in any way. We would not be able to continue our mission of implementing positive change into the fashion industry without you. My team and I are full of thanks for you, and we hope you enjoy our Issue 04, Sonder.

Endlessly Grateful,

PHOTOGRAPHY Won Jun Seok & Victoria Sims BEAUTY Milani Naik GRAPHIC DESIGN Isabella Stern

PURPLE DRESS & PRINTED BOOTS

Black Shag Vintage

letter from the editor

Contents SONDER Sonder

07

Rise

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Sincerely, Chic

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Just Ceramic

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Middle

Thank You For Waiting

Boy Next Door Apricity

Sonder: the Film

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39

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69 79

ARTIST FEATURE Meet @boymuseum

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an unlikely pair

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photography

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dinner for two

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Sonder That clerk at the grocery store, that

person seated next to you on the plane, even your best friend, no matter how

far removed or personal to you, is living

an equally intricate and comprehensive experience as you are.

It is quintessential of the natural coming of age that we all go through and even

though it can be overwhelming at first, it eventually provides us perspective

and understanding for one another. It is something that brings us together

through shared experiences, even if we aren’t aware of it.

It is what allows us to connect, even to those we thought were strangers.

Sonder CONCEPT LEAD Rachel Lee WRITING Lydia Thomas

STYLING Elijah Stern, Lesleigh Taylor, Lauren

Surles, Osaruyi Onaghinor, Shea Greenburg

PHOTOGRAPHY Sophia Yan, Rahul Koul, Lauren Harwood BEAUTY Lauren Surles, Layla Ahmed & Lesleigh Taylor

GRAPHIC DESIGN Isabella Stern

MODELS Mateo Cerro, Bryce Tatum, Phoebe

Yu, Kay Shao, Layla Ahmed, Claire Ripoll, Dagmawi Assafa, Stamatia (Matti) Angelides

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“Sonder — noun. the realization that everyone around you is living a life as complex and detailed as your own.”

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To everyone around me, today was just another day. To me, it was the first day of freedom. I didn’t know whether to be terrified or thrilled. Love.

Hate. Fear. Trust. Anger.

Joy. They are written in our faces, in our eyes.

I

watched strangers’ faces appear and disappear behind the windows of the underground trains, as I waited for mine.

Hundreds of people coming and going, all with their own unique forms of existence. I wondered how many of them were heartbroken, how many were having the best day of their lives. There I was, part of it, a stranger among strangers.

I boarded my train, hoping it was the right one. I sat down next to a girl who looked like she was near my age. She was scrolling through her camera roll, full of colorful pictures of her friends and her home. A world away from mine, yet no different at all. She turned to catch me looking at her, the cost of my curiosity. She smiled and spoke to me in a language I couldn’t place. I shook my head.

English words began tumbling out of my mouth one after another. She shook her head and laughed. I laughed too. I couldn’t help but wonder if we would have been friends if we had been born with the same mother tongue. That’s how I remembered that the strongest, truest, emotions don’t

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require words. Love. Hate. Fear. Trust. Anger. Joy. They are written in our faces, in our eyes. No doors remain closed after these emotions are translated.

The girl on the train became one of my five-second friends, the people you meet that you instantly connect with. Those who you feel like you’ve known your whole life, or that you loved in a different one. The people that you know you will never see again, because of time, distance, or other barriers. Five-second friends are perhaps just as important as five-year friends. They are a reminder that everyone begins as a stranger. A reminder that no matter how different our lives are, there can be understanding.

Five minutes later, I was standing back on the platform, my five-second friend waving at me through the window. I waved back and watched the train pull away.

I couldn’t find any words to describe what I was feeling.

But I didn’t need words anymore. I could translate my emotions without them, and I knew I would be okay.

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I couldn’t find any words to describe what I was feeling.

But I didn’t need words anymore. I could translate my emotions without them, and I knew I would be ok.

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R IS E CONCEPT LEAD Bryce Tatum WRITING Jet Thurmond

STYLISTS Lesleigh Taylor, Riley Chu BEAUTY Laren Surles

SET DESIGNER Jessica Du

PHOTOGRAPHY Mehak Malhotra, Rahul Koul, Lauren Harwood GRAPHIC DESIGN Lily Britto

MODELS Dagmawi Assafa, Claire Ripoll

I

love how powerful the sun looks as it rises into the sky. A dark and barren sky suddenly becomes full and colorful, all because of the persevering illumination of the sun. Each morning, I open my eyes when the sun has not yet made its grand entrance. I am surrounded by darkness. But still, I clamber out of bed to begin my day. As I sit in comfortable silence of the morning, the kind only found at sunrise, I inhale deeply, completely at peace. Inhale... exhale.

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W

hen I see the light come through the window, I wince, as my eyes struggle to adjust. I stare at the blank ceiling

above me. I stare for so long that my vision becomes hazy. I stall in bed, avoiding the beginning of my day.

I feel the effects of the late night begin to fill my body. My muscles ache, and feelings of dread quickly cloud my

conscience. What struggles does the sun bring with its rise? I envy others who can fully enjoy the morning time.

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I begin to hear birds singing outside, disrupting the silence that had blanketed my room. I see beams of light slowly filter through the window. Bleak at first, they will soon grow stronger as the sun enters the sky. As the sun rises, it fully accepts its power. It is unabashedly bold, unyielding, and vibrant. It reminds me of my own power, and that I must step into it boldly. As the sun rises, so do I. 21

For many, mornings bring peace, but for me, they serve as a reminder of the troubles the day may bring. Regardless of my unwillingness. I must push onward, even if I start later than most. My path is my own, and I must accept that. I am not worth less than others because I rise slowly, because my turn is coming, perhaps in the caliginosity of night.

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Middle

CONCEPT LEAD Layla Ahmed WRITING Alex Brooks

STYLISTS Lesliegh Taylor & Christopher Tanaka

PHOTOGRAPHY Olivia Forrester, Alex Ward, Casey Elkin, Allen Zeng GRAPHIC DESIGN Claire Abercombie MODELS Elias Heuer, Felix Heuer, Karsen Uecker, Luke Deutschman

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I hear my friends calling out to me. I’m here, at the lake, on the first day of summer. I stand at the edge of a rock cliff facing the water. We each take turns jumping off the rock, suspended 40 feet in the air, plunging down into the cold, dark, seemingly never ending water. Two behind me, waiting to take their turn, my brother already in the water, cocking his head up to look at me, waiting for me to take mine. But, I don’t do it. At least I don’t want to. My fear of heights is not one triggered often, but when it is, I feel out of control.

The little kid inside of me is trapped and anxious; memories of my younger self, staring at the cliff in fear and awe make their way to the forefront of my mind.

My heart beat becomes rapid, the repeated thump I can feel pulsing through my body. I become suddenly aware of the heat from the sun piercing my skin as my anxieties rise. My cheeks turn red. A drop of sweat rolls down my face and settles at the bottom of my chin. Why can’t I do this?

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I want to force myself to jump. What will they think of me if I don’t? I weigh my options- either I do it, or suffer weeks of jokes at my expense.

I stare straight out, across the water to the dense and green forest at the other side. Time is ticking. My mind turns my inaction into a metaphor for my other shortcomings- as a student, a brother, a son. Why can’t I do this, why can’t I be better? I look down at my feet, and up once again to the panoramic view of the lake, trees, the summer sun. Fuck it.

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It takes my mind a second to catch up to the rest of my body, which is already moving. Before I can process, it’s too late. I’m in the air, and feel suddenly released from the anxieties trapping my body. I’m free.

I don’t have much time to think before my body hits the water, crashing through its shimmery blue surface. I pop my head out, laughing and screaming, and turn to my brother who smiles

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wide and laughs with me. I feel more aware of my body than I have in a while, the sensation of being in the water ripples throughout each of my senses. I feel at peace with myself, calm. I realize everything is okay, and will be. Imbued with a new sense of confidence, I swim out, climb up the side of the cliff, and jump again. I conquered this- what can’t I do?

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artist feature minutiae [mi-noo-shee-ee]

plural noun, singular mi·nu·ti·a - the small, precise, or trivial details of something.“the minutiae of everyday life”

Zane’s work can be found on his instagram, @boymuseum

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BOYMUSEUM BOYMUSEUM @ BOYMUSEUM

My main goal in life has always been to understand as much as possible, and share what I’ve learned with everyone I can. In my art, I try to capture minutiae and shed light on moments. To me, moments are times where the eye catches a glimpse of something that makes the soul react; when the light hits the window just right when you drive so you feel like you’re eight years old waiting for the bus. Those times when we don’t know why we feel like that, but we do and it’s undeniable. I venture to try and find moments everywhere and when I can’t find them, I make them happen.

@

My name is Zane. I’m a lifelong learner and artist.

@ BOYMUSEUM @ BOYMUSEUM @ BOYMUSEU

CREATIVE DIRECTOR Richard Harrison Jr. STYLISTS Isabel Heuer & Elijah Stern

PHOTOGRAPHY Lydia Thomas, Casey Elkin, Sophia Yan & Rahul Koul GRAPHIC DESIGN Dominique Greene MODELS Kay Shao

SET West Light Studios

CREAM KNIT DRESS AND BRA SET Style 4ever After

RED ASYMMETRICAL TOP AND SKIRT SET Jaded London GREEN GAUCHO PANT Elijah Stern

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Thank You For Waiting CONCEPT LEAD Bryce Tatum WRITING Lydia Thomas

STYLING Christopher Tanaka & Shea Greenburg

BEAUTY Layla Ahmed

PHOTOGRAPHY Olivia Forrester, Casey Elkin, Lily Bowman GRAPHIC DESIGN Laney Dark

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The room is filled with an odd assortment of people I have never seen before.

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Y

ou know that feeling when you wake up and you have no idea where you are, or how you got there? Sometimes it’s the result of a wild night out, other times it’s the grogginess of jet lag and those few seconds before you remember that you are in a new place. This time, I have no idea what it is. It takes me a moment or two to adjust to my surroundings. A little plastic chair, dingy fluorescent lights, a bulletin board with advertisements I can’t quite make out. Most importantly though, I am not alone. The room is filled with an odd assortment of people I have never seen before. A classy woman in business attire is tapping her heel on the carpet floor. It looks as though she was dragged here in the middle of a salon appointment, colorful rollers still in her hair. From time to time, she sighs in frustration and glares at a door down the hall.

A girl in platform boots sits next to me reading a book. She is wearing headphones and I can hear the music faintly screaming in her ear. Both her makeup and expression tell me she does not want to be bothered. There is one person in this room who seems like they’re in better spirits. I decided to try my luck with him. He sits back in his chair looking like he doesn’t have a care in the world. I lean over and tap him on the shoulder, “Hey, do you know where we are?” He flashes a huge smile at me and shakes his head, “No clue, but it sure is better than where I was!” Where I was... suddenly I realized that I can’t remember what I was doing before I ended up here. I look down at my hands covered in dirt. I must have been at the garage, but I can’t for the life of me remember what happened.

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The door at the end of the hall swings open, and a hazy figure walks towards us wearing some kind of uniform. As they get closer I notice an odd glow surrounding them. They are wearing a nametag that reads “Orpheus.” Once they get close, I feel oddly peaceful, and it seems as though whatever they have to say must be the most interesting thing I’ve ever heard. Orpheus has a voice like honey and soft rain, “Hello everyone, please rest assured that you will be processed shortly.” Everyone else in the room begins talking at once, “We’ve been here for hours!!” “When can I go home?” Orpheus smiles patiently and replies, “We will attend to you shortly.” The chatter increases after this vague statement, but Orpheus only smiles again and says, “Thank you for waiting,” before walking back towards the door at the end of the hall. Once Orpheus is gone, I get the sense that we may be waiting for a long, long time.

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BOYMUSEUM @ BOYMUSEUM

an unlikely pair His eyes wept without tears, sloped downward at both outer corners by a lifetime of natural weathering.

@

his nose filled half his face and meandered every which way, tossing and turning like a night of poor sleep.

one of his teeth, yellowed and aged, stepped in front of the next, so as to protect it from the outside world; i imagine if it were removed, the one underneath would be bone white & sensitive to the sun.

BOYMUSEUM

i’ve never seen him smile but

An unlikely pair.

his head was too large for his body, his neck was tired of holding it up.

@

i’ve never seen him talk to anyone, and i can’t imagine anyone who’d want to.

BOYMUSEUM

his beard was a shadow cast by the earth onto the moon, responsible for the waning gibbous; the most undesirable phase

@

but his other teeth were social; like a family gathering, when there’s too many people to sit at one table so the children sit in a separate room; and the adults talk without a filter under the sounds of their forks scraping.

i know i sure don’t.

the sky was clear as can be, and the moon shone into my room, as bright as the sun.

@

i was at the window, getting a fresh breath of air; i saw two cats without collars, probably without names or a home; one was yellow, and one was as white as a bone.

BOYMUSEUM

but, i do remember one night, far too late to know the time, i was too tired to sleep and my head was pounding like it didn’t belong to my body.

An unlikely pair.

BOYMUSEU

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BOYMUSEUM @ BOYMUSEUM @ BOYMUSEUM

the old man, and his two shadows following him, all ten of their legs in unison; like ballet.

@

later, the man turned away from the strays and took a step, and now the night was silent, no pounding in my head, just the sight of all three crossing the street,

BOYMUSEUM

the two cats walked right up to the man; both weaving in and out of his legs, & i swear to God i saw them smile, and so did he, as they just stood for a while.

@ BOYMUSEUM @ BOYMUSEU

just JUST

CONCEPT LEAD Isa Heuer WRITING Isa Heuer

STYLING Osaruyi Onaghinor

PHOTOGRAPHY Won Jun Seok, Victoria Sims, Allen Zeng BEAUTY Milani Naik & Layla GRAPHIC DESIGN Isabella Stern MODEL Nadia McGlynn

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CERAMIC

“The china in my childhood home felt monumental in my small hands.”

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hen I was young, my age was only a fraction of what it is now, but each of my experiences felt multitudes larger than what they really were. The china in my childhood home felt monumental in my small hands. The gritty ceramic showcasing the floral mosaic. It was my favorite dish, the dish that symbolized the bond of my parents. I was unaware, at the time, that it was a bond sentenced to break.

“ The dishes were a chance to slow down, indulge in the short yet therapeutic moments of mundane life.”

I hated doing the dishes, but my dad, wiser than me at his age, knew it was not a chore to dread. The dishes were a chance to slow down, indulge in the short yet therapeutic moments of mundane life. He was someone who understood the importance of breathing, of repetitive motion, of watching storms brew and water boil.

I was too eager, too ready to move forward and check the task off of my list. I dropped my

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“ My whole body was alarmed, my emotions already sound, the trap of my tears released.” favorite plate, shrinking into myself as it fell slowly to the ground. My whole body was alarmed, my emotions already sound, the trap of my tears released. As it broke, bits of the plate scattered across the tiles, forced into the indentations that assembled a grid on the floor. It was a clean break. But my chest had tightened, as if it was trying to pull all the pieces back towards me and together.

I cried unsettled tears, the emotional significance breaking my heart even further than what physically laid below me in fragments. He watched as I failed to control my emotions of shock and heartbreak.

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I looked up towards my dad who wished he could empathize with my distress. This time on cue, another plate slammed into the tile, creating a mark that would stain the floor permanently. As the pieces scattered once again, my tears took their final descent down my cheeks.

Time passed in silence.

Though no words had been spoken, I could comprehend what he was telling me.

The materials I held attachment to were nothing more than just ceramic. My state of mind being just as valuable as an extra plate.

I aged, and the emotional magnitude of these experiences seem to have shrunk. Yet even after all these years, it still seems the ceramic had wounded me too on that day. But that is impossible, as ceramic doesn’t carry karma. Although something is broken, in the end, it is just a thing.

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Strike Magazine Presents...

Boy Next Door Starring CONCEPT LEAD Mateo Cerro WRITING Trystan Fogg

STYLING Elijah Stern, Shea Greenberg & Osaruyi Onaghinor BEAUTY Lesleigh Taylor & Lauren Surles SET DESIGN Savannah Taylor

PHOTOGRAPHY Mehak Malhotra, Casey Elkin, Guinneth Sintic GRAPHIC DESIGN Laney Dark

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Dear Diary,

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It’s happening today. Every time it feels like the first date, the butterflies inhabiting my stomach, my heart pounding in my ears, the constant checking of the clock.

Minutes slowly trickle into hours, drawing out the time before I get to see him.

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Time becomes so cruel when you need it to speed by.

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Does he love me? Or Love me Not? If only I had a flower to make this gut-wrenching decision for me. Better to leave it to fate than my swirling thoughts. I can’t believe that this is really happening, that I haven’t just dreamt it all up. I have nothing to wear! Only about 30 different outfits are coming to mind. The phone dances on the stand, its ringtone music to my ears. I launch onto the bed holding it up to my ear, awaiting my favorite sound. “Hi you,” he says. A giddy smile crawls its way up my face. Somehow, a “Hi” back leaves my mouth. “I am on the way over to your place right now. It shouldn’t take too long. How are you today?” A million different responses cross my mind while I try to decide which won’t make me sound like I’m rambling. “I am ecstatic. I was actually reading this comic online about a couple that synced their consciousness to the internet in order to avoid inevitable separation. That might be the most tragic but romantic thing I’ve ever seen!”

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That was the opposite of the cool, calm, collected suaveness I was going for. I feel red flood my cheeks as I hear a warm chuckle through the phone.“ That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard, but I do love your obsession with romance. It’s adorable.” My heart skips a beat in my chest, maybe the stomach butterflies finally made their way north.

I let out a nervous laugh, unable to take the compliment

but making a conscious effort. “So what do you have planned for today?” “If I told you now that wouldn’t be as fun would it?” He knows I love surprises, and always does little things like my favorite flowers before a date. “You really meant it when you said every day will be an adventure.” I can’t believe him. I am so lucky. “Alright I just got here, I’ll be up in a few. I can’t wait to see you.” “Me too. Bye.” 64

The End 65

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BOYMUSEUM @ @ BOYMUSEUM

so, i’ll be over when you’re hungry, though you might not want to eat once you’ve smelled the smell of a full course meal cooked for the belly of the beast.

BOYMUSEUM

nothing is better than my mum’s cooking, except maybe your mother’s cooking or his mother’s too; my tongue was raised by my mother in more ways than one.

@

like when you get home from a friend’s house, and your dog smells your shoes. their dog smells like dog, just like your dog does, but your dog smells betrayal.

BOYMUSEUM

in the same way my house has a smell, i know yours does too, and all of our neighbors’. if my house smelled like yours, or vice versa, we’d both feel like we woke up with our heads at the foot of our beds.

@

i’m coming over tonight to cook for the two of us, it’s been a while since we’ve sat and talked. it’s okay by me if you don’t like it, i’m well aware by now that the palate is confined to the four walls of the home that it rests its head in at night.

BOYMUSEUM

dinner for two

@ BOYMUSEU

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Apricity

CONCEPT LEAD Jacqueline Leung WRITING Ashley White

STYLING AND BEAUTY Lauren Surles & Lesleigh Taylor

PHOTOGRAPHY Alex Ward, Won Jun Seok & Lauren Harwood, Allen Zeng GRAPHIC DESIGN Dominique Greene

MODELS Bryce Tatum, Phoebe Yu, Rashmi Jha

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I

always find myself outside when I want to reflect. Words form out of nowhere as I look toward the trees and finally gather my thoughts. I always end up thinking about myself: where I am, what I’m doing, and so forth. There are ongoing questions that I continue to ask myself: What type of life have I lived to be able to experience all of this? How have my actions allowed me to be where I am today? As I think about these questions, I feel myself start to walk.

My winter lungs are able to push through cold air and frost just to release something I’ve yet to see in a while– warmth. The act itself is something fascinating all on its own; I move around, breathe in, and create something new.

My body is its own little universe that begs to be revived. I want to let the sun make its way through the air I inhale down into my chest. The essence of heat in my body reawakens, stretching and itching for more. And then I think of them and my need for warmth grows a little stronger. …

There. They finally made it. Those that bring me more warmth than any sun.

We haven’t seen one another in so long and everything is okay. The two people who stand before me are more than I could ask for. The fact that we are all able to be here right now, at this moment, is something I will never take for granted. I’ve missed this.

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They don’t notice me looking at them; they’re starry-eyed taking in the fresh air and looking at the clouds overhead. Laughter and what seem to be sleepy smiles are all they’re paying attention to. I notice the sunbeams flash across the ground and create streaks against their skin. We’re soaking up these small but powerful flashes like it’s the only drop of water in a long drought. I see them lay against the soft grass and feel the warmth on their cheeks, collarbones, and shoulders. We are simply flowers blooming beneath the sun’s rays.

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BOYMUSEUM

@

BOYMUSEUM

@

BOYMUSEUM

@

BOYMUSEUM

@

BOYMUSEUM

@

BOYMUSEU

A STRIKE MAGAZINE

Film:

Sonder DIRECTOR

Casey Elkin WRITING

Casey Elkin & Lauren Harwood ASSISTANT TO THE DIRECTOR & EDITOR

Lauren Harwood STYLING

Elijah Stern VIDEOGRAPHY

Nathan

PHOTOGRAPHY

Lydia Thomas BEAUTY

Milani Naik GRAPHIC DESIGN

Isabella Stern ACTORS

Mayumi Medrano, Rajvaneer Sokey, Sam Condro, Kevin Pan

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Can the human experience transcend the walls we put up between ourselves and the people around us?

Written by Casey Elkin and Lauren Harwood, Sonder walks us through the lives of two couples navigating the intricacies of young love in the same apartment. Our lives are the cumulation of all of our a little decisions, sometimes these little decisions seep into the lives of others. Our team worked so hard on this piece. We hope you enjoy and reflect on the tiny decisions you’ve made today.

WATCH THE FILM HERE

@STRIKEMAGAZINENASHVILLE

EIC.STRIKE.NASHVILLE@GMAIL.COM