Thread Magazine Fall/Winter 2021

ISSUE NO. 18

THE SPATIAL EXISTENCE ISSUE

FW2021

Cornell University is located on the traditional homelands of the Gayogo̱hó:nǫ' (the Cayuga Nation). The Gayogo̱hó:nǫ' are members of the Haudenosaunee Confederacy, an alliance of six sovereign Nations with a historic and contemporary presence on this land. The Confederacy precedes the establishment of Cornell University, New York State, and the United States of America. We acknowledge the painful history of Gayogo̱hó:nǫ' dispossession, and honor the ongoing connection of Gayogo̱hó:nǫ' people, past and present, to these lands and waters.

Thread is an independent funded by SAFC. Thread is the fashion, lifestyle, art, and culture

student publication largest and premiere magazine at Cornell.

Published once per semester, Thread showcases the talents of Cornellians from all disciplines, working with other campus groups and external organizations.

Thread commits overall to being an organization that: Represents a body in both

broad diversity of Cornell’s student membership, leadership, and modeling.

Embeds the stories, narratives, and perspectives of all Cornell students within out themes and photoshoots Broadens the reach of membership & model recruitment Fosters a welcoming and inviting community where all members feel empowered to lead and engage in content creation at all levels.

Web https://threadcornell.com/ Email thethreadmagazine@gmail.com Instagram @threadmag

FOREWORD

story of your past vulnerability, destruction, and strength transforming into relationships that hold the love you always hoped for. And perhaps the most unimaginable story, when you feel rooted in authentic connectedness with every person who surrounds you.

How could we possibly categorize the events that take place in our lives into one of these stages?

Should we try to? What order do they fall in? Is one of these stories the most profound of all?

The experiences that catalyze the emotions depicted in these stories may be different for each person. However, I do feel that the essence and intensity of human emotion is universally identifiable. Thus, these visualizations project the looming intensity of the emotional self in each story.

“The Spatial Existence Issue” represents the study and categorization of human behavior. Into different emotions, different relationships, and different stages of identity formation. It feels as though these categories of human behavior hold symbolic significances — depicting our personal paths of socialization, maturity, connection, and awareness.

This issue portrays the nuances in these paths. I want this issue to tell the story of when you feel a total lack of control in life, drowning, but suddenly become overcome with the desire to fight for utter control. The story of when you feel as though your entire youth has slipped away, when simplicity and innocence feel like they could never exist again. Or when your thoughts invade you, leaving yourself the most vulnerable, isolated, and raw version of your being. Or maybe the story of when everything else physically invades upon you. And after that, when your emotions and physical body fuse into one, and you can no longer possibly separate the two. When you feel stuck in the archetype of adulthood, but everything appears just a little bit off. But maybe all of those stories lead to something so beautiful, something you could almost never imagine. The

To me, the most incredible part of this issue is that these stories of spatial existence have been explored, analyzed, and executed by over 250 members of Thread. Every person who worked on this issue has a unique experience with the emotion represented in each stage. And this is the culmination.

I hope that “The Spatial Existence Issue” instigates a deeper social and cultural exploration of human behavior within you. I also hope you find human-centricity and community in this issue.

But my largest hope is that you feel a sense of personal relationship with at least one story told in the pages lying ahead.

With love,

Aarushi Machavarapu

PRESIDENT'S LETTER It’s almost embarrassing the amount of times I’ve tried writing this letter.

There’s so much I could say and want to say, but everything I write feels formulaic. My drafts of this letter end with some generalized, blanket statement about Thread: “We are continuing to evaluate our purpose as an organization and always welcome greater accountability, but I am so proud of the growth we’ve made this semester together.” True, but so distant and expected...I know.

So, what should I write about instead?

The Holiday Paradox: the sensation of time speeding up as we age and/or as we are having fun. I have fallen victim to the Holiday Paradox my past seven semesters here on Thread.

One day, here I am: an anxious freshman, unsure of her identity trying to find her footing on Cornell’s campus. Headphones in, listening to The Marías on repeat, proud to own her first pair of mom jeans, eating at Risley, attending her first Thread g-body meeting in MVR. In the blink of an eye, here I am today: a senior confident in my creative intuition, still anxious, but this time about my plans post college, feeling incredibly grateful for the community I have found in Thread, still listening to The Marías on repeat, laughing that I ever found having mom jeans so profound, preparing to graduate, planning to lead my last Thread g-body meeting ever.

Where’d all the time go?

It’s hard to imagine a version of Caitlyn sans Thread since a part of me has and forever will

be given to this organization. Thread has given me purpose. It developed and built my creative intuition. I wouldn’t necessarily categorize myself as a decisive person. Ask anyone I’ve ever made dinner plans with: I couldn’t pick a restaurant if my life depended on it. But, on Thread I learned how to trust my gut, my decisions, my vision. This experience is so special to me and I hope that each and every one of you walk away feeling the same.

The impact of Thread will remain with me forever.

Our ability to inspire each other is infectious.

It’s hard to quantify how much all of you have impacted my identity (and my fashion choices), but I am so glad that the universe put us on the same timeline. This semester’s issue is about spatial existence, what it means to interact and be present within a given space. My existence in the space of Thread was exhilarating, tiring, rewarding, galvanizing, transformational. And, I would do it all again in a heartbeat.

A word to the wise from a washed up senior: we all fall victim to the Holiday Paradox whether you like it or not; so, savor the moments in this community. Savor the 6AM call times where we all huddle around each other for warmth trying so hard to capture the fleeting sunrise. Savor the days we shut down Ithaca streets to make the perfect photoshoot set. Savor the late nights spent racking our brains on how to make the seemingly impossible possible. Continue to keep the spirit of Thread alive at Cornell and for the rest of your life.

Until we meet again,

Caitlyn Park

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MASTHEAD

STAFF FALL WINTER 2021

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Vice Presidents Gianni Valenti Nikki Simonson Art Directors Helen Li Hannah Davis Beauty Director Lara Harvey Budgeting Director Maddie Woo Creative Director Aarushi Machavarapu Collaborations Directors Mabel Orhiekhoe Ramneek Sanghera Community Director Kiara Taylor Editorial Director Erika Yip Events Director Gabriella Estrada Photography Director Amanda He Sales Director Courtney Shore Social Media Director Sophie Grippo Styling Director Ona Carranza Web Director Lior Cole

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Art Team: Amanda Pinto, Andrea Cheon, Ashlyn Dumaw, Cheryl Zeng, Cici Liu, Cindy Huang, Claire Ahn, Daniel Sohayegh, Ella Knibb, Imari Monroe, Kacey Kim, Kristen Dsouza, Lauren Harpole, Luisa Mellaci de Carvalho, Maggie Meister, Mattie Lee, Nikolas Martin, Oliver Stern, Pengfei Liu, Sally Yu, Savannah Flores, Tina Lee, Victoria Lee, Zuzanna Krzykalska Beauty Team: Amelia Tomson, Amina Khan, Angel Katthi, Caitlin Liu, Chloe Lam, Emma Chinedo, Flora Ding, Gabrielle Moore, Isabella Chung, Jas Kahn, Kimberly Garcia, Liv Kim, Sasha Planinsic, Valerie Chang, Vicky Jia Business Team: Ann Glazer, Avery Carter, Camille Simmons, Claire Cocking, Eden Beny, Emma O’Leary, Jake Jeramaz, John Joshua Bernardino, Lauren Baldinger, Mattie Nguyen, Mumba Mulenga, Rachael Kong, Richard Pignatiello, Sarah Kim Creative Team: Adriana Arce, Alexandra Ciobanu, Allison Park, Amy Kim, Andrea Cheon, Angelique Meza, Carolyn Donovan, Cassidy Trinh, Cynthia De Santiago, DJ Green, Efosa Uwaifo, Ella Sperling, Ellie Altman-Sagan, Georgiana Katsingris, Haley Qin, Isabella Picillo, Jasmine Chang, Jennifer Kahn, Julia Isko, Julia Roos, Krisha Desai, Laraib Chaudhry, Leonor Robalino, Lexi Williams, Lily Mager, Mariam Siyanbola, McKenzie Haynes, Michelle Lee, Nadine Elkasri, Natalie Meredith, Nitya Parida, Rani Sheth, Rhea Verma, Richmond Addae, Ruth Steinhouse, Sadat Lawal, Sally Zhang, Sam Ross, Sara Handerhan, Sarah Addison, Shahad Salman, Shayna Redhead, Sooyeon Kim, Sophia Marek, Subahnia Ali, Sue Kim, Teresa Huang, Yitong Song, Zaira Paredes, Zane Neelin Editorial Team: Alice Hou, Ashley Koca, Autumn Kretschmar, Bintou Sow, Caroline

Apodaca, Colette Jarrell, Devin Bryant, Halle Livermore, Jenna Schwartz, Jessica Yan, Jillian Parrino, Jonny Lee, Julia Richardson, Kacey Lee, Lee Fitzgerald, Meghan Kristoff, Melissa LaFountain, Melanie Metz, Nicole Chen, Parker Piccolo Hill, Peter Yacoub, Pranathi Adhikari, Rachel VanderVen, Raquel Coren

MASTHEAD

President Caitlyn Park

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Photography Team: Anabelle Lau, Andy Kim, Audrey Yin, Ben Parker, Caroline Graves, Coco Dawkins, Delaney Hartnett, Emily Christiansen, Hali Shin, Hye Lynn Suh, Irene Feng, Isabella Bettencourt, Isabella Zhang, Isha Chirimar, Jason Rose, Lillian Liu, Luis Miguel Malenab, Magda Kossowska, Marina Morgan, Millie Ketvoravit, Molly Dionne, Natasha Aysseh, Pia Glaysher, Renee Hoh, Shania Lei Bravo, Shea Kinander, Syd Kang, Valerie Odonkor, Zoe Vassiliou Social Media Team: Alexis Gabler, Cassidy Wang, Eushin Vitale, Evelyn Chen, Gabbie Lee, Gabi Berchtold, Gabrielle Reif, Jennifer Herrera Herrera, Lauren Naidrich, Leah Rosenkranz, Maya Hardi, Pierce Lukonaitis, Sarah Bastos, Sophia Fors, Zoe Rich Styling Team: Aicha Diaby, Aidan Collins, Alexis Theoharidis, Anastasia He, Angela Lee, Anjiya Amlani, Anna Duan, Anoushka Aggarwal, Bryn Elliott, Chelsea Baez, Clarke Hicks, Emma Smith, Flora Liang, Grace Myers, Havily Nwa, Jacquelyn Wang, Jeri Kim, Jessica Yuan, Joseph Lang, Justin Gonzalez, Lal Kosematoglu, Lismar Tirado, Lydia Grossman, Marley Levy, Michelle Hui, Nina Pofcher, Peter Wenger, Saijai Chaloemtiarana, Sara Wanyana-Tyaba, Selene Xu, Soraya Abukhadra, Synnie Cao Web Content Team: Alison Sin, Betsabe Bajana, Dana Sandler, Liying Wang

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Liquidity

Intrusion i

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Entropy

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Lust

Backpedal

Intrusion ii

Liminal

Grounding

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DIRECTOR: amanda he ART: pengfei liu, tina lee BEAUTY: vicky jia CREATIVE: efosa uwaifo, subahnia ali, cassidy trinh, leonor robalno, julia isko EDITORIAL: rachel vandervan, nicole chen PHOTOGRAPHY: lindsey forg, magda kossowska, isabella bettencourt, valerie odonkor SOCIAL MEDIA: maya hardi, lauren naidrich STYLING: jessica yuan, heavily nwa, grace myers, aidan collins MODELS: julia trahan, eliana ferrer, sydney palmer, ehi esemuze, jake rosen, nasra ismail

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Yesterday, I took the bus by myself to see the water. The closest body was a small bay wrapped in a skinny beach. It took half an hour to get there, but by the time I did, I’d already forgotten the way there. I paced around the bus stop for a while, unsure of how to approach the shore. The possibilities stretched out in front of me, and they made my chest ache and pound. When I finally gathered enough of myself, I walked across pebbles and grains, tan and grey, slippery and coarse. The water wriggled up to greet me. We stood like that for a while, just together.

I slinked to the shore and stared up at my body.

It looked so tiny all of the sudden, so cramped.

“How do you feel?” I asked, but my body didn’t respond. Or maybe I just couldn’t hear over the sound of my own roars. So I gave up on asking and focused instead on the other things I could see. There was a very large fish swimming inside of me, so large that for a moment I became afraid, before I remembered that in that moment, I was invincible. I saw pink glossy rocks at my feet, the cap of a plastic water bottle, and a crab trying to crawl back home to its shell.

Today, I asked the sea if it wanted to switch bodies with me. “Just for a bit,” I promised. It was late afternoon by then, and the birds had already flown home, so we switched, just to see what it was like.

After a few hours I began to feel cold. The sun was setting, and it was December, and there was no coat I could wear. I crept up the beach until I could see my body in my reflection. “Ready to switch back now?” I said. We stared at each other and ourselves, both so free and so trapped. I wrapped myself around my body, and whispered, “It will all go back to the way things were.” We switched back. And I was right.

My face felt tight in this body, as if it were being stretched for miles, and my limbs hung heavy with a pressure I couldn’t shake. I pulled at my head for hair I didn’t have and grasped at my hands. They slipped away from each other as quickly as they came together.

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By Nicole Chen

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Resurface I recall a body of water, or perhaps a crystalline cage. Our jailor had no name.

Days wove into the next, like the wave that comes to inherit the land of its former. We are denied solid walls, making it impossible to engrave “YOU + ME” or keep track of our sentence.

Surrendering to an unforgiving tide,

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we all became accustomed to a new environment last year. Living underwater required new methods of survival; new organs for gathering life.

Blink, and everything is now foreign. All senses become subdued once submerged. You’re disoriented and wandering through the murky blue in search of signposts, friends, and the person you

were before. Each limb loses form; your eyes cannot distinguish fingers through this liquid camouflage. Under the surface, my body proportions are all slightly different, like looking in a distorted carnival mirror.

Each arm and leg moves not of my own volition, but in conjunction with the tide.

With factors out of my control. Sending a

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prayer to be a sum of your parts and not simply part of this terrible sum. Who am I if my limbs are not in constant contact with the land; with those around me?

Loved ones are in this pool with you too.

Everyone is treading water inevitably, noses and mouths covered by fabric to keep the infection at bay; to keep from drowning.

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Seek and you shall find sunlight dappling the ripples of the water. We make these ripples; they are love letters to friends and family. Connection perseveres in strange ways. Underwater, we educate ourselves on echolocation; we sense support like ripples in the water. Find your fingers and trace them back to wrists, arms, and heart. Come up for air and hold each other once again.

Rivers down the planes of your face, water gives one last attempt at keeping you from land as you rise. Water has cleansing properties, giving way to clarity like grey skies surrender to periwinkle.

Once a closed shell, now open. Make sure to admire the pearl.

By Rachel VanderVen

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DIRECTOR: lara harvey ART: nikolas martin, lauren harpole, zuzanna krzykalska, ella knibb, cheryl zeng BEAUTY: caitlin liu, natalie kalitsi CREATIVE: ellie altman-sagan, adriana arce, sarah addison, shayna redhead, sue kim, allison park EDITORIAL: parker piccolo hill, jonny lee, caroline apodaca PHOTOGRAPHY: zoe vassiliou, marina morgan, coco dawkins, ben parker SOCIAL MEDIA: leah rosenkranz STYLING: jessica yuan, flora liang, joseph lang, alexis theoharidis, justin gonzalez MODELS: natalie kalitsi, ryan ong, annie larkin, michelle song

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the sun went bye bye for the winter, Mommy says. hiding like the bears in dark snow cloud caves i’m hiding away too in the office typing what they tell me to. long words, confusing words. when i come out it’s dark the yellow is gone and i still have to type instead of draw cause i’m grown up.

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Aging Backwards|sdrawkcaB gnigA

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No ma’am.

I don’t wish to lend her The yellow crayon.

I understand She is yearning for the sun.

Aren’t we all?

But why should I Provide her light?

Sharing is not caringNot caring for myself.

I need the sun too That warm light I bathe in like a cat Lazing around on the playground. the sun went bye bye for the winter, Mommy says. hiding like the bears in dark snow cloud caves i’m hiding away too in the office typing what they tell me to. long words, confusing words. when i come out it’s dark the yellow is gone and i still have to type instead of draw cause i’m grown up.

By Parker Piccolo

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Warped Plastic The inside of the room was quiet and dimly lit. As I shut the door behind me, the faint shadows which stretched across the walls dwindled and slunk back into the dark. I could make out sickly gray stripes running up and down the pale, bone-colored walls of the room, and a single wooden desk which lay at the center. Atop it were a number of broken crayons, their paper wrappers left torn apart.

There was a chair behind the desk, and on it sat a small figure.

The figure sighed.

“You already know this, but time is running out.”

I stepped forward, and sat in the chair opposite him. It was true.

“It’s a difficult thing,” I admitted.

“How could it not

be? None of it can be undone, and there’s so much that needs undoing.”

“Will it even help? What if seeing them makes everything worse?”

“It’s all you can hope for, now. It’s the only way the cycle can come to a close, don’t you think? They have to know. Else, it’ll happen all over again. Didn’t we want to have a normal life, once? To come home without that lacing fear?”

“But maybe they’ve forgotten all about it. Maybe the best course of action is to just leave them alone, let them go on with their lives.”

“There’s little chance of that, and you know it. There’s no running, this time.”

The air was getting thick, suffocating. Time to go, I thought. I stood up from my chair. The figure leaned forward, chubby fingers clenched around the arms of his chair.

“Please.”

For a while, I said nothing. Quiet apprehension rolled across my body, raising hairs, drawing the slightest perspiration. Then I bid the figure farewell, and exited the room as quickly as I had come. *** The room was brighter when I returned.

It seemed smaller, too– the walls, now a shade of dark red, were closer, more tightly huddled together. And though a desk still sat at the room’s center, the crayons previously spread across its top were now replaced by toys, their plastic warped and discolored.

The same small figure lay in wait behind the desk, and greeted me as I took a seat.

“I didn’t think you’d come back,” he admitted.

“They’re leaving town, soon.”

“Then you may not have the chance to speak with them again. In some ways, that’ll make things easier for you.”

“But in some ways, there’s a certain solace I can glean from it– knowing that I’ll never run across them again, even if I stay away.”

The figure shifted in his seat.

“Think about what that would do to them.

Your blood runs through their veins.

Haven’t they suffered enough? And haven’t we?”

I said

nothing.

“What do you see when you look into the mirror?” he went on. “Aren’t you tired of seeing him in yourself?”

“Of course.”

“Then you have to speak with them. Lay your remorse upon them, for our sake.”

A dull pain throbbed across my hands. As I left, I ran my fingers over my hand, feeling the rawness of my knuckles. A terribly familiar sensation, once. *** I

came

back to an even smaller room, wallpapered in pink and white. The desk now filled up most of the space– only a few inches of open air lay between the desk’s sides and the walls.

Cartoonish drawings of animals lay atop the desk, none of them looking quite right– shapes left unclosed, coloring that spilled past arms and legs.

“It’s about time,” the child said.

“Why is it so hard to do what’s right?”

“Well, I suppose it takes a certain bravery to see something terrible in the mirror, then to recognize it as part of ourself. Think about all we’ve suffered. In large part, we’ve already passed a lot of it down. But we have to do what we can, don’t you think? I mean, it’s all we really can do.”

“But do you promise it’ll be worth the pain?”

“I do. It’s about time to grow up.”

“Yes, I suppose so,” I said, as I leaned forward. I took his hand in mine– was mine really so small, once? – and together we left the room.

By Johnny Lee

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DIRECTOR: ona carranza ART: savannah flores, cici liu, ella knibb, kacey kim BEAUTY: flora ding CREATIVE: jennifer kahn, zaira paredes, sally zhang EDITORIAL: pranathi adhikari, raquel coren, julia richardson, jessica yan PHOTOGRAPHY: andy kim, shea kinander, renee hoh, lismar tirado STYLING: clarke hicks, jeri kim, angela lee, nina pofcher, lismar tirado MODELS: princess odom, brandon sells, dikkila sherpa SOCIAL MEDIA: cassidy wang

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RAQUEL COREN

Enveloped in the wet cloth of the world My thoughts as muffled as my screams I peer within but am merely a visitor I wrestle with it Clawing at the layers But the folds run deep I saw the swaddling wrap of my generation destroyed

How I mourned the cocoon.

In here you do not want to keep your eyes open For the sodden cloth clings, a stinging suction to the eye Close the lids and look within The intrusion makes you shiver, does it?

Because I could not try for suffocation, it did kindly try for me Is the asphyxiation apparent?

Stop and gaze upon the interloper Enveloped in the wet cloth of the world

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pranathi adhikari

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He stares blankly at you

begging for your ink to fill his void Sensing knots in your chest

he is greedy

calculated Eager to give yourself away

The knots in your chest

Become strings You surrender to him

the voices in your head They escape from you

And into him

And him into you Just like a puppet on strings

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DIRECTOR: ona carranza ART: jenny jung, luisa mellaci de carvalho BEAUTY: amina khan, sasha planinsic CREATIVE: alexandra ciobanu, dj green, leonor robalno, sophia marek, lily mager, natalie meredith, rhea verma EDITORIAL: raquel coren, autumn kretzschmar, jillian parrino, peter yacoub PHOTOGRAPHY: caroline graves, shea kinader STYLING: soraya abukhadra, anastasia he, clarke hicks, lydia grossman, nina pofcher, lismar tirado MODELS: alec dinwiddie, keya dutta, lillian hwang-geddes SOCIAL MEDIA: jennifer herrera herrera

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PETER YACOUB

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They say that a mirror is supposed to reflect what you truly are, Revealing the most intimate version of yourself on the looking glass, But why, whenever I look in my own mirror, Do I want to claw my skin out?

My mirror never reflects the version of myself that I want to see, My stomach is lined with rolling hills, And my face is asymmetrical With one side dripping like the wax on a hot candle.

I ravenously throw on layers of makeup To make myself appear less rotten But no matter how much I cake on, My reflector still reflects the uncooked version of me My mirror peels back layers of my skin, There’s another entity residing in my epidermis, Using the looking glass as a portal To claw its way out.

Mirror mirror on the wall, Why am I constantly ripping at the seams?

The stitches piecing together my framework are loosening, I’m crumbling apart like a doll losing its stuffing I’m expiring from the inside out, Like a ragdoll with soiled skin, I must discard the threadbare rags barely holding me together, And reinvent myself with untarnished porcelain.

So I start to claw, Clawing all my skin off, Peeling back my decaying corpse, Until I am a raw pulp of flesh.

I pump fresh blood into my arteries, Connect the bones of my skeleton, But instead of creating untarnished porcelain, I merely amalgamate into another version of Frankenstein’s monster.

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JILLIAN PARRINO

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I was never lucky with roommates, not until this year. Initially, my new roommate was quiet and kept to herself most of the time until I finally broke through her shyness. Lisa and I eventually became those roommates who were joined at the hip. We practically did everything together. However, as much as I valued our time together, I needed to study alone and into the wee hours of the night. Lisa didn’t mind, she would merely ask how long I would be gone. When I got back from studying, Lisa was usually in bed.

When the first murder happened, it kind of rocked every student’s world. People were advised not to go out at night alone and even if you had to go out, stay in contact with someone. I asked Lisa if she could be my contact the following night.

“Sure,” she said facing her desk in the dorm. Then Lisa turned and placed her book back onto her desk. “Trust me though, you won’t have anything to worry about.” This surprised me, and I had wished I asked her why. I planned to do it when I got back from the library; however, I decided it wasn’t necessary to ask.

That night, I had forgotten to text Lisa that I was on my way back. After completing my nightly routine, I headed to my bed and saw Lisa talking to a girl dressed for a party at around one in the morning. Lisa went to parties, but she was never dressed for one since the clothes people wore to parties annoyed her.

I drifted back to sleep until I thought I was having a nightmare; the girl began to scream at the top of her lungs and then the sounds became short and muffled. I shot up from my bed and found my roommate ripping into the girl with a knife. Swing after swing, the girl began to yield to her attacker, and finally, she fell to the floor. Lisa stood over her victim, the poster child of composure. Her black jeans appeared wet, but in reality, they were saturated with the same blood that left crimson pools on the dorm room floor.

I was in too much of a shock to realize that she noticed me leaning against my bed. She said my name and tried to coax me closer, but instead, I took a step back, there was no way to escape except past her, and I was

not ready to try and talk myself out of the room. After witnessing this, I only had one question: “Did you kill the other girl too?”

Lisa did not hesitate to reply.

“Yes.” The reality of the situation finally hit, so I panicked and dashed for the door, but she stepped in front of me, put one of her hands on my waist, and held the dripping knife in the other. My fate was in Lisa’s hands: I was doomed. On the other hand, if Lisa let me go, her fate was in my hands.

“Wait, wait, you know me!” She spoke too calmly.

“Yes, but what does that have to do with anything?” I replied.

“It means that you would understand that there is a reason.”

I pondered this. My friendship with Lisa had prevented me from seeing the true danger of having a serial killer for a roommate. I finally understood that Lisa’s initial reticence wasn’t the sign of an introvert, but someone who was calculated, listened to her surroundings, and manipulated the people around her, including myself.

“And what is that reason?” I asked.

“You’re not going to turn me in?” She answered with another question, her eyes piercing mine.

“That depends. What is the reason?” Her grip on my waist tightened.

“I’ll tell you, but not now. What you need to do is help me with this.” She gestured to the body lying on our floor. She released me from her grip and wiped her bloody hands onto her pants. My heart stopped and I looked down at my shirt to find that she had left a large red stain on my white pajamas.

I had never killed anything before (other than the occasional spider), but after I had first found out about Lisa’s nightly activities, I joined her. After two more dead girls were found, people began to grow more fearful.

To their dismay, Lisa’s blood thirst had no end in sight and the reasons didn’t matter to me anymore.

I learned that Lisa’s usual first step was to lure her victim to a party. I think that may be the way she gets caught; it’s one of the only things that each of the victim’s final hours had in common. At the latest party, we leaned against a wall and watched our newest victim indulge in all the party had to offer. I looked at Lisa and motioned to move in on the girl. Before I was able to move, she placed her hand across my chest to hold me back.

“Want to try something different tonight?”

She asked.

“You don’t want to go back to the dorm again?”

“Let’s be spontaneous, there are so many things I’d like to try.”

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ENTROPY

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SHOOT DIRECTORS: hannah davis, helen li ART: claire ahn, cici liu, amanda pinto, hannah davis, helen li BEAUTY: amelia tomson, natalie kalitsi CREATIVE: nitya parida, teresa huang, zane neelin, andrea cheon EDITORIAL: melissa lafountain, meghan kristoff PHOTOGRAPHY: audrey yin, irene feng, sydney kang STYLING: anna duan, marley levy, synnie cao, sara wanyana-tyaba MODELS: ashley chou, cooper murr, milan carter, oluchii

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hypnic jerk

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melissa lafountain

i

lay

straddling

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entranced the

line

in between

a

hypnagogic alert

and

state unconscious

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d

r

i

f

t

i n gently into sleep

i sit on the edge of awakeness

peering nervously into the shadowy depths below

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lack of order or predictability; gradual decline into disorder. the degradation of the matter and energy in the universe to an ultimate state of inert uniformity

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SHOOT 6 LIMINAL

Liminal 1

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Li M iN Al

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SHOOT 6 LIMINAL

DIRECTOR: erika yip ART: helen li, maggie miester BEAUTY: angel katthi, kimberly garcia, amina khan CREATIVE: carolyn donovan, julia roos, krisha desai, nadine elkasri EDITORIAL: erika yip, jenna schwartz, halle livermore PHOTOGRAPHY: natasha aysseh, millie ketvoravit, anabelle lau STYLING: lal kosematoglu, aicha diaby, anoushka aggarwal SOCIAL MEDIA: eushin vitale, zoe rich, sarah bastos MODELS: jianing zhao, kailyn davis, derian cowser, willow martin

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jenna schwartz

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I go through the motions. No control. I feel numb. Emotionless. No way to go back in time, no way to move forward, just stuck in the inbetween. I am lost.

I do not know why I am here.

What is my purpose? I have nowhere to go.

Nowhere I fit. Nowhere do I feel secure.

Wrestling in the middle of what was and what is now. Struggling with the question: who am I? I used to genuinely dream, create, imagine, smile. What happened to the child I used to know? The memories and purity slip through my fingers like sand on a beach. Like the sandcastles I used to build. Now, they wash away with one sway of the ocean.

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11/1

I used to be an avid reader. I would finish a book in a couple of days. Now I struggle to even start one.

When I was younger I wanted to be a singer, then I wanted to be a teacher, then an actor, and I even thought I could be a detective.

These hopes seem silly to me now.

A fantasy life. Yet, I yearn for this innocence.

I was a romantic, a daydreamer. I am sentimental for the endless possibilities I used to know.

Nothing seems attainable anymore. I’m limited.

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The other day I laughed. I realized after, that it was the first time I laughed in a while. You must think this was a good thing, but all I thought about was how sad this was. The first time I laughed in a while. When does this change? I keep being told it will. “Soon enough, it will all be better I promise.” Don’t make a promise you may not be able to keep. For now, I pretend. I remodel myself. Shifting from one self to the other has become easier with time.

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So

I

transition fail routine,

to

back entirely

nowadays.

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HALLE

LIVERMORE “There’s nothing worse than seeing someone your age in a white blouse and a black blazer” my mom muttered among the racks of a department store toward the end of the summer.

I can, not surprisingly, think of many worse things, but I too cringe at the prospect of presenting myself in such a nondescript way. Creative approaches to the black blazer, white blouse combo surely exist, but think Linkedin profile picture taken on West Campus in the fall.

Seeing my peers dress for specific classes, interviews, and career exploration opportunities in this fashion always heightens my awareness of the unique period of life we are in. For many, college is the time to think about how to spend the rest of your life. And for many at Cornell, that means pursuing a career in a corporate setting. I have no judgement towards those with corporate aspirations and I think that the competitive environment of Cornell encourages many students to, at the very least, consider the idea of a career in business. Yet while I understand the prevalence of career exploration around me, and am engaging in internship and job searches myself, I still feel like my peers are playing dress up when I see them “dressed for success.”

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We are at age where we are asked to perform so many different roles. I see my peers in chef hats walking into the Statler, with protective eyewear in architecture studios, wearing jerseys on athletic fields, sporting white lab coats in PSB, and behind the counter at Zeus making lattes in between their various commitments and classes.

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I think that my dislike for traditional corporate attire comes not from a disdain for business pursuits but from nostalgia.

But I am also intensely aware that I will be nostalgic for this time in my life as well. Never again in our lives will we get to play dress up in the way that college encourages. After graduation, no matter what the future has in store, we will all settle into a life with a little less room for exploration and opportunity for change than what we are experiencing now.

My awareness that this is all fleeting, somehow manifests in a white blouse and black blazer.

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I am nostalgic for times when we didn’t have to consider what we will do for the summer or after graduation.

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erika

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WHEN

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I

LOOK

IN

THE

yip

MIRROR

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pool into my cheeks,

bled-out versions of identity I let dry into dense clots,

clots of Chinese plums and persimmons mother used to make sweet tea, tea

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Generations of myself

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I poured out so I would not smell like unwashed kitchen rags, or sound like

the Cantonese radio static that sliced

through floor tiles, or be reminded that

my face is shaped like miniature round clocks

father scattered across our home for good feng shui.

In five suffocate pressed contorted no

years my childhood home will in cellophane, faceless cushions against plastic, wooden chairs into lifeless limbs one will remember.

There is a difference between cleaving and to cleave: cleaving to culture, to cleave from culture.

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LUST

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Through the Archives: History of Sex at Cornell “Sex is one of those things that sometimes makes people giggle or embarrassed,” expresses Brenda Marston, the inaugural curator of Cornell’s Human Sexuality Collection.

In discussing the taboo nature of sex, she explains, “There’s a very long history of sex being seen as a private thing that should be not talked about frankly and should be regulated by laws and social mores. Because of that, archives didn’t do a great job of documenting attitudes about sexuality and experiences of sexual and gender identity. So, that’s the large task that I have to try to correct in my work.”

When asked about how the definition of sexuality has changed over time on campus, Brenda reflects, “When I first came to campus in January of 1989, it was a very intense period of the AIDS crisis before

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DIRECTOR: kiara taylor ART: gianni valenti BEAUTY: gabrielle moore, valerie chang, amelia tomson, emma chinedo CREATIVE: ella sperling, richmond addae, mariam siyanbola, michelle lee, jasmine chang, mckenzie haynes EDITORIAL: ashley koca, colette jarrell, lee fitzgerald PHOTOGRAPHY: shania lei bravo, pia glaysher, ben parker, isabella zhang STYLING: bryn elliot, chelsea baez, michelle hui, peter wenger MODELS: melody zhou, monty hamm, kendra cooper-smith, kiki shinsato

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effective medical treatments had really been discovered and shared. So, a lot of the campus work around sexuality was about trying to convince people to follow safe sex practices and to be able to have a positive feeling about sexuality––even though AIDS had created so much fear around things like casual sex and same-sex sex.”

She continues, “the other things that I’ve noticed maybe in the past five years is a new focus on the issue of affirmative consent. Even though there’s been a lot of activism against rape and anti-sexual harassment throughout my time here, I think the focus on really articulating your sexual consent is new and really positive.”

Cornell has always been at the forefront of student sexuality advocacy and Brenda relayed the fact that we have “the second oldest queer student group at any college in the country, second after Columbia. Gay students formed an official group in 1968––which was before the Stonewall riots.”

The history of Cornell’s student groups who deal with matter of sexual identity are well documented in the Human Sexuality Collection and particularly in their “Speaking of Sex” exhibit from 2014 which was curated by Brenda and can still be accessed online. Of the hundreds of fascinating artifacts, some of the most compelling and inspiring are three t-shirts that gay and lesbian students at Cornell hand silkscreened and sold to make money for bus tickets to New York City to participate in the first gay pride march on Stonewall’s anniversary.

The study of archives isn’t simply a matter of looking at ephemera individually but also noticing patterns in the collection of artifacts.

Brenda observed that in the “archives of Cornell’s queer student groups, you can really see an evolution there of the terms they used to identify themselves. At first gay meant gay men, lesbians, bisexuals, transgender, and cross-dressing kind of altogether. The first name of the group was the Student Homophile League which is a very kind of 1950s-60s term and they quickly changed their name to Cornell Gay Liberation.

Then over time they changed it to Cornell Gay and Lesbian Liberation, Cornell LGBT Coalition, and then there was also a group called DASH––Direct Action to Stop Homophobia.”

In considering the history of sex and sexuality on Cornell’s campus, Brenda concludes: “It’s interesting thinking back about the very heavy and serious issue like rape and sexually transmitted diseases, AIDS, and the very fun and empowering aspects of sexuality.

A lot of times it’s during college that people are forming their identity and hopefully have the ability to do that with freedom­­––to explore what kind of adult they want to be.” As Cornell students, sex, within the context of sexuality and its history on campus, is an integral part of self dsicovery.

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By Collette Rose

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To Ponder Porn: The Bed Series and Modern Interpretations of Sex “More is More” We live in an era defined by stimulation: from buzzing phones to hours of scrolling, the concept of ‘less is more’ feels anachronistic.

As we step back from these screens we seem to be so stuck to, we need to consider what images we are force-fed. Are they realistic? Are they sympathetic? Are we moved by what we see? In the reconsideration of porn, we begin to focus on depictions of intimacy and the human experience in a more realistic manner. Perhaps antiquated ideals about sex and connection have some merit after all—and, by a similar token, ‘stuffy,’ traditional art may still be pertinent to the modern experience.

“What’s Old is New Again”

Raised on R-rated cinema and unrestricted access to the internet, we would hardly consider art from the 19th century shocking. However, this assessment is ironic considering that impressionism was first received as vulgar and indecent. What’s more, post-impressionism was semi-experimental as it rejected even the few limitations imposed by the impressionist movement—working beyond the pastoral and into the bedroom.

Now, the artform is generally regarded as utterly mundane and given the same “high culture” air the old masters are endowed. Yet, post-impressionist painter Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec features sex, sex-workers, and same-sex partners in his Bed Series—displaying a combination of boundary-pushing subjects that deserves the consideration of modern audiences desensitized to the erotic.

While scandalous for the time, Lautrec’s depiction of sex-acts does not exploit its subjects or even the act itself—the paintings aren’t for our pleasure, but rather, the appreciation of a moment shared between two individuals. Lautrec curates an aura of intimacy from the warm hue emitted off the orange bed frame, rouge comforter, and yellow-tinted sheets.

The atmosphere is calm as opposed to the crazed, fabricated world of its modern counterpart: porn.

The couple meets each other’s gaze, establishing a connection in this vulnerable act. It is not raw in that the pair is primal and hedonistic, but it is raw in that the pair is intimate without inhibition—able to look the other in the eye and continue the act.

Beyond the color scheme, Lautrec chose to cover all but the hands, arms, and faces of his subjects.

This dichotomy of both covering and exposing the couple speaks to Lautrec’s conservation of the pair’s agency—they are not just objects to be exploited, but people whose privacy is respected while the beauty of their moment is to be shared.

With the focus on non-sexual organs, the painting indulges the “female gaze.” The female gaze is a concept that serves to explain the point of view of a female audience member—a view that focuses on intimate details such as the tracing of hands, the locking of eyes, a facial expression leaving nothing to the imagination. In the media, all too often the sexual relationship between two women is fetishized and warped into a fantasy catered to men (i.e. the male gaze). Lautrec avoids this

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objectification through the use of the female gaze.

By choosing to focus on the eyes or the hands, the attention is paid more to the body language than the body.

A Modern Application

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The Thread photoshoot hopes to accomplish a more honest depiction of sex through the dueling use of space and closeness—without the exploitative nature associated with porn. Focusing on spatial existence, this photoshoot examines the story that can be told through the body language communicated onto the page. Like Lautrec, Thread works to avoid the objectification or fetishization of its female subjects while still appealing to modern sensibilities.

Although, none of this is to say that sex cannot be wild or carefree— there is no obligation for sex to be profound or idealized. However, the overconsumption of unrealistic sexual content— like that of porn—is harmful in that it establishes an unachievable ideal that leaves viewers with a false impression of sexual behavior and body image.While sex is an act shared between two people, sexual media displays the act as a form of self-indulgence. Due to unlimited access to such content, the constant over stimulation creates an atmosphere devoid of intimacy and sets unusual expectations that can never be met, subsequently perpetuating feelings of discontent and unfulfillment. In the re-evaluation of porn in contemporary media, we are able to take a step back from the Series in front of us to examine intimacy in a new light.

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By Ashley Koca

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*tear you apart - she wants revenge*

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I’ve learned to place so much value on sex.

I could dig in deep to explore all of the reasons. The constant socialization. The TV shows and movies I watched on screen, the pop culture references; the song lyrics I didn’t understand yet sang diligently; the jokes family friends made that went over my head until they didn’t. Sex occupies this dual position in society that contradicts itself. It is both taboo and worshipped.

Shameful and celebrated.

It causes parents to cover their kids’ ears, friends to speak in hushed, hurried whispers, faces to turn beet red in embarrassment. Yet sex is poured into every aspect of our social and private lives: out of the sound systems as you shop at the supermarket, seeps into children’s movies as a ploy to keep parents interested, in lewd commentary bestowed as knowledge on the back of school buses, in music videos, fashion, all forms of marketing and advertising. Everything is sex.

When I was younger my mother covered my eyes when the porn scene in Love Actually came on the screen.

Five years later, her closest friends held a mother-daughter movie night where they watched Love Actually. We didn’t go to the movie night but I couldn’t help but feel weird about that changing dynamic. As children, we should be spared the adult themes in movies until some arbitrary age where we mature. The motherdaughter conglomerate

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That’s not to say I didn’t talk about sex. It was a topic of conversation that was both alluring and exciting.

Every day after fifth grade, I walked to the last two rows of the school bus where my designated ‘neighborhood friends’ always sat. That’s where I learned what porn was. My friend delivered what I now realize was a poorly constructed story about looking up ‘corn’ and misspelling the word egregiously, releasing an entirely foreign world that she described in detail.

That’s where I learned there was more than one kind of sex which absolutely boggled my mind. That’s where I watched this kid suck on his own arm until it left a blaring red mark. I didn’t really know what I hickey was, but now I knew how to give one. In sixth grade, my mom came home with those books they market to parents to teach their kids about sex and the ones to teach their daughters about becoming a woman. We had a prolonged “birds and the bees’’ talk for several nights and I learned some things.

But I had learned more than my mom would ever

THE SPATIAL EXISTENCE ISSUE SHOOT 7 LUST

indicated some social rite of passage, symbolizing our sprouting “womanhood”. It felt awkward to talk about sex in front of my mother because it had been made awkward. It was the topic that was always around but ever unspoken.

rationally tell me the year before, completely unsupervised because my friends had access to the internet and Judy Blume books inherited from older siblings.

Central to my college experience is the reintroduction of the importance of sex. Even at a personal and surface level, I put a lot of value on my body as a sexual entity. I want to be seen as sexually desirable. In high school, this created a convoluted situation that ended up fucking with my sexuality: I dressed and acted in ways I saw as being desirable to men because that was always the basis for sex and sexuality all around me. Over time, I’ve grown more comfortable with my self-image, my sexuality, and my gender expression. Even still, I find myself dressing and acting in ways that I perceive as desirable to someone. The audience has just changed. Sex has a weighty presence. It permeates into my social interactions, the conversations I have with friends, the way I present myself. My understanding of sex has obviously changed from the days on the back of the school bus. Sex in college carries a different type of importance. It is more tangible. It is discussed casually, carried out casually, thrown around loosely. It can dictate social relationships: the crowds of people you interact with in cafes or at parties, the way you interpret conversations, or whether or not you’ll go out tonight because so and so will be there.

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The college sexual wonderland is this idealized reference that incessantly sneaks into media references or advice from wisened, post-college sages - college is the best four years of your life! Make sure you enjoy it. It comes with all this advice about how to best participate. Don’t tie yourself down all through school. Dive into hookup culture. Meet lots of people. Develop intimacy with someone - but don’t get too attached. This can get a little toxic. Consider the LUG (lesbian until graduation) trope, birthed from this focus on exploration. Don’t get me wrong, exploration is great. But sexual freedom is much more than who you sleep with or how many people you sleep with. Sex is multifaceted and this can get lost in the headrush of constant bombardment. Sex can be so many things. It is passion and desire. It’s an attraction and a want. It can be erotic or sensual.

It can hold tension or release it. It can be intimate and sensual, gentle and loving. Or it can be impersonal and transactional. Sex can be power.

Sex is all up for interpretation and sometimes I feel like we lose the ability to interpret sex for ourselves. Faced with a million different mediums of sexuality, someone or something is always telling us what sex is or what it should be - like me and this magazine.

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By Lee Fitzgerald

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grounding

SHOOT 8 GROUNDING

DIRECTOR: gabriella estrada ART: cindy huang, mattie lee BEAUTY: chloe lam, liv kim, gabrielle moore CREATIVE: georgiana katsingris, shahad salman, yitong song, ruth steinhouse EDITORIAL: devin bryant PHOTOGRAPHY: ben parker, emily christiansen, helen li STYLING: jacquelyn wang, emma smith, selene xu SOCIAL MEDIA: cassie wang MODELS: ava leeser, riley grills, salomée levy, cleah dyer, fahsai punyashthiti, sydney exantus, abby morales, sofia prieto, yaneowi logan, isabella warren, miki bliahu IN COLLABORATION WITH NAISAC

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Sage

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My energy emits a sage green An intimacy through the fog and shadows at dawn The sage of my ancestors The medicine of my people An energy that protects

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Nineteen years and I am lost in what could have been But this aura is not a longing

It breathes growth and change THE SPATIAL EXISTENCE ISSUE

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The change of What is And what will be For that energy excees the trauma

And carries our heavy footsteps through the haze and nothingness THREAD MAGAZINE

In a field where I blend, I rest before I rise

I AM HERE YANENOWI LOGAN

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As a last attempt to declare that I’ve found grounding in something worthwhile, I map out our goodbye in the form of a letter, the plan we made for ourselves the last time we talked.

I begin it like this: I move beyond the horizon to get a degree, see how far back I can wave ‘hello’ to you, and you move on to better and more beautiful things, our welcome mat in your carry-on tote bag as you board the train off to a place I’ll never get to see. But I want you to know that everything's fine. I still chew my tongue, lie to my mom on the phone, and wear your heart

locket, so in a way nothing’s changed.

But I do this thing sometimes where I keep walking around in circles -- hoping to retrace my steps in time and go back to where I felt safe with you. It’s like sleepwalking: using memory as a guide to end up somewhere you’re not supposed to. I move from room to room, seeing you in the shadows -- the glow of your halo just in the next room and forever out of reach. And thinking about it, I feel like all of this boils down to movement: us moving in and out of different spaces where we know, don’t know who we are to each other or

what comes next.

You are my sister, the lurking angel above my bed: I know that for certain, and I now can say that I take joy in it -- I wear every experience, catch phrase, life lesson you’ve given me like a necklace made of gold medals. I want everyone to know by the way I walk, cross my legs when I sit down, and laugh at a joke that I’ve won the friendship lottery: the worthwhile thing that found shape in constant motion.

There’s no refunds, no sorry-charlie’s to give out: I’ve won and I have the person I’ve become to prove it.

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Friendship Lottery

DEVIN BRYANT

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Going back to myself and my culture means I do not let anyone define me but myself.

I Am my purest form No one can assign a role of what an Indigenous person should or shouldn't do.

Look like or fail to look like.

I AM INDIGENoUS and colonial standards can never define that or begin to understand that - MIKI BLIAHU

SPECIAL THANKS TO… The Park Family The Machavarapu Family The Li Family The Yip Family The Shore Family Christina Brainard The Altman-Sagan Family