Fall 2023 by UF Prism

volume 22

fall 2023

PRISM

TABLE OF CONTENTS 01: Letter from the Editors 02: Interview with Dr. Johnson 04: How Quickly a Home Fills 05: Rediscovering Pride 06: Dorming Developments 08: Haiku: Beginnings 09: And Exit: In-Between Endings and Beginnings 10: Gator Tufaan 12: Still Beating 13: The Plight of the Teenage Adult 14: Sparkling Grape Juice 16: Begin Again 17: The Renaissance of Existentialism 18: Fresh (St)Arts 20: The Remnants of Tomorrow 21: Discomfort Is Your Friend 22: This Is Not Your Concrete 24: Humans of UF Honors

EDITORIAL BOARD EDITORS-IN-CHIEF Kaitlyn McGowan Sriya Kommineni

STAFF

Mariam Ahmed Manya Arora Toni Betiku Andrea Bravo Kimmy Chiu MANAGING EDITOR Maxine Chua Chloe Grant Jonathan Clubb Alyssa Collier LEAD COPYEDITORS Alida Cucoranu Peyton Harris Alexandra Dill Susan Rossano Taylor DiPietro Diego Espinosa Sophia Famiglio CREATIVE EDITOR Aleksandar Fecteau Laurie Griffith Macy Fraunfelter Ruby Freeman DESIGN EDITOR Joyce Guo Madeline Browy Luka Hsu Tara Kari WEB/SOCIAL MEDIA COORDINATOR Saneyah Khan

Marinna Stopa

Alexandra Lasky Sabrina LaVopa Grace McClung Cameron McFarland Michelle Mu Rebeka Noonan Em Petlev Nina Prouty Hanley Renney Erik Ruszkowski Niloufar Saririan Anja Schwarzbauer Hiral Shukla Primrose Tanachaiwiwat Samantha Waterston Bari Weiner Annastasia Wilson Hannah Wohlever Elizabeth Wolters Wuzhou Xiong

LETTER FROM THE EDITORS Dear Readers, Welcome to PRISM’s fall 2023 issue! This semester, we felt compelled to explore and recount “new beginnings” in all its shapes and shades: terrifying, enthralling, humorous, confusing – the adjectives are endless. Too easy is it to be swept up in to-dos, checklists and deadlines and dismiss moments of growth and change, so we wanted to slow things down, focusing on those quiet, unappreciated moments of personal victories, transformations and large-scale triumphs. Just this semester, the two of us started new positions as PRISM’s editors-in-chief after watching the magazine flourish over the past handful of years. We met a variety of fresh writers, editors and designers teeming with diverse perspectives and ideas. Returning staff proposed innovative stories and imaginative designs. The Honors Program, too, has been experiencing no shortage of new beginnings – new organizations, new faces, new courses, new dorms – expanding upon what it means to be an (un)common scholar. Our deepest appreciation extends to our ingenious, passionate staff members who worked tirelessly to develop detailed stories for the eyes of the Honors community. This print issue is but a snippet of the work produced by our talented team, whose diligence and brilliance makes us incredibly proud. We would also like to recognize our editorial board for their hard work, organization and eagerness to maintain PRISM’s excellence. This process wouldn’t have been as rewarding without them. Many sincere thanks to our director, Dr. Johnson, for supporting and guiding us through the ocean of change in the Honors Program. As always, we are ever-grateful to our readers, who grant us the opportunity to create! We hope you enjoy these captivating pieces about dreams, loss, learned lessons and self-discovery. Let’s celebrate and embrace our new beginnings together.

Sincerely,

Kaitlyn McGowan & Sriya Kommineni

II Don’t Don’t Like Like Being Being Stagnant Stagnant

An Interview with Dr. Melissa Johnson Earlier this semester, I met with Honors interim director and PRISM staff advisor Dr. Melissa Johnson (Dr. J.) to discuss new beginnings in the Honors Program and what she enjoys about working with Honors students. Our interview is as follows and has been edited for conciseness and clarity. If you have any further questions, Dr. J. can be reached via email at mjohnson@honors. ufl.edu. Thank you so much to Dr. J. for her time in this interview and service with the Honors Program! Petlev: What’s your academic and personal background? Dr. J: I did my undergraduate and master’s degrees at a school in North Carolina; I was an Honors student as an undergrad. I moved to Florida after I finished my master’s, and I came to UF for my first job as a professional in 2001. The Honors Program had an advising position that opened, and I’ve been here since 2005. Along the way, I got my Ph.D. here at UF in educational technology. Petlev: A lot of new beginnings have been happening in the Honors Program. Would you like to talk about some specific new developments? Dr. J.: This year we have a direction for the Honors Program that we’re trying to go in; we’re in that communicating-the-plan stage and trying to roll out new initiatives. I don’t like being stagnant. I don’t like waiting around. I’m a very impatient person. We need to do something with these ideas, so that is why you’re seeing all sorts of new things popping up – whether it’s the affinity groups for students or our (un)common

classrooms. Our study abroad has been a big area where I’m really excited to see some movement. We have a prehealth program in Tanzania waiting on some very final confirmations. We’ve got the engineering study abroad, which I’m really excited about because I get to teach as part of it. We also have some faculty in CALS, the College of Agricultural and Life Sciences, who are putting together a research-based study abroad in Costa Rica, and we’ve been able to convince them to offer priority to Honors students’ applications. We have a lot of students studying abroad, way higher than the percentage of the overall UF population – I think President Sasse said nine percent of the entire student body studies abroad during their time at UF. We had more than ten percent of the Honors population studying abroad last year. Petlev: What do you recommend for new Honors students coming in this year to get involved in the Honors Program? Dr. J.: The Honors Program has always been what students want to make of it. I always say that if students really don’t know where to start to come in and talk to an advisor or come in to one of our Drop-In with the Interim Director coffee talks. It’s a great way to just chat about what students are interested in and see how we can match that to the opportunities we already have. Or, if we notice that there’s a big gap and a lot of folks are interested in something we don’t have, maybe that’s a suggestion to create something new.

Petlev: More about you, what’s your favorite part about working with the Honors Program? Dr. J.: I definitely love working with the students because this is a highly motivated student body. I love that high-achieving, highly motivated, type-A go-getter – that’s me 100 percent. The other part that I enjoy – and probably the reason I’ve stayed in Honors so long – is we’re a pretty small shop in terms of our staff size. We have 3,000 students and a very small staff; in the Southeastern Conference (SEC), we’re one of the smallest staffs with one of the largest student bodies. But I do appreciate, even with our small size, that we are able to get so much done, and it’s always been such a rewarding team environment. When it comes to being able to put together opportunities for our students, we’ve been able to do it, and I love that. Petlev: Is there anything else you want to add? Dr. J.: Another big piece of what we’re trying to do this year is go on an all-out PR blitz for the university. I really am focused on this PR goal of getting out to different areas on campus so that people realize all the things that we have to offer, and perhaps they would want to get involved as well because we need help putting on a lot of these programs. Story By Em Petlev Design By Kimmy Chiu

“

We need to do something with these ideas, so that is why you’re seeing all sorts of new things popping up...

”

How Quickly a Home Fills

The orange tree that draped over the neighbor’s cedar panes met new hands the July you left for dreams. Under the shade, we used to stand atop pots and laugh at the height of giants. Now, the backyard brims with unknown voices. Welcomed into a kitchen of another family’s recipes, I met a couple from North Carolina who moved to care for their parents. Young sons drove cars across placemats and beckoned me into their super-secret hideout, where you had whispered that you loved me and tattooed our initials onto the drywall. Tricycles, frisbees, and pogo sticks sprinkled the driveway as our chalked imaginations did a decade ago. Oh, to own a home of child-made messes and laughter that carries down the street – to have the courage to leave old memories for fresh ones. Story by Kaitlyn McGowan Design by Peyton Harris

Rediscovering Pride A Look at a Brand New Coming Out Experience

*To maintain anonymity, these names are pseudonyms.

Differences didn’t bother me much when I was younger; I was always different in some way or another. But I can pinpoint the moment in which my differences became “bad.” Midway through seventh grade, my two best friends, John* and Sarah* had been pestering me for weeks about who I had a crush on. I did have a crush on someone, though I didn’t feel comfortable telling people– a girl named Emily.* I finally worked up the nerve to tell John and Sarah, but within minutes, they’d relayed the news straight to Emily. After that day, she didn’t speak to me for years. Later that year, I came out to another “friend,” who in turn told everyone in my grade. I’d been “cool” before– tomboyish, sporty, open to games of smash or pass in the back of the library. But now I was somehow different; “I just don’t understand,” someone said. “Why would you want to be gay?” For the rest of middle school and into freshman year, I gradually came out only to a few other people, but only those who also identified as part of the LGBTQ+ community or were openly supportive allies. It was a slow, extremely cautious process. But at my tiny, conservative private school, my reputation still clung to me, and the snide comments in class and jokes made by the lockers never entirely stopped. In my sophomore year, I started dating a girl from my local community theatre. Excited and proud to finally be in a relationship that affirmed my sexuality, I told someone I mistakenly assumed I could trust. The next day at school, I faced people moaning her name as I passed in the hallways and taking pictures if they saw us in public. Though it was mostly just adolescent boys poking fun at the victim of the newest gossip, every comment and joke felt like an intentional attack on the validity of my relationship, as if we were doing something wrong by simply loving each other. At the end of junior year, I started dating another girl and didn’t tell anyone. We were so cautious, so secretive, keeping our relationship as private as possible. Whenever someone would ask if we were “more than friends,” we’d deny it relentlessly until one day, people just stopped asking. I convinced myself that it was better this way. No one could tease us, harass us, or make jokes when they thought we weren’t listening. But at the same time, there were so many things that we couldn’t do. I couldn’t ask her to homecoming or to prom. I couldn’t post pictures of us on dates, or else they’d end up getting passed around the entire school. Being gay made me different, and in an environment where fitting in was crucial to socialization, I felt that I

couldn’t isolate myself anymore. It’s been just over two months since the fall semester at UF began, and I’ve intentionally come out to more than double the number of people as during my seven years at that little private school. I’ve yet to have a single negative experience in doing so. I tested the waters at orientation. Our group was discussing Taylor Swift’s Eras Tour, and I took this as my first opportunity to mention my girlfriend, who I’d gone to the concert with. “Oh, neat,” someone said, and then the conversation just moved on. No wild outbursts, no dirty looks, or quiet laughs the moment I turned away. I struggled to stop smiling for the rest of the conversation. I’d never really experienced such a nonchalant response to any mention of my sexuality; I wasn’t used to it being received as if it were a fact of life, something normal, not something exotic or weird or other. Even more surprising has been the immense amount of positive reactions coming out. I’ve had people immediately start gushing about how happy they are for me, wanting to know every detail of how my girlfriend and I met and what she’s like. Several people have even come out in return, perhaps feeling the same wonder at this part of their identity finally being well received. The fear of being teased or ridiculed still persists, but it’s begun gradually falling away. The empowerment that I feel from having my identity as a queer person not only being accepted but also supported is unmatched. Though I am at a wildly uncertain point in my life, I feel more confident in this aspect of myself than ever. I expected college to be a sort of “starting over” point in my life. Though I haven’t changed myself much, I have experienced a shift in my perception of others. I no longer assume that anyone I come out to will run and tell everyone else or make fun of the person I love behind my back. I’ve found that I can continue being myself to the fullest extent and find myself welcomed into a multitude of communities around campus nonetheless. This is the beautiful thing about acceptance: it allows us to be ourselves comfortably. When we can do this, perhaps one day we will fully know ourselves and find certainty and confidence in the identity we find– an identity that little seventh-grade me would be so, so proud of. Story by Anonymous Design by Em Petlev

DORMING DEVELOPMENTS:

The Honors Village & UF Housing’s New Chapter

Nothing resembles new beginnings more for the honors students at the University of Florida than the official opening of the Honors Village. This fall, hundreds of students unlocked dorm rooms with freshly painted walls, beautiful hardwood floors and brand new furnishings, with some smelling a “new house” scent for the first time in their lives. As they moved in, students observed a courtyard with freshly laid sod and substantial open space where they could throw a football, lounge with their friends or study outdoors. The opening of the Honors Village has been highly anticipated by students, facilities and staff for years as a significant amount of time, resources and strategy were pooled into making the village as geared towards students as possible. The Honors Village includes five different buildings that all serve a special purpose and have a unique theme that demonstrates the interdisciplinary aspirations of the University of Florida. It is located on campus, close to class buildings, and offers views of Century Tower. Each floor of the residential buildings has stateof-the-art kitchens, a variety of room options, high-end laundry rooms and centrally located private bathrooms. The two buildings that are currently fully operational are buildings one and three. The first building was designed to be a study space with lounges on each floor, a plethora of private study rooms and closed-off study corners. No matter which turn you take in the building’s halls, you can find a place to work on your assignments, read a book, or study for an exam! The third building is home to an ensemble and private music room. This offers honors musicians, including members of UF’s Honors Ensemble, a location to practice for concerts or to play their instruments with friends. Three additional buildings are currently under construction, but once open will further add to the integrative nature of the village. This includes building two, which will have a maker space where students can create and design and building four, which will be equipped with a yoga studio and the offices for honors advisors. The fifth building will serve as the hub of the

village, as it will have classrooms and lecture space. It will be open to all UF students, serving as a creative, welcoming environment where they are encouraged to spend time. The Honors Village also has space to house events for both UF housing and the Honors Program, the academic partner for the Honors LLC. When speaking to the Senior Director of Housing at the University of Florida, Tina Horvath, she explained that the Honors Village is the first building the housing department has undertaken in several years. Horvath elaborated by saying that the Honors Village utilizes space differently than any other housing project, making it unprecedented. Not only was this housing project large in scale but it was deliberately created with students in mind, seeking to provide them with a connective space where they could excel socially, academically and personally. Students residing in the Honors Village have said that living there makes them feel like they are staying in a homey hotel that provides them with everything they need to be comfortable. Horvath and other housing staff desired this exact feeling, as they wanted to create an environment that maximizes student comfort and creativity. The feedback from this project will serve as a measure for future housing endeavors and inspire other innovative developments. The Honors Village is a collaborative and interdisciplinary space that seeks to involve all University of Florida students. Its novel construction resembles a desire of housing staff to prioritize students, and its features produce a supportive, diverse environment. It truly is a shining symbol of a new start. The village has already become a fast favorite of students, families, staff and administrators due to its characteristics and cultivation of community. It would be no surprise if it became a landmark of the university moving forward. Story by Susan Rossano Design and Photography by Rebekah Noonan

beginnings 08

Move into your dorm This Target is so busy I’ll just buy some cheese Don’t know anything Called my mom 100 times I ran out of food Get to start life fresh Meet new people everywhere Every week is new Making new friends here Think I know seven people They are really cool Time to make things fresh Spend 20 bucks on laundry Keep forgetting soap Story by Macy Fraunfelter Design by Peyton Harris

they let us eat lunch under the tree for weeks— until the corn snake emerged from its habitat, seven feet and unbothered a shadow looming over our picnic blankets and lunchboxes. we were moved, transient, from one place to another. concrete sidewalk to wooden deck until they finally planted us with the rest, eating lunch in the seventh grade pavilion, forty students crammed into tables that fit no more than twenty. it was for the better; the elephant ears and spanish moss hung low and threatened our plastic-wrapped sandwiches. we drifted, no longer tethered to the protruding roots of the oak tree older than all of us, possibly combined; a sentry by the lake known to be crawling with alligators, cottonmouths, clouds of mosquitoes and spiders over palms. the next year, they began construction on slate-gray buildings that obscured the lake from the tree. so i never sat there, never again. it is a sunset only half-visible from my plastic folding chair, knobbly legs digging into the soft ground that has yet to recover after another bout of storms. this was before the drought sank into our bones, and the earth was still strong, and green, and conquerable. everything felt conquerable on the eve of graduation, folding chairs and filled-up tables with party favors and pizza slices, a celebration and a funeral of ourselves, put into the ground alongside the sun we couldn’t see but could track based on the darkening of the night. when shadows fall like cloaks, things become slippery. masks fall alongside them. drinks, snuck in and thrown away and fished out of trash-cans, music that glitches in and out of the speaker’s range, and yells that could be triumphant or could be defeated. we won’t ever know, but we peer up at

IT .

when i was sitting underneath oak trees for lunch, and then you died and i was left unmoored by the thought of my own mortality. twelve became thirteen and every single milestone may pass, but i will never learn to love art the way you could. your picture is pinned above my desk. a field trip with a dead girl and a girl who’s reminded any one of these days, she might be the memorial photo of a fourth grade museum trip hanging on a wall.

i walk up to the graduation stage five times; there are four awards and one diploma and i don’t cry my mascara off like i had feared. that morning, a starless sky, hardly visible through the heavy branches of the oak tree. six sharp, i paused after laying out clothes and wonder seizes hold of a seventeen year old who still believes picking out lipstick, and i sat magic can hide somewhere, perhaps in the knot where the corn snake once shed a seven-foot skin, a home it was relocated from that never housed cross-legged on the floor holding the field trip photo. i cried my eyes dry. another creature. only skin, falling to pieces, falling apart. i wonder about your future as much as i try to tease out the knots in mine. all stories are stories about grief, except for stories about grief, which are, maybe it’s the heat or maybe it’s the hunger, but i of course, stories about love. swear i see you in the corner of my eye, when hundreds swarm out into the florida i don’t know how to write a eulogy, so i will tell you about the cicadas summer sun to congratulate and the crickets and the katydids that hum tonight like they did the newest graduates. i hug more people than i when i spun underneath the oak tree, grasping the forearms of a girl that i didn’t know would change my life—would save me simply by listening. know and the girl who saved my life is wearing a pink lei and i promise her that we won’t ever fall out of touch in the six year chasm between our wreckless dance, shrouded by clouds but that story is not yet written. and darkness and mist, and the kids sitting on a blanket splitting a bag of chips and discussing fragments of stories they want to tell, i never this arc ends simply: with my fingers skimming tell her how much i owe her. but i wish her a safe drive home every time. the bark of the oak tree and you were an artist. i don’t know why i remember this, stark like blood praying for the strength to keep my promises. against snow that doesn’t fall here. the obituary and the memorial Story by Saneyah Khan don’t mention the quick wit or the relentless dedication—you promised Design by Hiral Shukla that you’d teach me to be a better artist. and instead we fought over text

GATOR TUFAAN

An interview with a new UF cultural dance group

Arora: Can you introduce yourself with your name, year, and major? Patel: My name is Niraj Patel. I am a junior, and my major is Finance. Arora: How long has Gator Tufaan (Tufaan) been established? Patel: Originally, I was on a different dance team for the first two years at UF. One of the things that inspired me to start Tufaan was the ATL Tamasha Competition in Atlanta last November. I saw many teams that competed there. There was a team called UT Saaya, which was just like Tufaan. After seeing this performance, I felt that there needed to be a Co-Ed Bollywood Fusion Dance team that was competitive. I wanted to grow and foster a nice dance culture around it while connecting with the team’s members. I found that idea really cool. So, after this, I took action in December. I had to make procedures, draft a constitution, and develop the organization formally. I would say that throughout the process, making the team known was difficult. There are many established teams and I had to convince people why they should join Tufaan. This was especially difficult in March and early April, but I was able to address this difficulty with early tryouts. By having early tryouts, I was able to get some members, and I had a really good roster in the summer and my fall roster was even better! Arora: In your response to the last question, I believe you mentioned that you were part of a dance team before starting Tufaan. Would you be comfortable talking about what that dance team was and how your experiences on that dance team prepared you to start Tufaan? Patel: I was on a team called Udaya which was an allmale competitive Bollywood Fusion Dance team. I definitely have a lot of love for that team and I made lots of friends on the team. My experiences with Udaya allowed me to reach out to members of the team and ask them for advice on how to

start a new team. They were also new two years ago and the original captain of the team was able to help me and we still keep in touch. Arora: I would also like to thank you for talking about the process of starting a new student organization on campus. Was there any part of the process that was less technical than what you originally outlined, parts of the process that are largely overlooked until you begin starting a new student organization? Patel: Besides writing the constitution, something less technical was reaching out to the ISA (Indian Student Association) presidents. I specifically reached out to Dhiv Bhatt. Tufaan is originally a sub-organization of ISA, so I had to get approval to market the organization. I created the logo by outsourcing it to someone ISA knew. The inspiration behind Tufaan’s logo is a hurricane or a storm, so we had to pick a logo with a certain theme and presence. Getting people on the team is very important, along with getting a logo and making an Instagram page. At the time, I didn’t even have co-captains. So, I had to organize, publish, and choreograph tryouts. There were more than twenty people coming and I had to make a good first impression. Arora: You also briefly mentioned that you started Tufaan because you had seen a performance at ATL Tamasha. Was there anything specific about that performance that gave you a spark to start a new student organization on campus? Patel: What caught my eye about this performance was how in sync the team was during the fall competition. This team won and it was co-ed in the fall. In addition to seeing that performance, I also feel that my spark to start Tufaan is fueled by my desire to give back to UF’s campus during my time here. With Tufaan, I hope that I can improve the dance culture at UF by the time I graduate. I will do what I can to improve UF and UF’s dance culture while I am invested as a student in this institution.

Arora: In previous responses, you mentioned that when you started Tufaan, you didn’t have co-captains at the time. Would you like to talk about how you found your cocaptains and recruited them? Patel: My co-captains are Anamika and Neha. Before I had co-captains, I needed people to help. Helping start a new student organization is not easy either. So, I had the first tryout for Tufaan in the spring, specifically in April. During the tryouts, Anamika and Neha both submitted videos. I gave everyone submitting videos a little extra time as it is really difficult to learn a new choreography on your own. Despite this challenge, they not only learned the choreography, but they submitted a really good video. I asked them how much time it took to learn it, and they said thirty minutes. They were both interested in choreography and they had prior dance experience. They both tried out in the same video, so I offered the position of co-captain to both of them. Anamika specializes in contemporary dance, Neha specializes in bhangra, and I specialize in hip-hop. I felt our dance experiences were really diverse and good for establishing a fusion Bollywood dance team. Arora: I would like to transition and ask you about your goals this year for Gator Tufaan. Feel free to talk about both your short-term and long-term goals for this organization. Patel: I want to create a great culture of comradery and networking and have a good relationship with all of the other dance teams at UF. We are all giving back to the community at UF in some way, so being on good terms with all the other dance teams is something I highly prioritize. I have additional goals with competitions. It is very difficult for fusion teams to go to competitions and make competitions in the first year. If we can go to competitions and make them it will be remarkable in the short term. In the long term, I want to improve the dance culture at UF and have Gator Tufaan known to the world and the DDN (Desi Dance Network) Circuit. I want to establish

comradery, have a great relationship with the other dancers and compete in competitions that are very selective. so far?

Arora: Have you seen your goals come into practice

Patel: To me, goals change, and the way I saw it was to first get 10 members on Tufaan after tryouts. I did that, then I changed my goal to 20 members, then 30 members, then 40 members. As time goes on, I will change goals so they become a reality. I will start by trying to get us to make a competition; participating in big competitions is how you get ranked. At first, I didn’t envision getting to a big competition, but now my heart and mind are set on it. I plan on using all of October to make this possible. Arora: With your new beginning as a competitive dance team, what advice would you offer to people experiencing new beginnings? These people can be freshmen, transfer students, new captains, new clubs, etc. Patel: I believe that you have to stay the entire course of the way. If you can do that, you can achieve anything. It won’t do you any good to give up in the middle. I am glad everything happened, even when things were difficult. I took things day by day and the journey was beautiful. I would also say that you have to stay true to yourself. You will be judged and from personal experience, people have called me crazy for starting a new team. It is really hard to hear that, especially from people that you know. But, I had a goal and a family that supported me. I believe that you really have to stay true to what you believe. Those are the two most important things. For those who are freshmen, don’t be afraid to get out of your comfort zone and keep pushing yourself. If you do that, things will become a reality. Story by Manya Arora Design by Madeline Browy

Still Beating I couldn’t speak candidly with my heart She spoke in murmurs, inklings of realizations I wasn’t ready to have And I’d talk over her, neophobe that I am Explaining how she can’t speak our language very well Ignoring how her indignation would swell As I turned away the offered key to her cell

I feared comprehension Feared letting go of a home built on a foundation of hope That had proven faulty when the wind and rain rose My heart longed to be held But when someone reached out, I’d warn them of her spell How her thorns wouldn’t be worth her empty shell I ignore her words for a reason Because her desire equates with treason To her safety, as she’s weakened See, my heart had been broken I still bear the mark from when it was chosen And then discarded When weeds were scattered across her garden So when she passes a soulmate’s shape She has no memory of past pain I’m the only one who cares enough to keep her safe And away from another cage But every now and then, I hear a murmur One muffled but spoken with fervor And I can’t ignore its translation No matter the depth of my temptation “You fear comprehension And at least heartbreak had a lesson But fear has left scars in the mark Of your own hand You might believe that love means bars That a free spirit can’t withstand But chaining me to beat endlessly With nobody to receive Is a self-destructive plan” She goes quiet for a moment And I whisper, “Is it worth it to be chosen Even if it leaves you broken?”

And now that she had spoken and been heard, she finally released a long-held torrent of words “This mark is not a scar But rather part of who you are Where you stitched yourself to someone else Where you took a piece of their heart It’s proof that you’re alive Fills your stomach with butterflies And even if it dies, You can still find a home inside his eyes Notice how I’m still beating All you remember is people leaving But I remember each fleeting feeling Where his words offered me healing You think I forgot the pain But you forgot the way it saved us You forgot the tightrope of trust Was glorious I’m not a trinket to defend I’m overflowing, and I’m ready to love again”

Story by Hannah Wohlever Design by Michelle Mu

PLIGHT TheTEENAGE of theADULT College serves as a crucible for self-discovery, personal growth, and learning from one’s mistakes. It is an environment where individuals are expected to transform rapidly in a short span of time. College represents more than a mere pursuit of higher education; it embodies an awakening. As students, we encounter new cultures, diverse people, and acquire new skills, effectively everything is new. One begins to ponder whether college truly liberates or simply ushers us into the complex journey of teenage adulthood. The departure from the comfort of our parents’ homes onto a college campus appears as the ultimate act of independence. It’s akin to being handed the keys to adulthood, yet we often remain unaware of the unexpected twists and turns that await us on this road. Though we are physically distant from our parents, their influence lingers, casting a shadow upon us. The transition from high school to college is a whirlwind of emotions and identity crises. It’s like trying to navigate a maze while blindfolded. We grapple with profound questions: Who are we, and what do we aspire to become? These inquiries plague our thoughts as we strive to carve our unique paths. We stand at the crossroads of honoring our parents’ expectations and the pursuit of our authentic selves. College can initially feel like the key to unlocking life’s secrets. It places us in the midst of diverse people, offers an array of courses, and seemingly endless possibilities. It’s akin to a child in a candy store, eager to try everything. The vast array of choices is both liberating and paralyzing. We’re torn between pursuing practical majors approved by our parents and following our passions, even if they don’t guarantee a stable future. It’s a conflict between parental influence and personal desires. The liberating aspect of attending college can rapidly be overshadowed by the impending fear of the future. Each passing day intensifies the pressure to make the right choices and avoid any missteps. It’s as if the countdown to full-fledged adulthood has begun, and we are racing against the clock. The fear of disappointing our parents and the anxiety surrounding potential misjudgments often paralyze us. We are so terrified of making mistakes that we occasionally forget that errors are integral to the learning process. Our generation tends to view the idea of making mistakes as almost taboo. We grew up in a success-oriented society that places a premium on perfection. It’s no longer about passing exams; it’s about acing them. It’s not just about securing a job; it’s about securing the perfect job. We have been conditioned

to regard mistakes as failures rather than stepping stones to success. Consequently, we hesitate to take risks and explore uncharted territories.

However, here’s a secret that often goes unspoken: Mistakes are the threads that weave the fabric of personal growth. They provide insights into our strengths and weaknesses, passions, and dislikes that no textbook or lecture ever could. Our missteps teach us to stand independently and navigate life’s unpredictable terrain. Amidst the confusion, it’s crucial to remember that it’s acceptable not to have all the answers at this moment. It’s okay to be uncertain about our identity and aspirations. College is an opportune time for experimentation, exploration, and embracing the uncertainty that life entails. We are not meant to have our entire lives meticulously planned out within a few years. It’s important to acknowledge that our parents, wellintentioned as they may be, cannot guide us indefinitely. While they significantly impact our lives, the choices we make are ours to assume. College is where we acquire the skill of taking responsibility for our decisions and become the authors of our own narratives. As a college freshman, I have come to accept the paradox of teenage adulthood. It’s a journey marked by confusion, self-discovery, and an ongoing conflict between external expectations and internal desires. We may not have all the answers, and that is perfectly acceptable. In fact, acknowledging that we are a work in progress is liberating and what makes the journey of teenage adulthood so thrilling. It’s a rollercoaster ride with its ups and downs, but it’s our ride, and it’s one worth experiencing. The transition from living with our parents to navigating the uncharted waters of college life can be perplexing and overwhelming. We are caught between the desire for independence and the persistent influence of our parents. While college’s freedom and choices can initially be liberating, it is essential to embrace the uncertainty, make peace with our lack of complete knowledge, and understand that mistakes are an inevitable part of the journey. College is where we learn to take responsibility for our decisions and craft our own stories. So, let’s embrace the adventure of teenage adulthood and enjoy the ride, even if it’s a bit bumpy. Story by Annastasia Wilson Design by Madeline Browy

SPARKLING

GRAPE JUICE Thoughts on Youthhood and Reclaiming Childhood

It is Summer of 2011. With slick wet hair and Tinkerbell pajamas, sprawled out on my grandparents’ enormous tan L-shaped couch, I cozy in for a private showing of Roger and Hammerstein’s “Cinderella” on their 24-inch Panasonic TV. I take a doting sip from my champagne glass, and the sweet tingly taste of my favorite cocktail hits my tongue - ah. Sparkling grape juice. Every holiday and sleepover at my maternal grandparents GeeGee and PopPop’s for as long as I can remember has been marked by the unwavering presence of sparkling grape juice. White sparkling grape juice, to clarify. My GeeGee made clear that the red grape juice was a nightmare to get out of clothes. Being the former Home Economics major she was, I took her word for it. Sparkling grape juice was me in a drink. Longing to be a grown up, but still learning to tie her shoes. Sophisticated at a glance, but sporting Barbie underwear. I so badly wanted to blend in with the adults in my family; having a champagne glass-shaped conversation piece in hand was a real help. A good number of people at family gatherings were perplexed to see a six-year-old with dried ketchup around her mouth holding such delicate glassware and walking around on her tiptoes. Then again, I was no ordinary six-year-old. Growing up, I was a fairy princess, the President of the United States and a genius of Einstein equivalence, like the rest of you. What so deeply enthralls me, and what I hope to convey, is how the clouds we’re born on can so quickly succumb under our weight. My childhood was privileged to be packed-full of Disney trips, Push-Pops, and tears that only ever related to yucky food or having to wear my second favorite dress when my first favorite was in the hamper. But I also held the weights of being the eldest in my family, the child of an unhappy marriage, a victim of grade school bullying, and a witness to my mother’s alcohol abuse. Or, in the words of the billions of people who have led lives far more burdened than mine, “white middle-class problems”. I’m a lucky kid. I know that. What I hope you conclude from the following is not how un-special I am, but rather how as we continue to grow and develop (and wrinkle and rot) we can unlock our inner child and feed it in a way we couldn’t, given the forces we fought and the music we faced as Pillsbury dough-babies. By the time I hit first grade, I might as well have been dressing like “Pretty Woman” and smoking a pack a day. I thought I had seen it all. Everything this messed up world had to offer – from subtraction to time-out – I had borne and braved. As my family’s eldest, I felt an immense pressure to outperform every other three-foot-tall student in my class. I tested gifted, switched into the advanced math class and spent my weekends outside of dance class fighting with PopPop over my homework answers. As I have grown and reflected on these early years, I have realized how much I missed out on by forcing myself to grow up. My dad, Papa, recounts to me how I always wanted to be taken very seriously. At age three, roaming the streets of Manhattan with my mom, I dove into an elaborate story of my past life as an old Jewish woman on 23rd street. Once I hit four, I was crossing my legs and asking for sips of wine. By five, I had a Carrabba’s ‘regular’: house salad, clam chowder, and a Shirley Temple. Whenever I gave a dramatic retelling of my day or my aspirations, my family members would chuckle at my naivety. I had none of it. “Don’t laugh!!” was my catchphrase, Papa tells me. As I reconnect with my younger self, I am beginning to take ownership of little me and allow myself to indulge in the immaturity I have left to enjoy. My best friend Rylee and I skip and sing karaoke together on a weekly basis. I watch “The Muppets Show” often. As I write this, I’m sporting bright blue socks customized to have my cat’s faces printed on them. All this is to say that it is never too late to be a child; no matter your burdens. While sanctioning time to enjoy or reminisce on youth is costly, it does not need to be enjoyed in its own time. Youth is a mindset. Lace up your Twinkle Toes, put on some “Strawberry Shortcake”, and become the child you always wanted to be. Story by Anja Schwarzbauer Design by Madeline Browy

BEGIN AGAIN BEGIN AGAIN BEGIN AGAIN BEGIN AGAIN BEGIN AGAIN BEGIN AGAIN

In this beginning, there was None.

The area that None inhabited was simple and unadorned. Dark, empty space as far as the senses could tell— if senses are what None possessed. The great nothingness persisted for a long while, long enough for None to find comfort in it. Being in some fashion aware of their surroundings, the being called None was content to drift alone in this unknowable state. After an unidentifiable amount of time—if time exists in such a place—the darkness began to shift. A new sensation: the roil and churn of the great expanse. None’s easy existence was thus interrupted. The movement of the nothingness quickened and grew with powerful forces pushing and pulling None to and fro in the darkness. Then came a newcomer, some novel thing that shattered the raging dark, then scattered itself into myriad pieces. None named this thing Many. Many’s strange arrival was not something that troubled None. Instead, None observed with interest the aftermath of the cataclysm that had shattered their nothingness. Many brought change to None’s enduring existence. For the first time, None felt a sensation that can only be described today as curiosity. Many had qualities that were completely alien to None, who had existed since the unchanging beginning until Many had come. For one thing, Many seemed unsatisfied with the emptiness, preferring to cast glistening dots out to the farthest edges of None’s home. None did not mind this, fascinated by the performances of the dots dancing with one another. After Many and None had been acquainted with each other for quite a while, there emerged a new sensation once again. The nothingness, now speckled with sparkling dots, shuddered under the manipulation of an unseen force. None observed this event closely, watching as Many’s particles were flung to new locations across their home. In the new spaces between the dots, smaller, more delicate spheres had been born. None named these things Some. Some was a welcome addition to None’s presence. Whereas Many twinkled and shimmered, but ultimately stayed in place, Some had the habit of being quite active. Over the span in which None, Many, and Some existed together, None learned to enjoy the intricate performances of the dots and the spheres. While the dots danced on their own, the spheres twirled and spun in patterned sequence, first with the dots and then with other spheres. The resulting show was a wonderful source of entertainment for None, who had existed for so long in the dark, empty space of the beginning. Now, None couldn’t imagine going back to that state.

None, Many, and Some carried on this balanced rhythm with one another for much time. Many would cast out the dots, Some would set the spheres in line, and None would observe it all. None became accustomed to the cycling motions of these newcomers. As None watched the waltzing of the spheres and dots, an inkling came to them. Why should Many’s dots and Some’s spheres play together as None looked on? The being pondered this, a feeling we today recognize as envy growing in their heart— if None could have possessed such a thing. The great expanse of darkness that had given way to rhythmic swirling and glamorous shine had been None’s home for an eternal morning before the arrival of Many and Some, therefore why shouldn’t None have some influence on its design? None set to work planning their contribution. Whereas Many’s dots were large and glistening, and Some’s spheres were detailed orbs of color, None hoped to engineer a marvel beyond their scope. Plucking the dots and spheres from their intricate routines, None gathered the works of Many and Some until the clustered radiance outshone the remaining dots and spheres. Accumulated thus, the dots and spheres hummed with energy and light. Their soft glows mixed and compounded, growing from a gentle lull to a harsh clangor that seemed to absorb all in its presence. From this cacophony of dots and spheres came a sucking, pulling force. It tore into the great darkness with a violence like never witnessed before. This darkness was not like the familiar dark that had been None’s home long before. This darkness was hungry. The dots and spheres that Many and Some had so beautifully crafted began to unspool, drawn to the horrible abyssal spot. As their brilliance dimmed, the darkness grew, consuming the artifacts of Many and Some in rapid gulps. The great expansive emptiness shuddered and buckled under the weight of None’s creation, as None watched in terrible ignorance. When the darkness had swallowed the last of the glowing dots and spinning spheres, its gluttony only expanded. First Some, then Many, and lastly None— all disappeared into the swirling void. Space and time began to contract, shrinking down to nothing. Then, as quickly as all had been consumed, an immense force pushed up from the depths of the void. Matter spewed and spread, and the terrible void shrank until all was as it had been. A blank slate, as we would say now. And in this beginning, there was none. Story by Sabrina LaVopa Design by Elizabeth Wolters and Madeline Browy

The Renaissance of Existentialism: How Gen Z is Facing the Crisis of Modernity

Ignorance is not an option for Gen Z. We are constantly bombarded with news of horror happening both domestically and internationally. Stories of trauma and graphic images go viral on social media platforms like Snapchat, Facebook, and Instagram, where we once went to connect with friends and family. The COVID-19 lockdowns and subsequent shift to virtual learning shook the foundations of life, leaving many Gen Zers feeling alienated, confused, and unmotivated. In a world where information is overwhelming and the worst of humanity is often on display, how can Gen Z find meaning and purpose? In the face of this crisis, Gen Z is turning to existentialism for guidance. Existentialism emerged in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, driven by the crisis of meaning brought about by profound societal changes. It was further developed by thinkers like Jean-Paul Sartre and Martin Heidegger. In post-World War II French culture, existentialism found resonance in the context of despair and the search for meaning. Its themes of individualism, alienation, and ethical dilemmas are still relevant today as we grapple with personal autonomy and meaning in an uncertain and complex world. As such, Gen Z finds themselves irresistibly drawn to the profound allure of existentialism. The existentialist perspective offers a distinct framework that portrays the world as a fusion of realism and hope. It acknowledges absurdity in the world but reminds us that we have the power to create our meaning and purpose. Existence transcends materialism. We can answer the call to our vocation through our careers, family, and communities while seeking self-fulfillment. This is especially appealing to Gen Z, who is growing up in a world where we are constantly told what to do and how to think. This generation’s heightened focus on holding celebrities, companies, and governments accountable echoes past youth movements, such as the activism of the 1960s. It reflects the power of interconnected communication in driving social change. Professors, parents, peers, and the press all have polarized ideas that we indirectly or directly hope to impose on others. Existentialism inspires Gen Z to listen and learn while ultimately aligning oneself to the ideas that we feel most connected to creating their destiny. Existentialism is deeply engraved in the human condition. It explores the big questions of life, such as life’s meaning, the nature of death, and the possibility of freedom. This interest in the big questions of life can be attributed to several factors. Most notably, Gen Z has grown up in a world that is constantly changing and evolving. We have witnessed firsthand the consequences of climate change, political instability, and economic inequality. This has led us to question the status quo and to search for deeper meaning in their lives. The renaissance of existentialism among Gen Z is a sign that we are facing the crisis of modernity head-on. We are not afraid to ask tough questions or to challenge the status quo. We are a generation that is determined to create a better world for ourselves and future generations. Story by Erik Ruszkowski Design by Rebekah Noonan

Fresh (St)Ar ts A series of media recommendations related to “new beginnings”

“Brooklyn,” directed by John Crowley The story of Eilis Lacey in the film “Brooklyn” is the epitome of a new beginning. This young Irish woman is allowed to immigrate to the United States in hopes of better career prospects. She leaves her family, moves to a boarding house and navigates her way through her new life in New York City. The real up-and-down emotions of leaving home and entering a new place are wisely incorporated into the depiction of her journey. She faces dilemmas of ditching familiarity and taking risks on new prospects as she adjusts to the big city, new relationships and living without her family.

“The Blacklist,” created by Jon Bokenkamp A mixture of crime-hunting action and interpersonal relationship drama, the series “The Blacklist” entails one of the FBI’s Most Wanted becoming an informant for the agency in exchange for immunity. Raymond “Red” Reddington reveals details of an elusive collection of criminals he calls the blacklist, allowing their deadly crimes to be stopped, but only as long as he gets to work with a certain agent, who just started on the job. His seemingly endless knowledge brings some answers – but even more questions – to Agent Elizabeth Keen about those closest to her. Being on the legal side of the law is new for Red and working with him presents a learning curve for the new task force. Morality and vengeance are brought into question as he’s allowed an opportunity to redeem himself, and the agents deal with unprecedented circumstances in defeating crime and unraveling the past. The mystifying puzzle of the blacklist takes Red, Keen and those around them on a wild ride, revealing crime and secrets about their loyalty, relationships, past and future.

“Klara and the Sun” by Kazuo Ishiguro Josie, a young teenager in a futuristic society, deals with a health condition that often keeps her home in the novel “Klara and the Sun.” When she brings home Klara, an artificial intelligence companion called an Artificial Friend, both she and Klara undergo new experiences that impose emotional and philosophical questions about humans and robots upon the reader. Klara comes to learn the intricacies of the human world and Josie deepens her appreciation of AI and its complexities as she develops a friendship with her Artificial Friend. A new friendship and new perspectives are gained in Ishiguro’s thought-provoking novel.

“I am not your ocean anymore” by Yerin Baek Rather than explicitly referencing a new beginning, Yerin Baek’s retro ballad is a beautiful ode to saying goodbye to what we must leave. ’80s-sounding gated reverb drum beats, chimes and saxophone pave a smooth path for Baek’s gentle vocals. She softly wishes the person she used to love well, and to “shine” with hope. The person she speaks to used to play “silly word games” with her, but she has accepted their parting, even with their different sides to the story. This fresh start involves leaving behind what no longer does them good and not succumbing to grief of this loss. She tells them to not “fall back down” in this soothing and dreamy ballad. Story by Bari Weiner Design by Michelle Mu

The Remnants of Tomorrow

You wake up to your alarm, a catchy synth tune clinically proven to ‘start your day with a smile’! With a smile, you toss off your faux-down quilt and walk to the kitchen to make a breakfast faux meal. Your windows cast a cheery synthetic light upon your sleep-addled body that wakes you with warmth from within. On days like these, you feel fortunate that your house came equipped with specialized technology to simulate a natural morning since the actual sunlight is usually diffused throughout the hazy atmosphere in a uniform dim sludge. How convenient! You have to do some shopping, so your pickings today are slim: faux eggs and fakeon from your friend Anesha, a food synthesist, or CeReal, made from a hardy wheat variant whose genetics have only been faintly manipulated. It’s a hard choice, but you decide on the eggs; though nothing rots anymore, it’s bad practice not to tell a food synthesist they’ve done a good job engineering the taste. While you eat, the news blares about record-high temperatures in equatorial Africa, another deadly super monsoon near Thailand, and the extinction of coral is ahead of schedule. As usual, Anesha’s done a splendid job; the fauxeggs taste remarkable—straight from the hen, or the turkey, or whichever one used to generate the real thing! You check your clock and find you’ve spent three minutes too long savoring breakfast, so you scrape the crumbs into the incineration can and head to your room to get ready. “Hurricane Sigma is careening towards Florida just a few days after Rho decimated…” the news calls out, but you turn the corner and let it speak to no one. You frown at your closet. While the current fashion is head-to-toe zylon with little holes for facial orifices, for work, you’re supposed to try to emulate the old styles. With this in mind, you grab your nylon undershirt, rayon button-up, and polyester slacks, but allow yourself your fashionable stockings and long gloves. In the bathroom, you coat your scalp in HairSafe and grab a pair of trendy goggles and a mask for the commute. Antiperspirant, sunscreen, hazescreen, acidscreen—you’re ready to go! You shut the news off on your way out. The skies are filled with orange smog—the sun weakly pierces through in brief gasps. You can barely see before you, but your car can, thanks to enhanced motion sensors and sophisticated GPS tracking (a compromise between the government and Big Gasoline to prevent phasing out gas vehicles entirely). It putters along, belching

exhaust into the saturated sky, and you wrinkle your nose— you may need to replace your air filter soon. Add it to the shopping list! After a long commute clogged by other eager workers, you park your car in the parking garage. The stagnant haze has crept through the concrete fortress, and its oppressive heat bears down on you when you exit your car, mask and goggles strapped on tight. You wave at a coworker, who compliments your lovely new gloves, and forge through the smog into the blissfully air-conditioned building. The elevator up to the office also serves as a decontaminizer, which erases every poison trace that might invade the office’s delicate indoor ecosystem. You close your eyes as you are sprayed with a cold mist that pebbles on your clothes; you are dry when you reach your floor. You work in sales at a virtual reality firm. Your days are structured. 9am-12pm: meetings in cyberspace, pitching your firm’s lush green and blue escape. 12-1pm: lunch. 2-4pm: make calls to clients and fill out paperwork. 4-5pm: evaluations by your boss on employee efficiency. At 5pm, you go home. At 9am the next morning, you start again. This day goes by the same as any other. As you pack pack your things, you stare out the high-rise windows at the unrelenting orange fog, tinted gray by coalescing clouds, and abruptly wonder if you will ever see blue skies outside of the product you’re selling. It is raining when you strap your face-gear back on and step out into the parking garage. You will have to make other arrangements—applying acid-resistant wax to your car is expensive, and it’s already growing creaky and speckled. A coworker comes up behind you and touches your back—he offers to take you to the bar with some others, then drive you home. You smile but decline—a bus can pick you up. You are suddenly not in the mood for anything other than sleep. On the ride home, you hear someone remark that their cousin died in a flash flood over the lash of the acid rain against the windows. Then they laugh at the funny shirt the other is wearing and move on. You start to feel sick— perhaps there’s a hole in your mask. Someone’s phone chimes, but you can’t find it in you to ‘start your day with a smile’. Out the window, you find no solace, only sickly tendrils of orange, orange, orange. Story by Nina Prouty Design by Sophia Famiglio

Di s com fo rt Is Your Friend

As college students, once high schoolers, and mere individuals, we have had our fair share of convoluted friendships. A genuine friend will not deliberately guide you in the wrong direction, and as much as our internal suspicions convince us that we are going the wrong way, we are going the right way. With its vociferous ambush, discomfort doesn’t wait to barge into your head — it doesn’t pause to knock, nor does it ask, “May I come in?” Undeniably, that’s why it isn’t always that agreeable at first. You aren’t initially supposed to be comfortable with discomfort, and no matter how frequently it persists, you still may not be acquainted with it; this is normal and absolutely okay, especially in a new environment. As much as discomfort may appear in this setting, you aren’t expected to know everything and everyone. This doesn’t indicate that you are behind, either. In an unrecognized scenario, discomfort may overcome you, and it will give you permission to challenge yourself — it will remind you that you are allowed to explore your identity in a new place; humans evolve. College is where you can simultaneously progress academically and learn more about who you are as an individual. It is okay to not know where you want to go immediately; that’s why we’re here. To figure out who we are is a question that may remain without a concise answer. It may prompt us to ask ourselves who we can be when we sincerely try, who we are around people we love, who we are alone, and where we really want to go. Concise or not, the answers we seek are in the positions we put ourselves in and the opportunities we pursue. Meeting new people, familiarizing with new habits, and orienting with the processes of college life can be inundating — particularly in a school with around 60,000 students. Getting started with this new transition can be challenging, but questioning ourselves alongside these uncomfortable feelings can push us exactly where we want to be. Exposing yourself to the unknown can allow you to feel open and welcome toward different experiences; in order to become familiar with the discomfort, you must get comfortable with it. Figuring out the answers to these questions can happen through anything like studying a semester abroad, applying for that one unique internship, joining a club of interest, visiting events or information sessions, or reaching out to someone you

recently met. Fear of the unknown can hold us back in these situations, but it can also unearth skills and abilities we never knew we had; it can introduce us to the possibilities that lay underneath the surface and beneath the layer of what we label as comfortable. Getting accustomed to new changes and taking initiative may become overwhelming, but that’s where peers, mentors, faculty, family, and friends can come in. While change can occasionally be intimidating, it is nourishing. It can guide you in directions you’ve never been and remind you to keep going. It’s also meaningful to remember that many others are in the same boat, and there is strength in unity. There are people to meet who will foster your growth, along with others who will welcome your support. This journey is a stepping stone of personal, academic, and professional development; it doesn’t have to be done alone by any means. While that may be easier said than done, it is okay to reach out, and it does not indicate that you are unproductive or incapable. Being challenged by discomfort or any other obstacle is not a sign to quit but a gesture to move forward. The path of finding yourself may not be linear, which serves as the notion that you are simply a human with emotions. Yet, rising above these stresses can drive us to be the best versions of ourselves. Though we may not notice it yet, certain opportunities can direct us far; they can carry us to points where we feel satisfied with ourselves and our identity. Allowing yourself to wander into the unfamiliar is an essential way to explore who you are and who to surround yourself with — it can be rough, yet it will ultimately leave you with what brings you the most content. Ironically enough, change is the only constant in the universe. While everything shifts, change itself is continually occurring. It’s everywhere and will transpire at any time, unexpectedly. Embracing this and the discomfort that may accompany it accentuates the idea that change can be positive. It’s sometimes terrifying; however, welcoming it can also accept the institution of sustaining opportunities and experiences. Story by Sophia Famiglio Design by Rebekah Noonan

This Is Not Your Concrete Tapping foot impacts the carriage floor in harmony with the clicking of cast iron wheel scraping across miles of rail below. The clicking slows, a faint hum metastasizing into a screech, bellowing from brakes corroded years out of commission. Sounds and motions dwindle in unison before the lurch of a stop does away with the last inkling of daybreak drowsiness. An overly chipper voice announces the stop before the doors to the train clear. One only manages to get halfway before it is caught on some wrought mechanism hidden from sight. Steps are made out of the train to be greeted by morning air suspending cold wet dew into a thin fog. The station is wrong—not surprising—eyelids get heavy on the red eye slamming through Bed Stuy. Old and cracked concrete settles underfoot. A dim MTA monitor rests on a nearby wall, water damage snuffs pixels but not enough to hide the schedule. The time until a recovery mission is still visible, mere minutes. Beneath is a mosaic of long forgotten posters, one of which is a flier for a music festival back in February. It dangles from half of a staple, still stabbed into the strata of endless layers of paint, coating long unseen brick walls like the rings of a tree. The right corner is pressed in by a tagging sticker, just one of many in a fight to be heard on an unseen pillar. Its surface is scarred by razorblade scored cross hatching, preserving its voice until someone comes around to shout over it. A bench rests on the lowermost portion of the wall, ironically, built with armrests throughout like peas under a mattress making rest unattainable. Bolted into the ground, cracks in concrete propagate underfoot.

A step to the left, the city sits just beyond view down the endless tracks. Monopolizing visual dominance over the low lying brickwork and wooden homes below, the skyscrapers act differently, just voided monoliths. The tangential light of a new dawn holds this side of the concrete in all black. Squared away into one darkness is the work of long gone stonemasons and the seared scaffolding set up last month to skirt into some regulatory loophole. Sunrise cauterizes the early day haze to stew new colors out of dew. Now it’s irrelevant if those islands really hold prisons, they look like prisms. Another island houses an observer, a teal shell cloaking copper beneath seen as a beauty with all other metallic decay simply a nuisance. Metal that corrodes like that just lets cracks fester in the concrete overhead. Three individuals line the rest of the platform, four conscious eyes and one not. One holds a book, the next a phone, the last a sign. The man sits slouched in a nook where two walls meet, draped from behind by an advertisement peeling from the top of the wall to match postures. Atop a hill just over the wall is a tree, roots of which sprawl out yanking onto the stone like a kraken tearing a ship in two. A gray bird rests in a nook of its own, the small crevice where root meets rock. Twigs fill the crevice, the bird having repaired the damage the tree wantonly caused. Peaceful it sleeps in its off kilter shelter, interrupted only by the rumbling of an oncoming train. Fluttering out in a sudden craze, it frees the twigs from their resting place to reveal that cracked concrete overhead. As the train pulls into the station I make my way to the edge of the platform, giving a quick glance down the line until met by its blinding headlight. Hands in my pockets, I step back to patiently wait for the train meant to take me where I was actually meant. Thankfully being in this place was just a mistake, not somewhere I’d typically find myself. This angle of home was wrought with the wrong perspective. The train makes its way towards me and the two other people waiting for it make their ways to the line. As each pass the homeless man sitting on the concrete, they toss in spare cash; I keep my feet planted. I quickly walk into the train once the doors open, happy to be out of that cold, wet air in such an unfamiliar place. I stand just to keep myself awake on the return trip, just to not sleep through my stop again. As the doors close, I return my gaze to the station, its cracks and all that made me feel ill-fitting… maybe it’s not wrought with the wrong perspective. Who says my sights of the city sit on a pedestal for all to sit beneath; how come those cracks in the concrete are just beauty marks where I’m from but not here. Maybe my misgivings are irrelevant… ...after all, this is not my concrete. Story by Aleksandar Fecteau Design by Peyton Harris

HUMANS OF UF H O N O R S Sonya Babski: Second-year majoring in Entomology (Pre-Med) with a minor in Chemistry My mom immigrated to America from a village in northeastern Thailand, and my dad is an immigrant from somewhere in Poland. When I was young and my parents were still together, my dad was a Christian, and my mom is Buddhist. When my parents did split, and my mom ended up taking full custody, she said I could pick either religion. After going to temple with her, I decided to choose Buddhism on my own. I just thought that Buddhism resonated with me as a person more – its ideologies. And maybe TMI, but my dad did become a Jehovah’s Witness, so I didn’t really mess with that. [Laughs] Most people just call it Wat Tampa. I’ve been going there since I was a little, little kid. My grandma would help at the market there every Sunday, and ever since I was really little, my mom was like, “You need to start volunteering.” As a kid, I couldn’t really help prepare food because I was a literal five-year-old, but as I got older, they started letting me help more. For a while, I sat in the back with these old ladies and shredded papaya. They would just be like, “Ah, how are you doing in school? Good girl, good grades, so smart, shred faster.” [Laughs] I am a practicing Buddhist. As a meshi, which was, like, becoming a temporary monk, but for women, we would dress in all white, and I would sleep over Friday and Saturday night and do prayers Sunday morning; we would do all-day prayers, meditation, and serve food to the monks.

When I was in Thailand this past summer, it was crazy coming from a place where I didn’t see my religion represented as much, to a place where 90% of the population follows this religion. It felt right. I felt like I was supposed to be there. Every time I visited a temple in Thailand, something inside me clicked that doesn’t usually click here. I can’t really describe it, but it just made me feel like I was doing something very right.

Camille Grimaldi Ter Sarkisian: Second-year majoring in Chemical Engineering and minoring in Nutrition I was born and raised in Buenos Aires, the suburbs, an hour from the actual city. I lived in an Armenian community – in Buenos Aires, there is a big portion of Armenians who left Armenia there and so it’s generations of families. My grandparents lived next to me, so I’ve always been connected with my family. The most important thing in my life is my family– my parents, my three brothers, and my grandparents. We would always have Sunday lunch at my grandparents’ house. My grandpa is usually the one that would cooking – my grandma, she doesn’t know how to cook well. He usually makes traditional Armenian dishes, even though he’s not Armenian. He’s Italian, but once he married my grandma he fell in love with the Armenian side. There’s manti, which is kind of like a dough with balls of minced meat inside. It’s a dumpling, but the top is open. And there’s lahmajoun, which is… people compare it to pizza, but it’s not really pizza. It’s a dough with minced meat and onions, peppers, and a lot of vegetables. And a lot of Argentinian stuff – asado, for sure, empanadas… My grandma immigrated from Iran when she was two, so she lived most of her life in Argentina, but her dad had to flee Armenia after the genocide. Her parents decided to go for it and live in Argentina because, at that time, it was a very prosperous country and had a lot of future. They were between going to Argentina or Australia – I could have been Australian! [Laughs]

Jaim Reijnen-Steele: Second-year double-majoring in Economics and Sustainability Studies I’m from Miami, metropolitan city, greatest place on Earth to grow up. If you’re wealthy. If you’re poor, woah, don’t even try it! [Laughs] I’m not particularly wealthy, my parents bought a place before it was too expensive. If we were to try to search for a place now, we would probably end up in, like, Ohio. I grew up close by the water – on the water, in fact. Just me and the water. We were one. It’s difficult for me to go to school here in Gainesville in large part because I don’t get to see the ocean. I was on the phone with my mom yesterday, and she said, “What’s been tough for you this year? Because last year was tough for you.” I told her being away from the sea. Every day I listen to a little Jimmy Buffett song and it keeps me going. But he’s dead now. So I have to carry on his legacy in my actions. I do my best, you know. But one person’s best isn’t enough against the world’s worst. I miss windsurfing. Wakeboarding. Took my first windsurfing lesson at four in Bonaire, but then I got into it again right before high school competitively and competed through high school. Did pretty well. Not doing that anymore though. Injuries. Shin splints. Heel spurs. Typical… statesman injuries. Now I rock climb. I do some free diving, I go to the gym, you know, with the rest of the meatheads out there creeping up on their first quarter-life crisis. I’ve been watching a lot of YouTube videos of Charles Bukowski poems and they’re making me realize… how terrible I am at everything. So you want to be a writer… [Laughs] Today I sat and watched a forty-minute YouTube video essay titled, “The Answer Is Not A Hut In The Woods,” and at the end of it I was like, “Maybe it is!” Story By Primrose Tanachaiwiwat Design By Kimmy Chiu