Class of 2020: Senior Zine

Class of

Senior Zine

TEAM EDITOR IN CHIEF Lauren Chung

ART CURATOR Channing Smith

DEPUTY EDITOR Elise Andersen

ASSOCIATE ART CURATOR Abbey Meyer

ART DIRECTOR Allyson Konz

PHOTOGRAPHY DIRECTOR Annika Ide

WUD PRESIDENT Tanvi Tilloo

CREATIVE DIRECTOR Maria Dayneko

WUD PUBLICATIONS COMMITTEE DIRECTOR Carlo Romagnolo

FASHION DIRECTOR Sarah Troy

MODELS Abbey Meyer Ariana King Ashleigh Perry Elise Andersen Gylf Forsberg Katie Herrick Lauren Chung

FASHION EDITORIAL ASSISTANT Kelly Rampolla

ART Channing Smith Katie Herrick

LIFESTYLE EDITOR Kate Lawless

PHOTOGRAPHY Annika Ide Audrey O’Neill

WUD PUBLICATIONS COMMITTEE ADVISOR Jen Farley

LIFESTYLE EDITORIAL ASSISTANT Jessica Katz CULTURE EDITOR Katie Herrick CULTURE EDITORIAL ASSISTANT Ariana King ARTS EDITORIAL ASSISTANT Arella Waren SOCIAL MEDIA AND MARKETING DIRECTOR Emily Bian SPECIAL EVENTS COOR DINATOR Ashleigh Perry

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STAFF WRITERS Ariana King Gylf Forsberg CONTRIBUTING WRITERS Amy Shircel

TABLE OF CONTENTS SENIOR ZINE 2020

LETTERS

4 DEAR 13-YEAR-OLD LAUREN 6 DEAR 18-YEAR-OLD ELISE 8 TO THOSE FILLED WITH DOUBT 11 DEAR WHOEVER LETTER TO AN OLD FRIEND 12 A(AND FOE) 14 DEAR AMERICA 16 DEAR UW-MADISON THE COLLEGE STUDENT WHO 18 TO THINKS THEY CAN DO IT ALL 20 MODA FAREWELL

Written by the 2020 Moda Editorial Board Graduates

This zine is in honor of our seniors, whose dedication to our publication will never go unnoticed. It is Moda tradition to have a senior farewell photoshoot, to have all of us together one final time before parting ways. Though this school year ended unexpectedly and prevented the practice of our tradition, our seniors deserve the recognition for their hard work and talent, now more than ever.

They have balanced leadership positions in Moda with full class schedules, multiple jobs and other student organizations.

Some of our seniors may continue on to further their education, while others will join the workforce. No matter where they go or what they end up doing they will always carry the Moda spirit throughout. May Moda always be a home for the class of 2020. We are incredibly proud of you, seniors, and cannot wait to see you succeed in all of your endeavors.

Dear 13-Year-Old

A E LURN, Written by Lauren Chung, Editor-in-Chief

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I’ve thought about what I would say to you if I had the chance for years. There’s so much to say —so much advice, spoilers on how life goes and doesn’t—but the first thing I would do, if I had the chance to meet you, is hug you, hard. I desperately wish I could hold you in my arms and, as cliche as it sounds, tell you that it does get better.

Right now, I know it feels like you can’t catch a break—both from people in your life and your own brain. Right off the bat I’ll tell you that your “friends” are not friends. I’ll also tell you that it’s not your fault that you feel like everything is spiraling out of control and slipping through your fingers. I know it’s confusing, but it’s not your fault that you’re losing interest in gymnastics, the seemingly constant affirmation that you were good at something in life. It’s not your fault that you’re angry all the time—or sad, numb. You are not dramatic or too sensitive, you’re hurting. Unfortunately, I don’t have all the answers as to exactly why you feel this way. Sometimes, you just do. That’s okay.

Here’s what I can say: One day you will wake up and you won’t sob that you’re awake and have to go on with another day. One day you’ll be able to fall asleep without running through a list of ways the world would be better off without you. One day you will escape the toxic, emotionally and physically abusive friendship you’re in and find friends who will love and support you unconditionally, not tear you down. One day you will find better ways to cope with pain than self-harm. One day you will get into college.

Yes, you heard that right. You eventually pick up school again, not because you have to get passing grades or because you have to live up to your family’s expectations, but because you lean into your innate curiosity. You will study things you love and discover you have not just a knack for them but a burning passion. You will learn that your hunger for justice and balance are the exact ingredients for the recipe of a great writer and journalist. The world needs you to tell stories—both yours and others’. (Oh, and you’ll join a magazine called Moda your freshman year and it’ll be the best decision you ever make. You will grow as a writer and designer, and eventually become their first female Asian American Editor in Chief, making your wildest dreams come true.)

At 21 you will gain the courage to get help. (Spoiler alert: you are depressed, and that’s okay.) It’s a long time coming, I know. I bet you expected to hear you would sooner. I’m sorry it might take awhile. But you do it on your own time

when you’re truly ready. And when you do, it feels damn good. Medication and therapy are a weird mix of both added stressors and steps towards taking back control of your life, but a glorious weight will feel lifted when you finally give yourself what you need and deserve.

So much so that you’re going to fall in love with life—truly, breath-takingly and for the first time ever. When you move to London (yes, that seemingly intangible dream also comes true) and are truly on your own, you’ll realize you are strong and capable. You can do all that you thought your anxiety said you couldn’t and you do it damn well. You will see the most beautiful places on earth and meet the kindest souls in the form of friends and traveling strangers. You will love life and, for the first time, genuinely love yourself.

On the topic of love, you will, eventually, fall in love. Kind of crazy, right? Not only will you accept yourself and realize you are smart, talented and important enough to love yourself, but someone else will too. I know you think that you are impossible to be loved and that you couldn’t imagine someone else looking at you like that. You’re wrong. Someone does—and that same someone will help you love yourself in new ways. When you fall in love for the first time, you will be scared and the timing of it won’t be ideal but it won’t matter. Lean into it. Learning that you can feel a love so immensely strong for someone else is an amazing feeling. For the first time, you’ll be able to love and care for someone at the same time you’re loving and caring for yourself.

I cannot promise that you’ll never feel pain, anxiety or like giving up. You will from time to time. What I can tell you is that those moments won’t feel as crippling as they do to you know (and god do I remember how crippling they feel to you now). You will learn to accept that your anxiety and depression are not your weaknesses. You will learn that, yes, they absolutely are shitty, but you are not defined by them.

The world needs you, Lauren. Don’t give up. You’re important. Please know that.

All the love in the world,

22-year-old Lauren

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lise, E

Dear 18-Year-Old

Written by Elise Andersen, Deputy Editor

Let me start this off by saying: your life four years from now will be almost entirely different from what it is now.

You think you know it all right now — what you want to major in, what your life will look like post-grad, who you are as a person. Let me tell you: you know nothing.

Your four years in college will be quite the roller coaster. You’re going to deal with more heartbreak, confusion, anxiety, pure happiness and raw emotion than you ever thought possible.

Remember when you said you were going to stay single all of college because you wanted to experience life on your own? Funny thing is, you’re going to spend more time in a relationship than not in one during these next few years.

And while none of these partners turn out to be your future husband, it’s not all a loss. You will learn so, so much about yourself and what you want and need in a future companion. You will learn what it means to be in a toxic relationship, and how it feels to be in a healthy one. You will experience all of the red flags (and then some), and know exactly what to run from before it even happens. You will learn to stick up for yourself and to demand the level of reciprocated effort necessary for a functional relationship.

Maybe you would have enjoyed your college experience more if you would have stayed single throughout it all, but you now know what you want and deserve. And you will not settle for any less.

Stop telling people your major is biology and you’re going to PA school because, sorry to break it to you, that’s nowhere near the field you’re going to end up studying. It 6 MODA

takes a long time — three semesters, in fact — and a few failed finals, many tears shed in College Library, and countless phone calls with your parents to finally decide that pre-health is not the right fit for you. You knew it all along — fashion and business is what you’re passionate about.

And don’t let anyone ever make you feel ashamed about that. Listen to that voice in your head and that feeling in your stomach that keeps telling you you’re meant for so much more. Stop doubting yourself. You were never meant to be average, or shrink yourself to make others happy.

You are smart and capable of anything you set your mind to. PS: don’t be scared to take econ — you’re going to end up loving it.

You’ve spent your entire life acting like you have it all together, which will benefit you in some ways. Faking it til you make it will prove to work in your favor more times than one. But eventually, that facade of self-assuredness and obsessive independence will no longer be able to cover up how you truly feel. I wish you’d do it sooner, but after a long internal battle you ask for help. And it is the best decision you could ever make for yourself. Stop thinking that asking for help — no matter the circumstance — makes you appear weak. It takes a strong person to pretend that everything is fine when it isn’t.. It takes an even stronger person to acknowledge that everything is not okay, and to ask for help.

Don’t worry, the next four years aren’t all tears and sadness — in fact, there’s a whole lot of happiness woven into it all. I know you’re considering studying abroad right now, but can’t even imagine being away from home for an entire semester. Spoiler alert: you do it and you love it. I cannot wait for you to experience living in Italy for four months.

It’s one of the most magical, eye-opening experiences you will have throughout all of college and your entire life. You might roll your eyes now at the people who say “studying abroad, like, changed me,” but you’re about to become one of those people. Use this as a lesson going forward to take advantage of every opportunity that comes your way and say “yes” to everything (within reason, of course).

You’re probably reading this on your first night in your newly-decorated dorm room, just itching to get out there, make friends and have the college experience you couldn’t wait for. If there’s one thing I want you to take away from all of this, it’s to be patient. You’re going to have a tough time at first making friends and feeling like you truly belong at this massive university. Even now, one final away from graduating, I still don’t know if I belong here. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t loved, or valued, or appreciated.

Along the way, you’re going to meet incredible people who are going to become lifelong friends. You’re going to meet some awful people, too. You’re going to have innumerable nights out until 3 AM, topped off with a stop for your favorite post-bar snack: a bag of Ian’s puppy chow. It’s going

to be difficult at times, and you’re going to feel hopeless on more occasions than you can count, but you’re going to make it through with some incredible stories to tell of both absurdity and perseverance.

Go out more (PS: The KK line? Never worth it). Make conversations with people you don’t know. Go to your professor’s office hours. Stop wishing these four years away, constantly telling yourself that your life will finally begin when you graduate. Because, quite honestly, your life has already begun and it’s time to start living it fully. And if you’re wondering how this chapter ends, I’m not going to give away the ending, but you’re going to be proud of the person you’ve become.

Xoxo,

Elise Andersen SENIOR ZINE 2020 7

To Those

FILLED WITH DOUBT, Written and illustrated by Katie Herrick, Culture Editor

My sophomore year in college I called the suicide hotline, moments away from doing something fatal and long-lasting. I have only ever told one person this.

Every morning I woke up and wanted to cry about what I saw in the mirror. I had acne, I was “fat,” my boobs and ass too small for my “huge” stomach. Every morning I woke up with crippling depression and anxiety. I told myself I wasn’t enough and I never would be. I was never the smartest student in the class, the best writer at my magazine, the best dancer in my organization, the happiest in my friend group, the most artistic and creative, nor the funniest when I cracked jokes.

I self-harmed all throughout high school and a good chunk of my college career, trying anything to make the pain I woke up with every single day go away. This is the part of the story where everyone says, “one day I woke up and decided to change everything.” But that didn’t happen. That’s not how it works in real life for most people.

When I hung up the phone with the random woman who saved my life on the other end of the hotline, I wasn’t cured.

I wasn’t better. I woke up the next morning with the same crippling pain and nervousness that ate at me every day.

I told myself that I was dramatic. At the end of the day, I wasn’t stupid nor was I unhealthily overweight. I had friends who loved me and supported me, a (then) boyfriend who supported me and a family that wanted to see me thrive and would do anything and everything to help.

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That wasn’t the issue. The issue was that I didn’t care if I thrived. (Oh, so this is the part where she details her turning point.) I hate to break it to you, but there is no turning point in this story. Like any physical ailment, mental illness is forever, regardless of if you can see it or not. You just learn the ways to deal with it, and the ways not to.

me more in the past four years than anything I could have dreamt of affecting me growing up (and I have daddy issues, so). Though I am saying farewell to my friends, family and beloved home, a piece of me will forever be here, and with all of the people who wiped away my tears when I couldn’t.

I went on medication. I attended group therapy. I went on another medication. I changed my birth control from the pill to an IUD. I upped my medication dosage. I went to group therapy again. I upped and changed my medication, again. I lost my health insurance several times in between and went cold turkey off medication.

I am here today because, on the days that I fell, there was always a hand there to pick me up. I stand tall because for years I had people supporting me and preparing me to do so on my own.

Now a ripe 21-years-old, I have realized that my depression and anxiety are just two friends that will be with me throughout my whole life. Yes, friends. When I stopped looking at my mental illness as an attack, as an evil cloud raining down on me, I stopped letting it have that effect on me.

There are good days, and there are bad days—and there are REALLY bad days—but they are just that—days. I learned to go with the ebbs and flows, to stop expecting a cure for something that didn’t have one.

The months I spent living in Spain and in New York may appear to be my best from the outside—or my Instagram grid—but they were some of the darkest moments of my life. I had just been hurt in ways I never imagined possible, and was filled with loneliness, doubt and anxiety. I woke up every day filled with pain, yet at the same time so happy to be able to be living in my dream city with an amazingly supportive host mom and new friends.

I have improved since then. I have realized that if you put all your self-worth in someone else’s definition of you, you will never be happy, and that sometimes your best friends aren’t even your friends at all. I have learned to stand up for myself, to stop crying over things I can’t change and to appreciate all the small moments sparsed in between the bad ones.

I have been sexually assaulted. I have been laughed at. I have been disrespected. I have been hurt and broken. I have been called a wide range of names, both loving and hurtful. But I have not, and will not, be dead until fate takes me. That is my “one day” line. One day, after almost dying—you can, in fact, accidentally overdose on anti-depressants—I realized I didn’t want to die. I just wanted the pain to stop. And dying wasn’t the only way to do that.

So, if you have doubts that you can’t do it—whatever it is— know that maybe you can’t. But maybe that’s okay. You don’t have to be able to do everything. Maybe you shouldn’t. Maybe it just takes time. Maybe you will never get it and should try something else. Maybe you will get it.

Every single letter probably says that their freshman year self could have never predicted themselves now. But it’s true. This city, school and the people in it have shaped

To my mom, for supporting me endlessly for years and years and loving me no matter what. Because of you, I knew that I would have unconditional support, through my triumphs, and most importantly, my failures. The lessons you have taught me are infinite, I cannot describe them all in one paragraph. You are my biggest fan, supporter and best friend. I would not be who I am today without you. Thank you. I couldn’t have done it without you. I love you.

To my grandma and grandpa, you have been a part of my development since I was little, and have shaped me more than you know. You’re a lot tougher with celebrating success than mom is, and that is something that pushed me to be better than just acceptable. To our endless hours in the car, the hours spent online shopping after surgeries, to the countless items of borrowed furniture, and all the laughs and songs in between—thank you. I couldn’t have done it without you. I love you.

To great grandma and grandpa, I really wish you could see this. I know you’re proud of me. I won’t spare everyone with memories, but know that I am who I am, mostly because of you. Thank you for instilling love, compassion and hard work in me—among so many other things. On the days that were the hardest, I kept going because I didn’t want you to lose me. Thank you—I couldn’t have done it without you.

To my best friends and roommates, the ones who have picked me up every single time I fell, the ones who have seen me cry and held my hand. Thank you. You helped me blossom into who I am. You told me the truth when I didn’t want to hear it, you called me on my shit when I needed it most. You watched me act a fool and dance like a freak, snugged with me in the mega bed, and bought too many (disgusting) drinks at Monday’s with me, all while cracking the stupidest jokes in between. When I laid in bed staring out the window depressed, you brought me in the living room and forced me to laugh. The memories we have curated carry me through the worst and best times—This is America choreography, Facetime calls every hour, blankets as dresses, Animal Crossing nicknames, Gossip Girl marathons, every single episode of Drag Race (at least once or twice), diet coke and gummy worms, sleeping on the stage at Whiskey’s, sending TikToks across the hall, latenight chats in our beds inches away, deep talks in grungy, floral living room chairs—and everything else in between. I couldn’t have done it without you. I love you.

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To my dad and stepmom—in the nicest way possible—thank you for teaching me to act a fool. There is a balance between spending life just achieving and spending life actually living, and you taught me to live. You taught me to not take everything so seriously, to let loose and laugh, to do what makes you the happiest. Jen, thank you for reading everything I write. Thank you for welcoming me as your own child, and treating me accordingly. I love you. Dad, thank you for teaching me how to care for plants, instilling me with good music taste and showing me the value of friendship by treating your friends like family. I couldn’t have done it without either of you. I love you.

To everyone else—the professors and mentors who believed in me and pushed me to be better, the friends that have come and gone, the exes that helped me mature and grow, the people who brought out the worst in me, my kitten that gives me purpose—thank you. And to those who doubt—don’t.

Katie Herrick

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Dear

WHOEVER, I am going to keep this short. Not because I don’t have a lot to say, nor because I don’t want to say more. I have learned that the best things in life can be cut short. Experiences, relationships, lives. Though it is easy to harbor bitterness because there wasn’t more, I choose to take the notably harder route—living in the moment.

So to myself and to you: enjoy who and what you have now. Continue to plan for the future, but don’t let that get in the way of what is now. Because now is the only guarantee that we have in this world, no matter how short that now may be.

Ashleigh

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A letter to an

OLD

FRIEND Written and illustrated by Abbey Meyer, Associate Art Curator

I choose to dedicate this letter to you because, quite simply, you have always been by my side. I mean this in the most literal sense. In fact, you are present with me as I write this letter.

I’ll keep this short, but truth be told I’ve always wanted to address you directly.

After 21 years on this Earth, 16 of which have been extremely pivotal to my development as an adult, you trailed my every move. Both your commitment and persistence to this (very one-sided) relationship knows no bounds.

For over a decade of my life, you have pulled most of the weight. As I make my way through life, you observe my every decision, every move I make and every encounter I have, always ready to share your opinions—regardless of whether I asked for them.

And man, you never shut the hell up.

So it’s my turn to talk - and I have something to tell you.

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FUCK you. *** Every child faces a period growing up where they feel the weight of comparison. In fact, people of all ages can likely relate to the often debilitating feeling of failure: that you failed to do enough, to look good enough, to be enough for your friends, teachers, supervisors or even parents.

I have always been a people pleaser.

Quite honestly, I rarely ever consider myself when making decisions. My fatal flaw is that I seek to impress those around me because the validation I feel from other’s appraisal is how I counter feelings of self-doubt and failure.

I bring this up because what began as an odd kink in my personality soon led to my destruction and almost led me down a path of no return (literally).

(and foe)

When I entered college as an eager young freshman, I fell into a period of depression. I started a new prescription for a birth control pill and was soon plagued by the onslaught of symptoms including depressive episodes, mood swings and horrific skin problems.

However, I was not the quintessential picture of a “depressed teen” (though, as most mental health advocates would tell you, this picture doesn’t really exist. I digress.)

As most young college freshmen do, I spent a majority of my weekends partying with my new friends. I religiously spent every Thursday, Friday and Saturday of my first college semester in one of three places: the dance floor of a frat basement, inside of Camp Randall stadium, or at the random address we heard from down the hall before our 9 PM pregame. I drank until I came close to blacking out, not because I thought it was fun to get drunk and

dance with my friends, but because I simply wanted to drown out your voice. Looking back now, this is probably the reason I typically approach drinking with mild apprehension.

You were and continue to be the most toxic presence in my life: every day from 2016 to late 2018, you berated me. When I looked in the mirror, all you let me see was an ugly face, covered in cystic acne and scars. When I looked at my body, you forced me to see a figure that would never achieve the right shape. You were so brutally honest, and oftentimes downright cruel.

“With a face like that, you can’t afford to gain weight.”

“Your friends only let you go out with them because you have a good body, are you really going to let that go?

You’ll have nobody left.”

“You’re so disgusting, how do you leave your room looking like that?”

It never stopped. You followed me everywhere: to class, to the gym, to bed. I never felt safe because you simply didn’t allow for it. I couldn’t escape you.

By my sophomore year, you reached your peak. You began channeling strangers on the street, boys I liked, my own friends and even my family.

As I walked the sidewalks of my campus you taunted me with the same dialogue: “they’re staring at you because you’re so ugly they can’t believe it.” If I began talking to someone new, it was: “he’s only interested because he feels bad. You know he would never be seen with someone who looks like you.” Going home for holidays, you laughed and said “better not let mom and dad see your skin like that, God only knows that they’re ashamed of how much of a disappointment you’ve become.”

I was insistent on pleasing you. I did everything in my power to fix my skin so you would stop bashing me. I put on face makeup in the morning before leaving my room to see my parents. I cut my calories in half and then in half again. I went to the gym every

morning—before anyone else got up of course—so I could avoid seeing anyone. I skipped class and stayed home whenever possible. I avoided mirrors, strangers, and all public places in an effort to silence you. I should have known that you were more stubborn than that though. After all, you are really just an extension of me.

The hateful commentary was just a tease compared to what you had in store for me. Thoughts of suicide were constant, and they were so emotionally draining. You wanted me to die so badly. I became numb. I approached therapy as a saving grace, but you managed to taint that experience as well: “don’t tell her what you hear them say about you, she’ll only judge you,” “if you tell her how bad things are, she’ll only try to send you somewhere—your friends would think your a f*cking psychopath,” “everyone you know would just remember you as that freak who went to the psych ward.” *** You may have won several battles.

You almost succeeded in war. But I am strong, and I am still standing here. Today, a year and a half later, I can proudly say I have almost fully recovered from my eating disorder, my complexion has been clear for months, and when I wake up every morning, I look in the mirror and smile. I earned the internship of my dreams and I celebrated 21 years of life with my family on the 65th floor of the Rockefeller Center. After months of relentless verbal harassment, you finally sat quiet, speechless at all that I accomplished.

Had I listened to you, I would have never met the friends I have today. I wouldn’t have shared so many laughs with my coworkers, or spent countless days dancing around my apartment with my roommates. I wouldn’t have a Bachelor’s degree in Journalism and most importantly, I wouldn’t be so sure of myself. I wouldn’t have the appreciation of all the amazing opportunities that life has to offer and I wouldn’t be so ecstatic and hopeful about what my future has in store.

As much as I absolutely hate you and want to leave this letter at that; I must also address you as an ally. It’s because of you that I built myself to be the person I am today. Your constant harassment, though toxic, made me so strong. As I exit college, I sit here and write to you as the most confident and self-reliant version of myself.

While I will probably never be able to fully escape your occasional commentary, you have no power over me anymore. Sometimes, I resent you for taking so much from me during the first two years of my college career. But today, as I depart from Madison and enter a new chapter of my life, I choose to let you go.

So, my old friend (and foe), thank you...

But also, fuck you.

Abbey Meyer SENIOR ZINE 2020 13

Dear

C I , A

R

AME

Written by Ariana King, Culture Editorial Assistant Illustrated by Katie Herrick, Culture Editor

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I hear you say things about my people all the time. You say we’re intelligent, beautiful, exotic and successful. That we’re innovative, creative and scientific. You also say that we’re model minorities, that all of our fellow people of color should aspire to be like us. You throw a fit whenever Asians want to talk about discrimination because racism against Asians “doesn’t exist.”

Well, my friends, the COVID-19 pandemic has proven you all wrong. As hate crimes go up and an Asian family was nearly stabbed to death by a racist in a Texas Sam’s Club, it’s clear that our “model minority” status doesn’t mean jack shit in a crisis where we make easy scapegoats. You only call us model minorities for your benefit—to drive us people of color apart. You stereotype Asians as “good” to reinforce the rhetoric that continuously puts down black, Latinx and indigenous communities. You only put Asians on top to justify putting everyone else on the bottom. We’re only given a pat on the back so that you can claim America is kind to its minorities.

But, at the same time, your bettering of my “otherness” to downgrade others has given me advantages I was too ignorant to realize until I got a good college education. For twenty years, I lived my life as a light-skinned, ethnically East-Asian, English-speaking young girl in relative peace.

Sure, I had the occasional creepy old man ask me where I was from, or white people saying hello in any Asian language, or that kid in first grade who thought it appropriate to pull his eyes into slits “like mine.” But I still could access health care, I was safe from state violence, I was allowed to wear cultural jewelry to school, I was “cool” for speaking my “native” language and I was never in true harm’s way. That is until now.

This is the only point in my life where I have been afraid to be Asian, where I have feared for my safety because of how I look. I used to have days where I’d “flaunt” my Asianness—wear giant jade necklaces and cloisonne earrings.

Now, I don’t do that. I don’t feel I can. Hell, I can’t even go into the store without worrying about what wearing a face mask will supposedly tell people about me. Will they think I’m sick and spreading the virus? Or will they think I’m being proactive and leave me alone?

So, this is what it feels like to be a minority in America. It’s fear, it’s uncertainty, it’s having to hide or downplay a part of who you are. It’s so unfair, and yet I lived twenty-one years of my life without having to deal with it. I have only an ounce of understanding of what darker-skinned people of color experience. I’ve feared for my safety for only a month or two since COVID-19 picked up in America. Black, Latinx and indigenous communities have to do that every damn day. I cannot imagine being black in America.

For me, this experience then drives the need for a coalition amongst us. People of color need to come together and have a real conversation about what it means to be a racial minority in America. We must acknowledge our differences, but we cannot let white America drive us apart.

To my fellow light-skinned East Asians, let the fear you feel now drive you to reach out to darker-skinned people of color. Know and own your privilege. Understand that the pain and paralysis you feel for your safety is what they deal with every day, but let it drive you forward to advocate against their oppression and ours.

Yes, we were once “model minorities”, but we are not anymore and never were. So, to hell with our “model minority” status. If it meant “being white” and staying silent, we refuse to comply. The COVID-19 pandemic has proven that we will always be an “other” no matter what white America wants us to believe. So...

Dear white America, the fallacy of model minority status has been broken. We will not be silent or complacent. We will fight against your oppression. We will wear our “otherness” so incredibly proudly. We promise to never forget this moment and will never seek your “allyship” again.

Yours truly,

Ariana King

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Dear UW-MADISON, Written by Gylf Forsberg, Culture Staff Writer To the terrace sunsets, Camp Randall game days and exhausting treks up Bascom Hill. To the farmer’s markets, Nepalese takeout and kayak rentals. To the late nights, last-minute crams and study outlines. To the people that make Madison much more than the crosswalks and campus buildings.

Madison, Wisconsin has become my home away from home and it is where my heart lives. When I stepped foot onto campus the fall of my freshman year, I don’t think I understood the immense impact that these four years would have on me. I met people that I will never forget, I learned lessons I will never unlearn and I found myself in ways that I never thought possible.

When I walked into my first class—the immensely hot, not air-conditioned, yet weirdly charming Bascom 272—I thought that I had everything figured out. I had my future planned out down to my future husband’s career. That trajectory shifted innumerous times and my freshman year self could not have predicted the person that I am today.

The people I have met in Madison showed me different ways to look at the world, and new ways to look at myself. When I thought I wasn’t enough, a net of support appeared behind me as I fell. For the midnight calls and pep talks in the advising office, I owe my sanity. When they say the Badger community is a strong one, they are not lying. I would not be overexaggerating if I said that I had a system of people supporting me that reached across this campus.

To the advising staff in the College of Engineering, my supervisors and coworkers, professors and mentors, thank you for—truthfully—saving my life and teaching me to view myself by looking at my triumphs and not dwelling on the shortcomings. Your doors were always open and you wouldn’t hesitate to sit with me and try to make sense of the jumblings in my head.

When people asked me what it was like working in the advising office I would say, “It’s like having ten more parents on campus.” But I wasn’t joking, they would always make sure that I was taking care of myself and not overloading myself with work, and most importantly they weren’t afraid to call me out when I wasn’t doing what was best for me. I don’t think you understand what an impact that you’ve had on me, you have taught me that it is okay to not be okay,

that I don’t have to have everything figured out and that in the end, everything will be alright.

To the people who sat across from me, those from the second floor of Aldo Leopold and the unintentional friendships that I will hold onto forever. You have made the endless hours of studying bearable, you’ve made me laugh when I thought nothing was funny. To the late night trips to Cap Center, to the days full of nothing but gummy worms and diet coke. Although we’re here to earn a degree, my greatest memories are outside the classroom.

You’ve made Madison much more than the University, you have made it the place that I call home, with our memories filling the voids and cracks in the walls of our overpriced student housing.

To the people who may not be in Madison but love visiting— my family—I owe more thanks to you than anyone else. To the people who have supported me through everything, to my Aunt and Uncle for showing the ways to love and support unconditionally. To my cousins who urged and pushed me to reach their levels of success. To my grandmother who taught me to stand up for myself and what is right. And to my mother, the strongest person I know, for always being my biggest cheerleader, teaching me to not underestimate myself, and showing that no matter the asteroids the world throws at you, we are strong enough to brush it off as if it was a pebble.

To the four lakes. To Lakeshore and Southeast, to Bascom Hall, Wendt Commons and Van Hise. To State Street, Mifflin and University. To the 300 person intro lectures, and the senior seminars. To the person I was, and the one I am today.

To UW-Madison, and the people who make it, I am so thankful.

Gylf SENIOR ZINE 2020 17

TO THE COLLEGE STUDENT WHO THINKS THEY CAN DO IT ALL, Written by Amy Shircel, Contributing Writer Illustrated by Channing Smith, Arts Curator

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When I first started my four-year undergraduate journey, I thought I could do it all. These high expectations almost ruined me.

What does it mean to “do it all”? It changes from person to person. For me, it meant academic, physical and social perfection—absolutely no room for error. Eventually, my façade came apart at the seams.

My first few years of college followed a similar pattern. Every semester, I took 18 credits (ask my roommates), had a part-time job (or two), was involved in all of the clubs, maintained a social life, volunteered, etc, etc.

My schedule was rigid. I opted for the morning shifts at work, and as a lifeguard that meant getting yourself out of bed at 4:45 AM, packing your food, packing your books, putting your suit on and biking 13 minutes across campus in 12-degree weather, by streetlight, in time to open the pool at 5:45 AM. Then, go to class all day, run that club meeting, volunteer to cook food for the community, go to office hours, hit the gym and then study at Memorial Library until you cannot keep your eyes open for another minute. Rinse and repeat.

And it was not just the rigid schedule that was the cause of my demise. My expectations for myself were absolutely insane. On the days that I didn’t work early in the morning, I would haul out of bed for an eight-mile run before my 8:50 AM class. It was not good enough to make the Dean’s List—I expected to set the curve on every exam in my 200 person lecture. I expected myself to look a certain way. I trained for half marathons, triathlons, national swim meets. My friends would tell me I was “crazy.” I took it as a compliment.

I would be gone for 15 hours a day on a regular basis during the week. Then I would sleep the entirety of the weekend. I am talking 52 hours of sleep. I saw it as a reasonable sacrifice to maintain my current routine and standards. I would see how long I could go without eating. I needed to be better. There was no room for error.

ically, I created permanent irreparable damage to my body by pushing myself so hard for so long. I recently had a foot/ tendon surgery that put me in a cast for three months and a boot for three more months, mostly as a result of incessant long-distance running. I doubt I will ever run again, at least not the way I used to. I was put on multiple psychiatric holds and spent months in an outpatient psychiatric program in Milwaukee. My doctors told me to take time off of school.

Eventually, I finally got the help I needed for depression, anxiety, disordered eating and disordered sleeping. The McBurney Disability Resource Center saved my academic career. Many students never get this help—the UHS Mental Health Services’ waitlist is three months long.

This tale is not unique, especially not at this university. This story is unfortunately familiar and unsurprising. This campus is full of overachievers and undiagnosed alcoholics; we are known to “work hard, play hard,” priding ourselves on this slogan. So many people could tell this same story, and some of the details would change, but the premise is always the same. I have friends, right now, who hold themselves to the same standards that I describe here. It’s a tragic story that will continue its vicious cycle until we verbalize and internalize the absurdity of it.

I think telling this story is important despite how personal it is to me. We have to change the standards and change the system simultaneously. Students cannot be expected, internally or externally, to spread themselves so incredibly thin.

I want to emphasize that you simply cannot do it all. Trust me, I’ve tried. It isn’t healthy or sustainable. We think we can handle it, we think we can balance it until we can’t anymore.

The UW-Madison campus has a seemingly ubiquitous culture of hyper over-achievement, which is toxic at best, and harmful at its worst. I had to reshape what I thought was normal. I created a new normal. If you relate to anything I have said in this letter, I encourage you to do the same.

Love,

This day-to-day may seem extreme to some, but, from what I have observed these last three years, it honestly is not that crazy for the typical UW student. It makes me sad to think about how I treated myself, and how I see other UW students treating themselves.

What happened after a couple of years of setting the bar so high? I would cry pathetically in my TAs’ office hours. Phys-

Amy Shircel

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MODA CLASS OF 2020

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LAUREN CHUNG Editor-in-Chief

Moda is a place where my dreams came true. I always dreamt of running a magazine from a young age, but countless stories in movies, TV shows and books told me that those people didn’t look like me. Moda proved all of my preconceived notions wrong.

This magazine became a place I could flourish and gain the confidence I needed to become a great writer, designer and leader. Even moreso, Moda gave me an outlet to express myself wholeheartedly—to speak my truths, to explore my creativity. Because of this, Moda gave me standards for what to look for in a future job’s atmosphere.

Above all, Moda Magazine has been my home here on campus for the past four years. It is a wonderful and powerful publication, and I have enjoyed every moment.

ELISE ANDERSEN Deputy Editor

I found Moda during a time in my college career when I was very unsure about many things in my life — my major, my friendships, what I wanted to do in the future. I struggled to find a place where I felt like I belonged at this university, but finding Moda gave me that sense of belonging. Throughout all of the changes and ups and downs of college, Moda has been the one constant throughout it all. It has helped me realize my true career and personal interests, it has been the creative outlet that I needed and it has introduced me to so many wonderful people that I might not have met otherwise.

I will miss the Tuesday night meetings, the sense of community I found within this publication, the feeling of pride whenever I wrote a piece that meant a lot to me and the pure excitement of sharing our work with the rest of the world. I will carry everything I’ve learned with me during my time with Moda into my professional and personal life.

I owe so much to this organization and the incredibly talented and passionate people within it.

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KATIE HERRICK Culture Editor

Moda is more than a magazine. Moda is a collective of creative thinkers and passionate writers. It is an artistic outlet for students from every single major and area of study.

Moda is the place to share stories you needed the extra push and support to write. It is an amalgamation of my best and most talented friends. Moda is the place you can come to feel supported, inspired and loved.

Moda has brought me countless friendships. It has shared hours of my writing, illustrations and layouts. Moda has entertained my wildest and most creative fantasies in art.

Moda is my home, and has been for the past three years.

Though I am saying farewell now, a piece of me will forever be here.

ASHLEIGH PERRY Special Events Coordinator

To me, Moda meant community. In times where I had nowhere else to turn, I knew that I could find some solace in our Tuesday night meetings or staff bonding events. Moda is the only Student Organization I was consistently involved in all four years at UW-Madison. I always appreciated the creative energy flowing whether it be during the full staff meetings, ed board meetings or section brainstorms.

While my major may not have been in the arts or journalism, Moda provides everyone from all walks of life and all educational backgrounds a sounding board for their creative ideas. I am forever grateful that freshman Ashleigh knew the importance of indulging your passions even if everyone is telling you that you need to be hyper focused on your career goals. My advice to anyone reading this is to find a balance between your work life and your creative life if you find yourself in a field that isn’t particularly creative like mine. It will provide an escape and endless happiness.

I think that is what I will miss most—an eclectic group of kind, supportive people coming together to create an amazing body of work. Oh, and of course I’ll miss my badass ed-board ladies who prove day in and day out that girls really do run the world.

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ARIANA KING

Culture Editorial Assistant I stumbled upon Moda Magazine my sophomore year at the student org fair. I knew I wanted to write and hadn’t decided where yet, but Moda’s top-notch photography and graphics had me sold. Since then, Moda Magazine was a place I felt comfortable expressing myself, a place where I learned how to write not just for me but for my community.

Moda Magazine is where I decided I wanted to become a journalist and make writing a key part of my career in activism. It’s also a very humbling experience—I have never felt so lucky to be in a room full of amazing, creative and talented people.

ABBEY MEYER Associate Arts Curator

For me, Moda was the opportunity to publish and work on content that really has value to me. I joined Moda initially as a sophomore with the intent to gain experience and build my resume to apply for the J-School. However, I remained a member of the staff through my college career mainly because it provided an outlet for me to express my creativity and write about topics that are important to me. Accepting a position as a member of Ed Board only brought me closer with some of the amazing members of this organization. I found friendship, I found a passion and I found confidence by joining Moda.

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