We Belong Here. by Audrey Cahak

KAHAC YERDUA

We Belong Here.

Letter from the Editor Hiya! My name is Audrey Cahak, and welcome to my creative writing portfolio, "We Belong Here." I wrote these creative pieces over the course of the spring semester 2020, the latter part of which I completed online due to the COVID-19 global pandemic.This major interruption caused a great feeling of displacement in my life, but I was able to channel my feelings into my work and really have time to focus on them while sitting at home all day. Thank you for reading my pieces, I'm really proud of them and I hope you'll enjoy!

Table of Contents 1-6

9-11 12

The Winding Roadway of My Romantic Encounters Reflection

POETRY

World War Coffee Reflection

FICTION

The Cashier Reflection

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

OILOFTROP GNITIRW EVITAERC

7-8

CREATIVE NONFICTION

The Winding Roadway of My Romantic Encounters Niki “Ready to head out my queen?” she smirked at her teasing nickname, making me blush as she held open the door for me.

“Ready!” I responded giddily as I glided out the door, looping my arm through hers.

With Niki, I have learned so much about my ideal relationship and how love and affection are supposed to feel, which makes looking back at my past string of unsavory romantic encounters a lesson in self-worth, standards, and devotion to myself and someone else that was previously unimaginable to me.

From where I was in my life just a year ago, I never would Cody have imagined that in my second semester in college I would “If we’re just friends, does that mean we can’t kiss?” His be going on my second date with a girl I met co-writing an response came in jarring juxtaposition to the emotional, article for the school newspaper. tumultuous paragraph I had just texted him with all the reasons that I did not want to become romantically involved. Not just because a year ago I was not stable or emotionally I read and reread the line with such incredulity, not believing available enough for a relationship, but becuase a year ago also marked a period of time when I was insatiably boy the audacity and paradox of the phrase. crazy, and hadn’t even let myself consider my attraction to people outside of the heterosexual spectrum. Throughout This boy, I believe, is the very one who started the spiral of that time, it felt as if I went through an immense roller unconventional relationships and attempts at validation and coaster with many ups and downs to end up on my current mutual attraction that I would go on to experience later track, but the journey has been well worth it. down my roadmap of romantic encounters. We met when

enough to see the reality seep back in, that I was being we were forced to work together on the prop team during rehearsals for my high school’s January musical my senior forced into the plight of giving too much of myself trying to1 year. Becoming friends by proximity, I noticed right away fix someone else, someone who didn’t deserve it. So a week that he was overly touchy, and I was drawn to his behavior before school ended, I met up with him outside after classes because of my own desperation for affection at the time. He were done for the day, and finally put my foot down. I called would find any reason to at least lightly caress my arm or him out on his bullshit and condemned him for the absolute hug me, so when it came to the time that we were alone in hell I had experienced trying to care for him and how I the claustrophobic aisles of the isolated prop closet, where he cornered me and wouldn’t stop hugging and touching me, wasn’t going to be a victim of his manipulation any longer. I let him get away with the suffocating, overwhelming affection because of a twisted “he’s my friend, he’s allowed Dylan to hug me” mentality he had imposed on my touch-starved, “Yeah that shit was awesome not gonna lie,” the text lunging frustrated mind. on to my screen read. From that day forward, we would text nonstop, and I fell further into a toxic trap of emotional manipulation and I stared at my phone, taking in the eloquence and class of intense anxiety that caused me to waste my time and energy the message I had just received. The sender had selfon someone who was just using me for romantic attention. inscribed the name “Dylan Hottie” in my phone the previous He would constantly overwhelm me with all of his life night, though that was definitely not a descriptor I would problems like I was supposed to be his therapist, pressuring have assigned him. We met through mutual friends that we me with threats of self harm when I wouldn’t respond were carpooling to the beach with on the 4th of July the quickly enough and “help him” throughout the day. The amount of sleep that I lost, and words I wasted fighting and summer before college, and I would come to loathe him grieving for this person who was depleting me of my within less than twelve hours of our first greeting. affection and attention added up until--

I snapped. Enough was enough. I was fed up, and drained

I used to have a philosophy that there was no such thing as a bad kisser. I believed that there were certain styles of kisser,

and whether they were good or bad was a personal opinion depending on how their kiss correlated to one’s own. My encounter with Dylan, however, proved me sorely mistaken, and made me question everything I thought I knew about locking lips.

too wet, too chaotic, and just too nasty for me to believe 1 that he had ever even practiced on a stuffed animal. His lips crashed into mine like the waves pulled to the shore in a tsunami, and coated my face with a seafoam of slobber.

When we arrived at the beach after an hour and a half smushed up next to him in my friend’s packed minivan, my friend informed me that Dylan thought I was cute and was interested in me. I had been pretty bored romantically for a while at that point, and decided that a summer fling might entertain me, as well as improve my flirting, and the possibility that I would have someone to make out with was a plus.

From that bump in the road, I was struck with a prevalent life lesson: just because a mouth is open and available, it doesn’t mean I should be settling for just anything that washes up onto the shore. I learned to have a level of self respect and standards that I hadn’t deemed myself worthy of prior, and began to realize the relevance that mutual attraction and emotional connection had in navigating a successful and impactful relationship down a path that was actually worth my time and energy.

“That shit.” was referring to a five-minute make-out that we shared on the beach that same night. Objectively, it was an immensely romantic setting: We were sitting on the beach Andy on a blanket at night, fireworks thundering overhead and the “I feel like we should have talked about this before, but undulating waves crashing in front of us, the smell of like… what are we?” He cautioned while staring up at the sunscreen and smoke permeating the light breeze. ceiling, his bare chest illuminated by the streetlight outside. What was not romantic, however, was the unexpected and aggressive tongue that sloppily wagged back and forth in my “Because like, I’m not really in a place to emotionally mouth. I was immediately frozen in shock. It was like he commit to someone, you know?” The alarming question believed the goal of a French kiss was to touch every crevice caught me completely off guard. of a girl’s mouth with his tongue as fast as he could. It was

“Well… I’m not really looking for a relationship either, so I guess we can just… keep it casual.” I conceded, this situation being a far cry from what I ever imagined I would be agreeing to, as I lay in his bed draped in his oversized t-shirt.

since it was my first time. He was asking for consent, constantly checking on how I was feeling about certain things, and was overall great at the deed.

“Alright so… fuck buddies?” He quipped, lifting his arm for a high five.

Even with these circumstances, however, I was still plagued with discomfort and a feeling of vulnerability that prevented me from truly adapting to and enjoying the experience. I heard the “you’ll get used to it” drill after relaying my circumstances to my friends, but this bizarre feeling of panic at being in such an intimate space with another person pushed me so far out of my comfort zone that I had no desire to “get used to it.” I found out pretty quickly that, for me, sex just wasn’t a necessity in a romantic relationship, and that I didn’t have the drive for it that it seemed any other normal person did.

“Haha yeah, fuck buddies,” I agreed warily, and met his hand halfway. My last and most recent romantic encounter with a male happened in the first semester of my freshman year. I met Andy through the swim team, and during a carpool road trip on the way to a meet had gotten a small crush on him. This particular night was the first time that we had hung out outside of our carpool group, and one out of two times that we hooked up.

At this point, I was fresh into college, and in the true spirit of a coming-of-age film trope, had wanted to wild a bit and gain more sexual experience. Virginity had never been a particularly sacred prospect for me. Abstinence was more about my timidity and lack of opportunity to partake in anything surrounding the subject rather than saving myself for marriage, so when the chance arose and I thought I was ready, I took it. Andy was arguably good in bed, especially

For a while after this revelation, I felt broken. I felt like something was wrong with me for not wanting sex, since all of my teenage life media and society had been telling me it was something to want after--something to crave--and I believed lack of this feeling meant that I was somehow less of a person than I should be. After amicably admitting my unease and newfound

discoveries, Andy and I stopped seeing each other, and I began to further self-reflect on topics like my sexual orientation and the types of relationships that I was comfortable with. I stopped limiting myself, and finally came to terms with the fact that I too could experience something that I had always believed that other people deserved, but hadn’t allowed myself; for people to love whoever they wanted, regardless of their partner’s gender identity. I stopped forcing myself to tamper my feelings, and recognized that I was attracted to people, regardless of how they identified. These revelations opened me up to be able to move on to something more important and profound than I had ever felt in my life. Niki “What is it?” She prompted, her brows furrowing and her grip on my hands tightening. “It’s just… you’re everything that I could want, and I love you,” I finally murmured, and sheepishly looked into her eyes after minutes of contemplative silence.

I had always been so guarded with “the ‘L’ word” when it came to relationships, believing it to be a special, sacred connection to not just be thrown around to a subject of temporary infatuation or a short-term adoration. That night,

however--cuddling in her dorm, the soft hum of music the only thing breaking our comfortable silence--I was faced 1 with a feeling so intense and unbelieveable and terrifying, that I knew that what I felt for this outstandingly cute, kind, polite, funny, talented, and overall indescribably incredible person, was love. Through immense trial, error, and reflection, I have gotten to a point in my life where I have more fully discovered and accepted myself and my identity, and have broken out of a self-imposed restriction to a level of love and commitment which I did not think myself capable of. Now, I am comfortable and secure in my identification as a queer woman, and in the fact that I can deserve a committed, romantic relationship with a person who is mutually invested in and attracted to me, at the best and worst of times. Niki is patient and gentle with me, has made it so easy to trust and communicate with her, and connects with me on a level that makes me wonder why I ever settled for less. She has reinstilled in me what it is to love someone who is worth it, and to accept love in return, and to turn the previous journey, however many twists, turns, and bumps in the road it has left, into lessons to learn and grow from for safer travels down the line.

Creative Nonfiction Reflection This piece started out when one day during my free time I decided to write down all of the people I had ever had a crush on, had a romantic encounter with, or dated, along with a small synapses of each. I had always kind of liked relaying the stories of my last four romances (Cody, Dylan, Andy, and Niki) because they were so unconventional and stories that I knew were more unique to me. When we were assigned this essay for our Creative Writing class, those stories and the progression and change that I went through jumped out at me as some of the first things I should write about.

Originally I had the Cody, Dylan, and Andy pieces in reverse chronological order, but after the first edit found it wasn't efficient enough to transition smoothly into all of my ideas, so I switched the order to show the progression more clearly. The title was also originally "The Name Map to Love" which didn't make too much sense, but I had just sort of had it in as a filler because I couldn't think of anything else. I changed it to "The Winding Roadway of My Romantic Encounters" because it encompassed the ups and downs feeling of my romantic journey a lot better. I also added to and strengthened the "roadway" metaphor mentioned in the title throughout all of the sections to tie everything together, and just overall revised the piece to add more clarity of ideas and cohesiveness.

While I still think there is more I could add in and take away since at some points I may ramble a bit and try to tell the audience a lot of what I was feeling, I am still really proud of how unique, personal, and fun this piece is! It's also my first really in-depth nonfiction piece that I've ever written and I was very inspired by it so I'm excited to see how far I can develop this piece and what I can do next!

World War Coffee Baristas brave the battlegroundThey are soldiers of the Macchiato Military. Latte Lieutenants and Frappuccino First Officers Take shifts at the machines While combat-trained cashiers form the first line of defense Against the breakfast brigade of customers poised to attack. A flight commander sets the coffee bean bombs to dropReady. The pilot flips the switch.

Aim.

The water heats.

Fire.

Coffee cascades into the cup.

A plume of steam A blast of caffeine A sucrose smokescreen To sedate the horde. A fallout of foam As the cream drops in. A mushroom cloud of milk To mellow out the bitter end. The charge of customers has ceased. The frenzied force withdrawals, And the baristas claim a decisive victory in the daily brewing battle.

Poetry Reflection The original inspiration for this piece came from an exercise we did in our Creative Writing class where we had to make a mundane scenario extraordinary. I was searching for actions that were part of my day-to-day routine that I usually never thought twice about, and I landed on the idea of making coffee. When expanding on this idea, I equated the action of pressing the start button on the coffee machine to detonating a bomb, with the original first line in my head being "Making a cup of coffee as the atom bombs drop." This evolved into a series of metaphors and imagery depicting the falling of the coffee into the mug to bombs hitting the ground, but I found that I couldn't develop that idea super far, and ended up adding the idea of a militia making the bombs and fighting with an enemy. This expansion led me to the idea that I ended up going with, which was a coffee shop doing "combat" with a rush hour "horde" of customers and winning the "battle" over coffee.

After getting the theme nailed down, I relied a lot on alliteration, coffee imagery, and military metaphors to parallel the breakfast rush with a battle. Phrases like "Macchiato Military" were used to parallel the two scenarios.

1 I enjoyed writing this fun and hyperbolic piece. It was a very creative exercise to describe something ordinary as something fantastic and really had me analyze the processes of the things going on around me in daily life. It was also nice to stray from my usual edgier and more emotional and personal poetry that I find myself writing most of the time, so all in all I am very fond of this poem.

The Cashier

The cashier is a man in his mid 20’s or early 30’s, not too far removed from the college students that casually browse the university’s convenience store shelves. At first look, he is as unassuming as all the rest of the campus employees--donning a plain green jacket messily rolled up to the sleeves, a grey polo shirt sporting the university’s logo with the last button to the top nonchalantly undone. His lower half is dressed in monotonous black slacks that bunch at his ankles, the fabric resting on basic black and white running shoes that he uses for standing in his place day after day. There is something indescribable about his physique, though, that makes him stand out, and it’s hard not to spare a second glance.

His tired and stormy hazel eyes are outlined by dense, lengthy eyelashes that pop from his pale skin and pink lips. He has a larger, straight nose and smaller, curved ears that compose a striking equilibrium in his features. His face is framed by short, mousey brown, side-parted hair, and ends in a prominent chin dappled with stubble, angled upward with an almost regal poise. He is statuesque in height and naturally slim, and his limbs are angular and folded as he lounges at his post.

1 “Hi, just this?” He straightens and chirps in a friendly yet rehearsed voice when a patron nears the counter, his lengthy and slender fingers nonchalantly indicating the merchandise plopped onto the table before they drift to the register. “Okay then that will be 4.37,” he smiles lackadaisically as he watches the young adult produce their student ID card and tap it against the scanner. “Have a good day!” He finishes his customer service script and goes back to lazily scanning the shoppers, crossing his lanky arms and legs and leaning against the glass panes behind him until another patron saunters up to the till, and the cycle continues. During the intervals of customers approaching the store counter, he relaxes, and lets his mind wander.

His brain takes him to his life after he locks up the store for the “Oh, I’m sorry, just this?” 1 night. Where he’s cloaked in all black, a silken long-sleeved button-down shirt cascading down his delicate frame, restricted He is jerked back to the present by the thud of a chip bag and a strategically by belts and harnesses that loop into the black magazine flopped down at the register. skinny jeans hugging his elongated legs, met at his ankle by glossy midnight combat boots. “Okay then that will be 2.94,” he states, and quirks his dark, angled eyebrows as he notes the neon orange nails on the Electric orange eyeshadow creases perfectly on his deep set eyelids, the wings of his eyelashes are a dazzling neon green, student’s hand that extends her ID to the scanner. and his petal pink lips are now a shocking shade of vermillion. The stubble is gone, replaced with sparkling cobalt glitter His eyes then trail to the magazine’s front page, where his own shaped like stars on his rounded cheekbones, and his chin slants downward as he smolders at a camera when it clicks and face pouts up at him from the cover. His features are rendered almost unrecognizable by the aggressive fuschia eyeliner and flashes. viscous maroon lip gloss that masks his face. He smirks slightly, Now, he’s a model on the set of a fashion photo shoot, and glances up at the woman, who returns a polite and adjusting his lofty frame into dynamic positions during each oblivious smile. camera shutter intermission. He’s exhibiting edgy and alternative fashion, and all eyes are on him as he works, aiming “Have a good day!” to overturn traditional beauty standards. Gone is his dreary and mundane work uniform, he now wraps himself in alluring sequined dresses, cropped and shredded tshirts, and towering platform heels. He is a true trailblazer of the modeling industry, and a vivid icon for unique fashion lines everywhere.

As the customer walks away, he notices her glossy black combat boots and smiles to himself once more, reminiscing on his ambitious aspirations unbeknownst to the patrons browsing around him, and he relaxes his figure against the window again.

Fiction Reflection

The origin of this piece came from a homework assignment where we had to go to a spot on campus and people watch, then create a narrative based on the person that we chose. I went to the school convenience store and sat in the study area, watching the students come and go, trying to pick one to use in my narrative, when my eyes landed on the cashier. I started with his physical description, as there was something very distinct about his features. I took down a description of every feature just to get a clear picture of him down, and then I tried to decide what the fiction portion of his profile would be. I decided that I wanted to contrast his mundane work uniform with something really striking, which led me to the idea of the juxtaposition of his day job as a university worker versus a night job as an alternative model. I structured the story in third-person and present tense to get a full sense of the cashier's day-to-day from an omniscient perspective. I first framed the story as his daydream, with him only wishing that he were a model, however after peer editing with a

1 classmate, I decided to add one more twist at the end that hinted that his dreams were reality. The appearance of the magazine with his face on the cover blends his wandering thoughts with the real life. While I think that this piece is very short and fun, I believe that I could add more plot twists and develop more conflict within the cashier's life or careers and add more of a backstory, but for a short fiction story I'm really proud of it!

About the Author

Audrey Cahak is a freshman majoring in Writing and Rhetoric at St. Edward's University. Born on December 24, 2000 in Houston, Texas, she grew up in the suburbs, and became interested in reading and writing in middle school. In her sophomore year of high school, she joined the school's yearbook staff, and from there her passion for writing, editing, and designing publications really took off. She has won awards for several yearbook spreads and has been published in the St. Edward's student newspaper, Hilltop Views. Now finishing up her freshman year, she will continue to pursue her degree in Creative Writing as a sophomore in the fall of 2020. 12