summer
Table of Contents Summer Nostalgia
Words and Illustrations by Rachel Middleton
Identity Perplexity
Words and Illustrations by Margarita Louka
Monsoon Memories
Words and Illustrations by Srishti Gupta
Cover and Endpapers: Rachel Sawyer Editor: Anna Stone
By Rachel Middleton
Summer Nostalgia
It’s getting near to that time again, where the weather is warmer, and people want to relax in the sun. The sound of kids playing in the park or in their gardens echo in the neighbourhood. It just triggers those memories of the long stretch of summer, where you had freedom to explore as a kid. Looking back on the good times, they were always sunny and rose tinted, right? Or were they? Was the weather always so nice in our memories? It’s a common feeling that many people have about their happiest memories, but it may be a trick of the mind, to blend the happiest moments with features from other memories. You may remember the
Illustration By: Rachel Middleton
feeling of exploring a new area, with specific memorable senses, like the touch of bark on a tree, a dusty pile of rocks. However you won’t exactly remember the time of day, or the temperature or weather. That’s where the brain fills in the gaps, making false recollections. As a coping strategy, it patches together different parts of our lives that we remember fondly. As we grow older and create more memories, and the distant memories become more hazy, it is much like the way we remember summer’s long stretches of free time which blur together depending on how we felt at the time. So maybe not all of our memories are
completely accurate, is it our way of glossing over the unimportant events or features? Neuroscientists say that many of our daily memories are falsely reconstructed because our view of the world is constantly changing. Perhaps it’s a way of adapting to our present environment, to fit in with the norm. A famous experiment carried out by Elizabeth Loftus in 1994 revealed that she was able to convince a quarter of her participants they were once lost in a shopping centre as a child. The idea of summer nostalgia is definitely a romanticised one, being exposed to the “ideal childhood memories” that the media portrays as “normal” and “relatable”. Not everyone has the same western dream experience in their childhoods that film
and media tells us is the template for our sweetest memories. While there is no doubt that we love to see happy and warm images in our memories to give us comfort, there is an uncomfortable feeling that our memories are being re-written. Although it is a natural thing to adapt and use as a coping mechanism, perhaps there are some parts of our memories that we should not forget, no matter how bittersweet it makes our childhood feel. Summer hazes may blur, but we should hold on to the memories that give our minds clarity. If we lose our grasp on the reality of the moments that were embedded in our childhoods, we won’t be able to grow to understand those around us, as well as the present world that we have grown into.
By: Margarita Louka
Identity Perplexity
The question ‘Where are you from?’ always causes a bit of confusion and panic for me. After all, that is a difficult thing to define. I was born in Cyprus, moved to Dubai when I was 7, and then moved to England when I was 17. My family is still in Dubai and, though I left Dubai to come to England and study, I still go back there at least once a year. I am definitely not English; I always describe myself as Cypriot (my parents are both Cypriot and raised me and my sister primarily with Greek Cypriot
Illustration By: Margarita Louka
customs), but I’ve spent most of my life in Dubai. Dubai itself is a mixing pot of cultures, with 85% of its residents being expatriates. It was such a blessing to live amongst so many different cultures and something I sometimes took for granted. However, that’s formed a complicated relationship with the place that’s supposed to be my home. Me, and a lot of other people, are what society would call ‘third-culture kids’: individuals that were raised in a culture
other than their own. However, there was one thing that was always constant in my childhood: the inevitable, exciting and sometimes dreaded return to Cyprus every summer break to visit family. I was away for important holidays such as Easter and Christmas. So, when I went to Cyprus for three months in the summer, I felt a little out of place there. Dubai and Cyprus are so different; it was like moving from one planet to the other! It is strange to return to a place where you have no strong connections or friendships, yet are expected to call home. Of course, aspects of it did feel like home to me. I love the food, the beach, the landscape. Whenever I looked at the
Mediterranean Sea, I do wonder how different everything would have been if I’d grown up in Cyprus. The truth is, it’s impossible to tell! After all, what forms our identity? Is it the place we grew up, or the way our parents raised us? I do wonder what it would be like to have a constant home all your life. I know it’s impossible to live in a world where we don’t define ourselves by our culture, as it’s the basis of who we are, and it’s completely fine to be defined by it! Culture should be embraced, shared with friends, and celebrated. Now I have a newfound calmness whenever I visit Cyprus in the summers, because I know that I’m lucky to make a home in every place I live in.
By: Srishti Gupta
Monsoon Memories
Sonorous claps of rainfall course through the streets of India. From June to August, the rainfall turns into murky water that envelopes your feet as you step into the canals of Asian Venice. Cars and buses turn into water transport. Motorbikes, bicycles and rickshaws become deadweight for travelling. If the rainfalls are strong enough, the electricity cuts off as an entire neighborhood shrouds in darkness for what could be an hour, or an entire evening. For those more disenfranchised, the situation can get worse. This is the monsoon season in India. The word monsoonitself comes from the Arabic word ‘mausim’meaning a shift in wind or season. It refers to a seasonal change in the direction of the strongest winds, when the winds move from colder to warmer regions. Every summer, from middle to high school, our family would travel to India from the UAE. This was a time for me to see parts of India and visit my extended family. However, many of the days were spent whiling away by the window, and watching the rain. Sometimes, I could only see the bodies from the waist up muscling through the water, with crinkly chips packets, juice boxes, and fruit compost coursing around them. Despite the unsanitary, and perhaps harsh nature of India’s rainy season, there is a sense of adventure that comes along with it. One summer, my father, brother and I made a trip to a bookstore on the other side of the city. What started as an incredibly humid day became a day of rainfall loudly knocking on our taxi. Sitting in the car for forty-five minutes of traffic due to the rain, we realized we were only fifteen
minutes away from our destination. We paid the driver and got out of the car. The water slowly seeped onto the taxi’s floor. We trudged through the water, like three explorers trying to defeat nature and man’s concoction of challenges. As we approached the bookstore, we marvelled at our persistence. Walking into a room of sweet scents from the paperback books, everything dirty and wet and gross about the rain was instantly forgotten. A cup of chaiwith a good book in hand, and the rain became soothing white noise for our minds to adventure through other biomes described on a page. What made the monsoon rains worth it was the petrichor; the musky, earthy aroma that came about after the rain. The infusion of chai, books, and the smell of rain hitting the soil was something I always looked forward to coming to India, regardless of how isolated I felt when it rained. Perhaps it was knowing that many of us in the city, for a moment, were united in our feelings of wistful solitude. Or perhaps it was knowing that even with the rain, people were still on a journey to get somewhere.
Illustration By: Srishti Gupta
Copyright Š 2020 by Rachel Sawyer, Rachel Middleton, Margarita Louka, Srishti Gupta, and Anna Stone. All rights reserved. This publication or any portion thereof may not be reproduced, copied, reprinted, reworked, redistributed, or used in any manner whatsoever without the explicit written permission of the copyright holders.