Broad magazine issue 75 broad love december 2014 by BROAD Magazine

Issue 75, December 2014

BROAD A Feminist & Social Justice Magazine

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broad

BROAD A Feminist Social Justice Magazine A Feminist& & Social Justice Magazine

legacy medicine

wisdo

death

beauty memory youth

frailty

birth care

retirement

work

disrespe

Issue 75: c(AGE)s Publish your stories, art, opinions, poetry, & politics on AGE by 1/5:

broad.luc@gmail.com

BROAD A Feminist & Social Justice Magazine

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(sed)-

Submit your stories, art, opinions, poetry, and politics by 1/26:

broad.luc@gmail.com

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abilities

BROAD A Feminist & Social Justice Magazine

Become a new member of BROADâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s team as a

Graphic Designer in Spring 2015! Email broad.luc@gmail.com to apply, due 1/15

BROAD 2014-15 ISSUES September

#feminism October part 1

What’s Your LGBT-IQ? October part 2

In g/God(s) We Trust November

Sentence: Criminal? December

BROAD Love January part 1

c(age)s January part 2

Dis(sed)-abilities February

Living In Color March spring break issue

Body Talk March issue

Broads & Babes O the Places You’ll Go May

In Labor

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April

adjective: 1 having an ample distance from side to side; wide | 2 covering a large number and wide scope of subjects or areas: a broad range of experience | 3 having or incorporating a wide range of meanings | 4 including or coming from many people of many kinds | 5 general without detail | 6 (of a regional accent) very noticeable and strong | 7 full, complete, clear, bright; she was attacked in broad daylight noun: (informal) woman. slang: a promiscuous woman phrases: broad in the beam: with wide hips or large buttocks | in broad daylight: during the day, when it is light, and surprising for this reason | have broad shoulders: ability to cope with unpleasant responsibilities or to accept criticism | City of broad shoulders: Chicago synonyms: see: wide, extensive, ample, vast, liberal, open, all-embracing antonyms: see: narrow, constricted, limited, subtle, slight, closed see also: broadside (n.) historical: a common form of printed material, especially for poetry

BRO Sylvia Bennett

Diversity & Assessment Editor

Meaghan Cook

Website & Archives Editor

Ellie Diaz

Content & Section Editor, Art Director

Patrick Fina

Layout & Design Editor

Mandy Keelor Editor-in-Chief

Kait M

Content & S

[theme] quotes:

“They say there is a doorway from heart to heart, but what is the use of a door when there are ~ Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi no walls?” “My love gives me hope, My love gives me pride, My love gets me past, The land minds inside, ~ Ani DiFranco When I am next to you, I am more me.”

Madsen

Section Editor

J. Curtis Main

Advisor, Consulting Editor

MISSION:

Mario Mason

Publicity & Social Media Coordinator

WSGS:

Broad’s mission is to connect the WSGS program with communities of students, faculty, and staff at Loyola and beyond, continuing and extending the program’s mission. We provide space and support for a variety of voices while bridging communities of scholars, artists, and activists. Our editorial mission is to provoke thought and debate in an open forum characterized by respect and civility. Founded in 1979, Loyola’s Women’s Studies Program is the first women’s studies program at a Jesuit institution and has served as a model for women’s studies programs at other Jesuit and Catholic universities. Our mission is to introduce students to feminist scholarship across the disciplines and the professional schools; to provide innovative, challenging, and thoughtful approaches to learning; and to promote social justice.

Gaby Ortiz Flores Consulting Editor

Maggie Sullivan Publicity & Social Media Coordinator

Elishah Virani

Diversity & Assessment Editor

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OAD

BROAD LOVE

Welcome to the third annual themed issue on BROAD Love. While much of the world celebrates various holidays around giving and new beginnings, we hope to capture some of the sentiments around love, good and bad. Read on to celebrate and question human love and relation.

media/art

Insight o

broadside

bookmark here The Book Thief

words are useless

‘Kait, I Lov

If Only I Had the Courage to Pick Up a Pen and a Page Aishvi Desai The Last Words Aishvi Desai Our Jacob DeVoogd heart surgery Reed Redmond salt Reed Redmond whisper Reed Redmond find me Reed Redmond Found by a Janitor in a Middle School Locker Over Summer Vacation: A Sestina Kait Madsen Ya-aburnee Kait Madsen

Bitter Shells (Love.War.Relationship.) Hilbert Art Always Look Put Together Nicole Zollos Amor Eterno - Eternal Love Victor Raul Sanchez Feel Free to Have a Job; as Long as you can be a Mother, Wife, and ... Nicole Zollos Partners Michael Jefferson Dopamine Maggie Hurley, maggiehurley.com Long Distance Love, I Carry Your Heart With Me DIYInstantprints Kay Jewelers Superwomen in Love Proyecto Alegria Fiber One Bars Christmas Cracker Mike Nelson I Love You Minna Roselli Mothers Sacrifice Jodi Sutton Honey Maid Graham Crackers Natural Danielle Rosenthal, DRosenthal Art Broken Blue Heart Billie Rye Bryant Broken Heart Relationship Denes Barna 10 Honest Thoughts on Being Forget Me Not Felix d’Eon Loved by a Skinny Boy

HEaR

Angry

What is Love? Doe

World of

This i

XX Ma

madads

Memoir Lessons of Life,

ad(vance)

tell-a-vision Thighs How to Be Alone Janitor

message me

reasons for breaking up best love movie relationship with parents

screen/play

“

Like Water for Chocolate

quote corner Nora Ephron Bell Hooks Pablo Neruda

c(AGE)s DIS(sed)-Abilities Be a BROAD Graphic Designer Theme, Mission, & Team Navigating BROAD’s Design Annual Theme Schedule Letter from BROAD: Sylvia BROADs behind the scenes Contributor Guidelines

BROAD

artic Starlily A.J. De Gala

The Love of a Village Adam Mogilevsky Letter to an Unnamed Friend Athena Mawn Women, don’t go back to your ex! Dr. Monica Corsaro

June 21, 1917 Lucrezia Gaion 2 Generations of Arranged Love Janki Patel Shades of Love Mario Mason

CONTENTS

on In(Justice)

HEaRt

Rtscape X. Cathexis

The Pink Paperbacks

In the k(Now)

Raising a Glass to Unconventional Love in Literature Ellie Diaz

What is Love?: Baby Don’t Hurt Me Sylvia Bennett

Sanity Optional

Atheist

I Prefer the term Champ Peach Stephan

es it Exist? Mario Mason

Manga Addict

f Women

Alice 19th Julia DeLuca

is Love Elishah Virani

arks the Spot

Kaleidescope Happiness & Heartache: Self-love During the Holiday Season Sabrina Minhas

rs of a Dog Lover: , Love, and Loss Meaghan Cook

cles

Status Quo Combustion Love, Karma, Santa Claus and all Things Holy... Lubna Baig

Love and Local Music Them Monarchs

microaggresSHUNS

Why I’m Not Into Engagement Photos Kelsey Henke

5 ways I GIVE love

The Symone and Danielle Story DJS Redefining Love: The Evolution of Relationships in Children’s Entertainment Julia DeLuca His Heavy Heart Megha Patel

5 ways I RECEIVE love

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ve You’ -Kait Kait Madsen

Letter from BROAD State of the Magazine, September 2014 Maggie Sullivan

Nobody notices Im Dead? Dear Readers, Nora Ephron, my favorite writer and my inspiration, had always feared she would “die one of those New York deaths where nobody notices for two weeks until the smell drifts into the hallway.” Sometimes I play a game with myself, well, a very dark game, and even calling it that is a stretch. Based off of Ephron’s fear, the “game” is called, How Long Would it Take My Friends to Realize I’m Dead? The rules are simple: I am not allowed to contact my friends, post on social media, or, like a dorky, overzealous tag-along, plan my walking routes around passing friends in-between classes. I just disappear for a few days and wait for people to come to me. I’m not being dramatic or anything, I never let anyone know about the game. I know life gets busy and it’s easy to forget to check-in on friends. The thing is, I always lose. I’m like a damn dog in many ways. I have some filthy habits, eyes that can get me most anything, a mean bark, and curiosity that has driven me to actually eat dog food a few times. But I’m also relentlessly loyal. Time away from friends goes by in dog years; one day seems like a lengthy seven. So I either I get sick of the game and contact oth-

ers again or I tolerate the agonizing loneliness that comes with the game long enough that finally, I receive a text message reading, “We miss you.” Even if it is only from Papa John’s 90 percent of the time, it feels good knowing you’re not just in a one-way friendship. It’s affirmation of being loved and noticed. The point is, December is the season of atrociously corny romantic movies (sorry Nora Ephron) and family reunions. As a result, people are often inclined to dwell on absent love lives and messed up families. December is when people look at their emotional hand of cards and want to fold because they think they have nothing. But in-between the bitterness of being single and the family contempt, we often forget those who are informal family. Those who show more affection than a lover ever could and care more than family, the few who bother to send that text making sure you’re alive. It is easy to forget, when life becomes busy, to take care of your informal families in small ways. Attention is the greatest gift you can give to friends and you should give it year round. Friendships are handpicked; we have the power to build an alternative family that only includes people we like and actually want to be around on holidays. But having a squad is a privilege. You mustn’t forget that the jovial characters you share laughs and drinks with also have welling sadnesses, intense fears, and embarrassing secrets that weigh in the pit of their stomachs like a beer gut. Everybody does. If there is just one sincere person whom you can tell the truth to- that everything is in shambles, that you feel like the world’s piñata because 2014 has beat your ass so hard, that you are failing- when you find yourself lying to everyone else that you’re OK, then you are very lucky and you are very loved.

You mustn’t forget that the jovial characters you share laughs and drinks with also have welling sadnesses, intense fears, and embarrassing secrets that weigh in the pit of their stomachs like a beer gut. Everybody does. This cold world knocks everybody down sometimes. You can’t protect your friends from feelings of sadness, stress, self-doubt, and frustration. But you can keep them from feeling alone. Show your love in a broad way and don’t ever give friends a reason to believe no one would notice they are dead until the smell drifts into the hallway. BROADly, Maggie

And if they can’t be altruistic and caring in return, create a new tribe. Keeping people around who cannot support you in return for your love is as uncomfortable as wearing a duct tape prom dress and you know you can do better.

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Celebrate with your friends this year. Grab them and squeeze them for all they’re worth and know that everything will be OK as long as you have each other. Remember that your friends have an entire population of people to select as their family and they chose you. Show them you’re worth it. Don’t just be waiting for them when they get back up, go down with them when they fall.

[This is an icon, a simple image that v represents the column/section/issue

[Column/Section Title]

[Tagline for section/column description] [Author/Origin]

BROAD Navigation:

The key to understanding our Approach

BROAD 2014-2015 Colors:

• Each year, the new team chooses 4 colors • These 4 are used along with white, gray, and black • We hope they are pleasing and work together!

plum

steel

BROAD 2014-2015 Fonts: •

• We have three main fonts • Alido, our “BROAD” font, never changes Alido is used in the BROAD logo and in headings • Heuristica is this year’s body/text font • Titles have a graffiti font approacheach is different and is tied to the topic

Alido: Logo, Headings tomato

gold

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black/white

Pull Quotes:

•

• The text is in graphite • The frames and highlighted word(s) are from that section/column’s color motif We do our best to choose wisely from the text

Heuristica: Text

Various/Artistic: Titles

[This is a pull quote from the text with positive words/ phrases in color.]

visually e theme]

Sections:

• Media: Black background • Non-media: White background • 2 BROAD colors as motif • Mostly generated by BROAD team • Elaborates issue them in various ways

• Columns:

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• Steel background • Tomato accents • All BROAD colors • Tied to issue’s theme Be a columnist via BROAD team’s blessing

Articles:

• Steel background • Tomato accents • All BROAD colors • Tied to issue’s theme • Anyone can contribute

• BROAD Spectrum:

A sound spectrograph of saying “BROAD” • Represents diversity working together • Celebrates spectrums of people • All BROAD colors

• Interactive PDF:

• Each issue is like a website • From the BROAD contents page, you can click any titlle to jump right to it! • Thus, we removed page numbers • And, click the bottom right corner of any page, then “click for contents” to jump back to the contents page [This marks the end of an article, section, or column that has text]

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•

broadside poetry in street lit style Reed Redmond

Ya-aburnee (You bury me)

This morning of Folgers we made a pot and sipped it in hush, o-small mug you with your to and me with ath my morning bre Matthews and your Dave t-shirt. I like to just ing listen to you read the paper and loving hair my tumbleweed from across the table. how do you In this moment, stir the honey â&#x20AC;&#x2122;s rawer in my belly that ? than naked-skin

words are useless

Natural

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sometimes words arenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t enough Danielle Rosenthal, DRosenthal Art

BROAD Love BROAD Voice, BROAD Communities A.J. De Gala

Starlilly To the lovers, that you love with all you’ve got. Snow fell in picturesque flurries on the New England-esque Spencer Heights, a sleepy suburb of the Midwestern city of Holmesville, IL. It had been snowing for the entire day, and by the time night had fallen, the suburb was a winter wonderland, a white landscape perfect for Hallmark holiday cards. Families spent the night inside, laughing and rejoicing at the yuletide spirit while those who walked amongst the swirling snow saw brightly lit houses and inflatable decorations, with the images of happy faces and warm interiors within the various suburban homes. Within one of these homes was Heather Urbanski. Dressed in a simple but dazzling dress, she had taken refuge within an empty room to take a call, wishing the person on the other end a Merry Christmas while the sound of Michael Bublé played in the other rooms and the chatter of guests enjoying a little holiday party added to the background. After ending her call, she looked out the window

to watch the snow fall on her childhood backyard. Meanwhile, someone else walked into the room, a small space with a crackling fire casting its light on the garland strung about the room, which decorated the bookshelves around the coffee table and sofas. John San Miguel, dressed in a purple dress shirt and black suit, put down the two mugs of hot cocoa on the coffee table before proceeding to try and sneak up on Heather. Of course, Heather could see John approach, and she smiled as he hugged her from behind. He twirled her around and then kissed her on the cheek, saying, “Merry Christmas, my love,” before kissing her again on the cheek and adding, “And Happy Birthday. I

They moved then to the loveseat by the crackling fire and sipped some hot cocoa before reclining and cuddling. “At that moment, I knew what I had to do. I leaned in...” “And so did I...” “And our lips met.” “That was our first kiss,” Heather remarked. “And even then I knew that there was something special about you. Something special about us. It wasn’t just that I had fallen in love with my best friend. It was that you did something no one else could: you made me feel complete.” With a tear in her eye, Heather commented, “That’s sweet, my love, but there’s something you missed in your story.” “Oh? What was it?” John asked. “I remember that moment with crystal clarity. I could still picture us in your car right now.” “It’s not something you would’ve known,” she revealed with a chuckle. “That was the moment I first fell in love too.” Both of them basking in the memory, Heather pulled John in for another kiss. “Merry Christmas, John.” “Merry Christmas, Heather,” John replied, kissing her again. They resumed cuddling by the fire, and though there were others in the next room, they felt alone in their own little bubble. They were happy, and all was right.

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hope Santa brought you a good present.” Turning around, she replied coyly, “Thanks, John. Maybe he did.” After a wink, she said, “Kiss me babe, it’s Christmas time,” before leaning in and giving him a kiss on the lips. They moved then to the loveseat by the crackling fire and sipped some hot cocoa before reclining and cuddling. A content silence followed as the two lovebirds simply enjoyed the feeling of the one they loved next to them. It was during this that a memory came to John, and he began to beam, smiling even wider than before and drawing Heather’s attention. “Something up, honey?” Heather asked with a bemused expression. “Do you remember the first time you fell in love?” John posed. “I remember mine. It was on a night kind of like this one, actually.” “Where are you going with this?” she questioned, curious. “You’ll see,” he replied with a sly tone. “Anyway, I was at a party. It wasn’t a Christmas party, per se, but it just so happened that it was around that time. Even though I had only been there for a few minutes, I knew that I couldn’t stay long. I had some cases that I needed to take care of. When I saw that it had gotten late, I told my girlfriend that I needed to go, and she asked if I could spend some time alone with her. Acquiescing, she told our friends she’d be gone for a few minutes while she said goodbye- I myself said that I was leaving- and we headed for her car. “After seeking refuge from the cold outside, she turned on her car’s heater and we cuddled in the front seat. We were silent, since we didn’t need to speak, so instead I just put on some music on my phone. Owl City began to play, and I just beamed. I had never felt so... happy. It was like there was a warmth inside me- a happy feeling that was there to stay. With her in my arms... with the song that was playing... it was a fairytale scene; the best romance writer couldn’t have come up with something better. I had fallen in love. I felt complete. I turned to look at her-” “And I turned to look at you,” Heather whispered, remembering the moment from a few years ago well. “Our faces were covered in the dark, but I could tell that you were smiling just as wide as I was.”

Individuals who want to believe that there is no fulfillment in love, that true love does not exist, cling to these assumptions because this despair is actually easier to face than the reality that love is a real fact of life but is absent from their lives

I look out the wind see the lights and t and the people on rushing around loo action, love, and th greatest chocolate cookie, and my hea little dance.

In my sex fantasy, nobody ever loves me for my mind.

the stat when I is one o but it d or even and wh I am tr

just words? just speeches? Nora Ephron

For many years I was in love with journalism. I loved the pack. I loved smoking and drinking Scotch and playing dollar poker. I didn’t know much about anything, and I was in a profession where you didn’t have to. I loved the deadlines. I loved the speed. I loved that you wrapped the fish.

te of rapture I experience I read a wonderful book of the main reasons I read; doesn’t happen every time n every other time, hen it does happen, ruly beside myself

It’s always hard to remember love years pass and you say to yourself, was I really in love, or was I just kidding myself? Was I really in love, or was I just pretending he was the man of my dreams? Was I really in love, or was I just desperate?

Don’t you love New York in the fall? It makes me want to buy school supplies. I would send you a bouquet of newly sharpened pencils if I knew your name and address.

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dow and I the skyline the street oking for he world’s chip art does a

quote corner

Insight on (In)Justice Because sometimes justice starts with a conversation... Kait Madsen

Kait, I Love You. For this issue’s love theme, I feel so fortunate to say that I could write about lots of different forms of love that I get to experience: the unconditional love of my goofy, selfless parents...the deep, gracious love of my partner of over six years...the loyal, non-judgmental love of my two longtime best friends....the understanding, side-splittingly hilarious love of my two younger sisters...the unfailing love of my two golden retrievers. I could write about all of these relationships, and I could write about how acts of love look in my life, how it feels to give, give, give love to other people and issues, and to receive love from all kinds of people I interact with every day. I could talk about the importance of love for humanity, something that relates to the theme of my column: the necessity of understanding and compassion to breaking down barriers and creating a more just world. But I’m at a place where I need to take a moment to express a different kind of love, one that I too often neglect. I need to talk about my self-love. I need to talk about my love for myself, because I recognize that I have to deeply love who I am before I can fully give love to the rest of the world. In a culture that tries to tell me that my thighs should have a gap, that my brain is less valuable than my butt, that my choice to use birth control makes me promiscuous but my serious relationship makes me too eager to “settle down,” that if I’m not stressed or exhausted I’m doing it wrong, that cellulite or no makeup or unstraightened hair are laziness...I need to be my own best lov-

-Kait

er. I need to love myself and care for myself as I am, and in doing that, I defy the limitations placed on me by patronizing or unrealistic ideals that don’t match my personal vision of who I am. To quote Audre Lorde (and my current cell phone wallpaper): “Caring for myself is not self-indulgence, it is self-preservation, and that is an act of political warfare.” In August 2010, I was getting over a particularly dark and difficult time in my life and was prepping for my last year of high school. I wrote a letter to myself to refer back to in future dark periods, and I’ve kept in in a box in my room. The letter ends with the following: “Slow down. Take care of yourself. THIS is your life. Right now. Realize that in every single moment. Don’t waste ANY time. But when you’re tired, sleep. Do not be afraid! You have all you need! I LOVE YOU! Be brave.” I try to live out those reminders, but in all honesty, a lot of my same needs and fears hold true today: my constant moving, striving, going, my fear of failure, my need to care more for myself. So in honor of the approaching new year and end of my undergraduate career, I decided to be a little (necessarily and unusually) selfish and write myself a new self-love letter, publicly and openly..

Dear Kait, First of all, you need to know that you are enough. You are enough exactly as you are, with your unread emails and unshaved legs and unwashed laundry. Most of the time, you’re even more than enough.

Love your body. I know it’s changed from the 20-hour a week dancing form it used to be, but it’s still just as powerful, capable, and strong. And best of all, it’s yours. Your strong legs take you from neighborhood to neighborhood in this busy city. Your chewed-up fingernails help you write meaningful stories and give great head rubs. Your abnormally calloused feet mean you can walk barefoot in the summer. Your quick smile looks just like your mom’s. Try to keep drinking more tea and less coffee. Own your 9:30 PM bedtime and 5 AM wake-up call, even on Friday nights. You do you. Be patient with yourself. When people ask you your future plans, you can tell them, “Own ten dogs.” You don’t have to have it figured out right now. Trust that you’ve done enough over the past few years to demonstrate your work ethic and talents, and trust that things will fall into place. When Brady looks at your fully belly after a dinner date and says, “I love when your stomach is big and full because it means we’ve had a great night,” believe it. Love it for yourself. Be grateful that you are privileged enough to eat big, delicious, healthy (and unhealthy) meals, and that you are loved enough to have wonderful people to share it with. Use that example in other areas of your self: be less self-critical and more grateful. It’s okay that some days you want to up and move to Portugal and then others you want nothing more

than to settle down in your hometown near your family. You don’t have to feel guilty for either one of those impulses; your desire to see the world and deep love for your family are both strong, valid emotions that define part of who you are. You don’t have to choose one or the other, either; trust your instincts and your heart, and you’ll go where you’re meant to go. Finally, enjoy this part of your life, because it’s short and wonderful and scary and full of opportunities for growth. Remember to take moments out of every day to really exist in the moment, to notice the smell of the air and the sounds of your footsteps. Be grateful. Eat vegetables. Actually listen when you ask, “How are you?” I LOVE YOU! Be your authentic you. Love, Kait

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Be proud of how you live with your heart big and beating. It gets tiring sometimes to care so deeply and honestly, but know that you leave places better because of it. People find safety in your heart and trust it enough to open up to it. But don’t be afraid to care for your heart when it needs it too. Read it books and play it some Van Morrison tunes. Know when it needs some me-time, and honor that space. When it’s been hurt, speak up.

words are useless sometimes words arenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t enough Michael Jefferson

Partners

find me

broadside poetry in street lit style Reed Redmond

don’t exist within me i hide within the things i like to imagine , tissue, whatever bleeds lungs a heart an emotional spark, organs l you’ve made your mark-a start draw me out through a syringe mouth, unti his spare parts cotton candy a cloud a clou, fill me up with k i’ll stay for dinner let me drain through a kitchen sink, i thin we all sinners after all an ounce of pain, a magic trick, but aren’t find me a new place, an aftertaste to match the bitter flavor a collection of the things i can’t still missing a favor

p breaths full of razors a bow, a chain, all trimmed with lace, dee of mazes a toe, a brain, the human race, arteries full of leaving slowly hateful speech, an acid tongue, the basics singing words that sting when sung the science of breathing only

but those words are in a different state on a map and in my mind someday i’ll evaporate we’ll work through the dictionary the space between our thighs until it finds an owner we’ll be close closer the words I broke them if the distance can’t talk back i don’t want them back i’ll be back to hold you the next day i’ll hold them hold our bodies intact if our bodies are intact

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nothing more, nothing less i’d love to dream of nothing at all a shadow of a family crest stand up stand up now fall an empty face, a broken vase flowers dead before their time a blossom fresh, a lasting trace the twinkle in each eye

BROAD Special Love Each year, we ask the team... BROAD 2014-15 Team

1. Smiles 2. Laughing at even my not-so-funny jokes 3. Accepting my sass and dishing it right back 4. Coffee dates 5. Midnight movie marathons 1. Acceptance 2. Snuggles 3. Ridiculous snapchat faces 4. Spicy hot chocolate 5. Videos of puppies

1. From 2. My m 3. My do

1. To myself first and foremost 2. My future kids 3. My workouts 4. My family 5. Whatever it is I am doing at the

5 ways I give love:

BRO Ask

1. When I’m upset and my sister plays Newsies’ “Santa Fe” to cheer me up 2. When friends touch my arm when they’re telling a story 3. Receiving hand-picked and personally inscribed books 4. Respecting personal space 5. Cups of tea from friends 1. Listening to friends when they have a problem and knowing just the right time to nod my head 2. Writing love letters instead of texts 3. Welcoming new ideas and identities 4. Laughing loudly and without regret 5. Offering to let my mom escape the adult world for a while and remember what it’s like to be a kid

1. Long distance calls 2. The divine fit of a new dress 3. The protection given by my parents, police, security guards, armed forces 4. Receiving cards in the mail from my grandmother 5. Knowledge and advice from the professors and bosses I admire

myself mum og Lola

1. Making conversation with strangers 2. Forgiving people easily 3. Cooking dinner for others 4. Devoting time and effort to people and organizations 5. Constantly striving for a better version of self

e time

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5 ways I receive love:

1. I was sick during finals week and my roommate bought me orange justice and DayQuil 2. My mom sends me care packages while Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m at school 3. My dad buys my favorite type of wine when I come home 4. When my roommate cooks dinner for all of us 5. My dogs are always happy to see me

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1. I tutor an adult with disabilities 2. I play sports with my brothers 3. I call home every day 4. Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve kept in touch with my best friend from 7th grade 5. I baked cookies for my younger brotherâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s school Christmas party

BROAD Special Love Each year, we ask the team... BROAD 2014-15 Team

1. Gotten surprise visits 2. Gotten gifts 3. Been given Netflix account access 4. Gotten food 5. Been a priority 1. Written a letter 2. Bought a gift 3. Shared food 4. Given a hug 5. Put someone before myself

5 ways I give love: 1. Initiating a coffee date with old friends 2. Second chances 3. Accepting little things 4. Celebrating someone elseâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s success 5. Opening my mind

1. Emotional support 2. Forgiveness 3. Being given opportunities 4. Being told Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m appreciated in some aspect 5. Constancy

BRO Ask

1. My best friendâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s support and understanding 2. Parents who join my sisters and me in sending an emailed dance rendition of The Drifters â&#x20AC;&#x153;White Christmasâ&#x20AC;? to all our friends and relatives 3. Apologies 4. Friends who listen (and bring wine and Thai food) 5. A handmade holiday coat hanger

1. Taking lots of extra time for coffee, stories, and baking with my family 2. Recognizing the innate goodness and strength of my partner in a difficult time 3. Showing patience with my 80-lb Golden Retriever puppy 4. Working overtime over the holidays to ensure that the refugee artists I work with get paid on time 5. Getting myself a massage

5 ways I receive love: 1. Believing in myself by believing others 2. Appreciating effort over outcome 3. Being grateful for each unique person 4. Sharing my mind, body, heart, and time 5. People in my life

1. Giving without expectation of receiving 2. Listening 3. Helping and assisting the way others want 4. Tutoring, mentoring, and teaching 5. Believing in others

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OAD ked

BROAD Love BROAD Voice, BROAD Communities DJS

The Symone and Danielle Story Note to readers: Throughout this story, the pronouns they, them and their, in addition to their traditional use, will also be used to refer to one of the partners in this story. They identify as genderqueer and use these pronouns. However, sometimes the pronouns she, he and hers may be used when speaking of the past and how they were referred to then. “If you take care of the moments, the years will take care of themselves” Maria Edgeworth. This is the story of two people who have lived by this mantra and how their lives are forever intertwined. It’s about a friendship that blossomed into happily ever after, or at least happy still. Some say love at first sight isn’t possible, but I know differently. Now, ideally, I would have been single when I happened upon

the love of my life, but life and love don’t always work out the way you think. I was committed to someone else and was ready to spend the rest of my days making our relationship work. Thank God the universe had other plans for me, for us.

Intrigue at First Sight

For the next few weeks, I spotted them reading at that same table. I would walk by, ever so slowly, hoping they’d look up and say hi. I would stop and drink water at a nearby fountain, hoping just to get close enough to get their attention. I found myself walking down that hall, past that table, daily, looking for them at all hours of the day because I didn’t know their schedule, major or reason for sitting there. One day, I saw a classmate talking to them and I wondered, “How do they know each other? Maybe she can introduce us.” Courageously, I approached my classmate and asked as they walked away, “Who is that? Is she a graduate student as well?” It was then that I found out they were an undergraduate. I thought, “Wow, an undergrad so driven and committed to learning. That’s awesome.” I love ambition. After about a month of walking back and forth down their hallway, I told my then partner about them. I had to. I felt so eager to share with anyone that I was falling for someone I didn’t think I had ever spoken to. However, turns out, we had met briefly months before but neither of us really remembered the encounter. As fate would have it, as I recalled that first encounter, I remember being intrigued by them even then, sitting off in the cut, always alone. They seemed so reflective and in their own world, content with their privacy. How could I make myself a part of their private world?

I was committed to someone else and was ready to spend the rest of my days making our relationship work. Thank God the universe had other plans for me, for us. Then, on one regular uneventful workday, I received an email from my major professor telling me that we had a research meeting the following week and would be joined by an undergraduate student, Symone. My major professor, forever honest and direct, said, “She’s a black woman, I think she’s a lesbian.” This was relevant because we were going to do a study about gay youth in Iowa. I was thrilled to see her name and somehow I instantly knew they were the person I had been eyeing in the hallway. I was so elated that I showed the email to my then partner, exclaiming, “It’s her. The woman I’ve been eyeing.” It was a great moment for me and a life changing one at the same time. I was too consumed in my own joy to notice that my partner was so not OK with what was happening. I was being naive and selfish and only wanted what I wanted. And what I really wanted was to get to know this person. I arrived at the research meeting, cute, confident and ready for whatever. I had been working on some materials that I was eager to share because I figured if they were anything like me, my brilliance would be attractive to them. Their brilliance surely left an impression on me and everyone else at that meeting. As the meeting came to a close, I cracked a few jokes and nonchalantly asked them for their number. They gave it to me, but I didn’t call. I was in a relationship and had no idea what their situ-

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It was 2004 when my happily ever after walked into my life. Actually, they weren’t the one walking; I was. I had just started my first year of graduate school in counseling psychology at Iowa State University in the middle of Iowa. I was walking around the psychology building, familiarizing myself with the facilities, when this gorgeous, chocolate-colored person caught my eye in the distance. They were sitting at a table reading a book and I instantly thought to myself, “Another Black person in the psychology department at Iowa State? What are the chances?” I wanted to meet them, to know them, to see if they were queer, as I was. Am. I spotted a rainbow stitched onto their book bag and everything in me smiled. I felt beyond curious. I was determined to get to know them.

ation was. What would I say if I called? They were so private, yet they gave their number without hesitation. I overthought it and decided to just let it go.

As Destiny Would Have It Weeks later, when my then partner left town for few days, I was stuck in Ames attending to graduate student duties, which included proctoring an undergraduate exam. Symone, the undergraduate, was proctoring as well. An undergraduate with such responsibilities? How? They must really be something special, I thought. They just kept getting more and more attractive to me. Because my partner was out of town with the car we shared, I was left to take the bus home following the night exam. This was standard for me and no big deal, yet after I stated that out loud, Symone offered to give me a ride home. I couldn’t believe it. I accepted the offer and they agreed to meet me in my exam room when they were finished proctoring their exam. I instantly began to feel warm and excited. I don’t remember the exam or the students at all. All I knew was Symone would be coming at any time to take me home. As the hours passed, my anticipation grew. I informed everyone, “When my ride comes, I’m out!” I was distracting myself

with the other graduate students when the lecture hall door cracked open and they peaked her head inside. They flashed that billion-dollar smile and I was hooked. They whispered, “You ready?” and my “yes” was a response to more than the question at hand. I was ready for whatever with them. I had longed to be alone with them and now was my chance. We walked to the car and chatted all the way to my house. As we neared my street, they acknowledged that one of their favorite shows was about to start and I asked if they wanted to watch it at my house. They agreed. As we watched the show, all I remember is Symone. Smooth dark skin. Curly wavy hair. I even inched really close and asked if I could touch their hair. I wondered, out loud, if they were mixed and they acknowledged being Black and that both their parents and grandparents were Black. But they looked like no other Black person I had ever seen. They looked like no other person I had encountered. They were breathtaking and all I wanted to do was breathe them in. They shared that they was preparing to take a major graduate entry exam that weekend. When they said they were planning to drive the 40 miles to the exam, I immediately offered to ride along. They acknowledged that they’d be leaving really early in the morning, like 4 a.m., and a friend was going to be riding with them. I wondered if the other person was someone they were dating. Nonetheless, they agreed I could ride. I remember going to bed early the night before so that I was well rested. I even woke up a bit early to bake some blueberry muffins so we could have some breakfast for our early morning drive. As I walked out to the car, I saw a familiar face in the front seat, Mook. Mook was the host of the gathering where I initially met Symone. Though I had not spent much time with them, they felt familiar and I liked that. And, they were not dating. They were good friends. Two people who were more like brothers. So, the three of us enjoyed the drive and chatted like lifelong friends. Once we arrived, Symone went to take the exam and Mook and I were alone. I instantly started picking Mook’s brain about Symone. Being the talker that I am, I shared that I had a crush on Symone and was interested in dating them. Mook instantly cautioned me against pursuing anything romantic. They encouraged me to just

laughter! Usually, in one of our cars, we’d talk for hours about our interests, hobbies, friends, families, relationships, insecurities and so much more. It was through these conversations that I can say I really fell in love with Symone as a person, beyond their awesomely attractive exterior.

Love is Friendship Over the course of the next two years, Symone and I became great friends. Truly, one of the best friends I’ve ever had and closer to me than anyone at anytime in my life. They came in and fit right into place. My perfect compliment. If you know us, you know we’re similar yet different in so many ways: Symone is cool, calm, mellow, reflective. Me, on the other hand: dramatic, super excitable, sometimes to the point of struggling to contain myself. I’m an external processor and can run my mouth with the best of them. Regardless of that, we both value authenticity and depth. That meant we were not causal, surface friends. We got to know each other...to our cores. Right from the start, this friendship was something very special to me. I treasured my time with Symone, sharing and learning about what was important to them. Our pairing and connecting led to some deep and meaningful conversations, filled with kind, supportive words and SO much

Symone and I started to spend so much time together that people began to ask, “What’s up with y’all?” Now my response, although honest in that we were “just friends,” often alluded to my not-so-secret crush.

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be Symone’s friend and ever so nicely reminded me that I was already in a relationship. Oh yeah, I was. I forgot, or I didn’t care. Out of sight should not have meant out mind. But it did. I was all about Symone and the other person I was dating was the furthest thing from my mind.

Symone and I would meet up most evenings to “study,” although it was usually it was just an excuse for us to spend time together. We enjoyed each other’s company. Sometimes, we didn’t talk at all. Just being in each other’s presence was more than enough. Being that I was in love, I found myself making the mistake of putting my friendship with Symone before my relationship and of course that had an impact. How could my relationship last if I had feelings for someone else? Symone and I started to spend so much time together that people began to ask, “What’s up with y’all?” Now my response, although honest in that we were “just friends,” often alluded to my not-so-secret crush. Symone’s “just friends” response, on the other hand, shot me down. Symone often added, “That will never happen.” Although crushed inside, I secretly wondered why not. For a long time, I was too afraid to know the reason. Was it my being in an on-the-rocks relationship? Was I not attractive enough? Were they out of my league? What?

From Pseudo to Something Real By 2005, my relationship with my ex was coming to a painful end. Through this break-up, Symone was there, supporting me, keeping me laughing, allowing me to cry, grieve, be angry and later, forgive. What’s so special is that we had each other’s backs. We supported each other through all kinds of messes. Whenever something happened, no matter how benign or tragic, we were there for each other. Although we were developing a rather rich social network in Ames, it was great to know we had each other. I lived for our Friday night “dates.” On one or two occasions, Symone even called me their “pseudo-girlfriend.” This was AWESOME and sent my head flying to the moon once I found out what “pseudo” meant. All I heard was “girlfriend” and knew I was getting closer to my goal of getting “my Symone.” What’s funny is I used to call Symone, “my Symone.” Looking back, I think, could I have been any more obvious? After the break-up and aftermath, Symone and I continued to spend a great deal of time together. In fact, we moved in together the following

May because it was economical and practical. We lived together as just friends for about five months before we shared our first kiss. It was around Halloween when Symone and I started “exploring different options within our friendship,” or at least that’s how Symone explained our newfound romantic interests. To me, that statement didn’t say anything too specific, but acknowledged that we were now more than “just friends.” To me, we were always more than just friends. Our bond and connection was clear. We were quickly evolving as friends AND lovers. We explored different languages and ways of addressing each other. Although we were living as a couple, we didn’t label it initially. I thought if Symone really wanted to be with me, we would have placed a title on our relationship early on, like putting it on Facebook or doing something grand to acknowledge it. I was experienced in relationships and naive in so many ways. Symone, on the other hand, had more patience and wanted to take things slow, to chill out, enjoy each other and not rush. It was around this time of our relationship that Symone gave

me the quote “If we take care of the moments, the years will take care of themselves.” I knew then that Symone understood me and wanted the same things I wanted. We were signing on to see where our feelings could lead us. We knew it was a gamble. We were risking over two years of close, solid friendship.

Making Something Real Last Though it took longer than I wanted to become Symone’s girlfriend, eleven months after our first kiss, I was Symone’s fiancé. Four months after that I was Symone’s wife. Being Symone’s wife is a role and relationship that I value. From the moment I saw them, I knew I wanted them in my life for a long time. Turns out, for us, a long time is forever. Today, 10 plus years after we met and close to seven years after our wedding day, we are still the best of friends, madly in love, close friends with Mook and so fortunate to get to spend our lives together.

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To me, we were always more than just friends. Our bond and connection was clear. We were quickly evolving as friends AND lovers.

By December of that same year, I wanted to introduce Symone as my girlfriend to my mom. Although we told my mom we were dating, we were not yet using titles. It actually took me months, about five more to be exact, before I got the official acknowledgement of “in a relationship” on Facebook. Now, some may say that doesn’t matter, and although 33-year-old Danielle kind of agrees with you, 25-year-old Danielle wanted the whole dang world to know I had finally gotten my Symone!

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visions & revisions of our culture(s) “Thighs”

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Consider:

ICRO 1. What part of yourself would you like to write a love poemMabout? AGRES 2. What might be keeping you from loving certain parts of Syourself? Or all yourself? ADof VA HU NS

NCE

Link:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aiTFZtThmEI

BROAD

WE’VE GO T MAIL

broadside poetry in street lit style Reed Redmond

Salt Sometimes I blink. The foggy clear sting of my thinking Sings in my iris. I’ve spent these songs On forgetting and longing, Gone in my eyelids.

Wherever you are, I will wait for you here, On the chance that you find me. I will forget when I’m gone. I will be what I am not, The beauty of dying.

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I’m strong when I’m not, When I’m nothing but thought. Forgotten in finding. I can’t feel my eyes, When my rivers run dry, So I fill them up nightly.

XX Marks the Spot Remapping Our Destinies Meagan Cook

Memoirs of a Dog Lover: When my parents brought home our bulldog, Penny, I thought they had lost it. We now had not two, not three, but five dogs living under one roof. We already had quite an eclectic pack: a Boston terrier named Ollie, a great dane named Lincoln, a chihuahua named Chili Pepper and a hairless Chinese crested named Pita. When we walked the four of them on the sidewalk along the main road outside our neighborhood, strangers in cars would honk their horns or wave out the window at us. We were so distracting we even caused a few fender benders. The last thing we needed was another dog. Little did I know that another dog was exactly what my family needed. Penny came

Lessons of Life, Love, and Loss

into our lives at exactly the right moment; we had just moved across the country, my younger brother and I left home for school and my parents were empty nesters for the first time. My

mom and dad stumbled upon Penny at a farmer’s market one weekend and she immediately stole their hearts. They bought her before I’d even had my first day of classes at Loyola. When I came home on break after my first semester of college, I could see the transformation that had taken place. Penny had brought new life into our home. Her mischievous and playful demeanor brought my parents so much joy and laughter, a welcome change after all of the stressful life changes they’d endured the past year. Not only did she make them smile and laugh more, she also kept them active and helped them get connected to their new community. She was a puppy with a lot of energy and a lot of needs, so they took her for a hike every day and after several consecutive trips back to the market where she came from, they became good friends with the family that owns the pet supply booth. It’s been more than three years since we welcomed our fifth canine into our family and when I come home I can still feel the impact that Penny has not only on my parents, but on myself as well. I call Penny my therapy dog. When I come home from school, she’s the first one waiting to greet me and she’ll let me hold her and pet her and play with her for hours on end, even though I’m annoying, in her face and won’t let her do anything else like eat or go outside to pee. For my younger brother Will, his therapy dog is Pita. Pita could without a doubt win an ugliest dog contest. She’s tiny and hairless except for a mane of wispy white hair that puffs out around her big bug eyes and toothless mouth. But Will loves this dog as if she won Best in Show. When he’s home from school, he carries that dog around everywhere. If he lived at home full time

During these past few years, my home has been an ever-evolving mix of people and pets. At one point, there were more dogs than humans living in our house. When my older brother and his girlfriend moved in and brought their greyhound, Mr. Kix, they brought the headcount to a grand total of six dogs and four people. Just within the last eight months, Nate, Liz and Mr. Kix have moved out and Chili Pepper and Ollie have passed away. We thought Chili Pepper was going to outlive all of us. She was with us for more than ten years, relocated to four different states and went on many family vacations. She visited Disney World, Myrtle Beach and we even managed to sneak her past the German shepherds on Liberty Island to see the Statue of Liberty. Ollie was our rescue dog. We found him in the classified section of our local newspaper and drove out on a whim to pick him up. When we arrived at the address in the ad, Ollie was tied up to a fence in a barren, trashed-filled yard. He was skinny and dirty and shook the whole way home. He was really aggressive at first; he would bark at anyone who tried to pet him and fought with our other dogs. It took months of long walks and endless treats to gain his trust. Eventually, Ollie became the most loyal dog we’d ever had. For whatever reason, he took a particular liking to Nate and would follow him around the house all day. When we all sat down to watch TV, Ollie would always claim the cushion next to Nate, regardless of how many other people there were to choose from. My dogs have certainly taught me many lessons in love. They’ve taught me that it’s possible to fall in love suddenly and unexpectedly. They’ve shown me that love can be transformative and healing. Through them, I’ve learned what it feels like to love someone so much you never let them go (both literally and figuratively), and how it feels to lose someone you love. Most of all, my dogs have shown me what it looks like to love unconditionally. Even though they may be a rag tag bunch of mangy mutts, their love is unfaltering, unending and pure.

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For my younger brother Will, his therapy dog is Pita. Pita could without a doubt win an ugliest dog contest.

I swear her muscles would atrophy from lack of use.

words are useless

Long Distance Love, I Carry Your Heart With Me https://www.etsy.com/shop/diyinstantprints

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sometimes words arenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t enough DIYInstantprints

broadside

Our

poetry in street lit style Jacob DeVoogd

The faint reckoning of your fragility Brings about an order A double drink of sorrow, neat

t instead, fading On the rocks I ge the pornography of s on ati est if an M ace the power Of staying sane, gr the faith of Poured into me by er An innocent strang

areness? de w a y m on forgive licate bl e d e Will you h t thereof, to Or lack down on but will try to h s u l u yo e, Strings not shar of our sweat n a c e w at ng Into wh the achi o t l a n r te Keep in

pool together Maybe all of it will to Ghana Delivered in sirens birds let Or on the backs of ents before Loose by the mom I left

The faint reckoning of your fragility Brings about a check Scribble my name to sign, illegibly

words are useless

Christmas Cracker https://www.etsy.com/shop/EROTIKAMUSE?ref=pr_shop_more

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sometimes words arenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t enough Mike Nelson

broadside poetry in street lit style Reed Redmond

heart surgery you would starve on mine. i would if I could, i would suffocate on your words. cry salt into my eyes. your thoughts go blind to see your mind, and you would yours. would be mine, and my dreams would be

we would be.

we would weave our spines tog ether so that we could feel each other breathing. twisting and turning and breath ing. our ribs would break into each other, splintering into a shelter for ou r fragile hearts. their rough ed ges would carve out our insides. our veins would blee d into our arteries, and our art eri es would pour into each other. our lungs would rupture and flood our blood wit h ox ygen. for a moment, we would be more ali ve as one than we had ever bee n as two.

we would love.

words are useless

Broken Blue Heart

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sometimes words arenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t enough Billie Rye Bryant

broadside poetry in street lit style Reed Redmond

i could feel your whisper slip past my eardrum and into my brain. it separated into clouds, floating throughout my body, carrying your heat to my fingertips, my toes, my lungs. it became my blood, and my blood became my thought. my thought was filtered into my heart, and my heart became you. you trapped yourself into my bones. my bones broke into my throat, letting your whisper back into the world.

whisper it left through my mout h to beco me rain.

microaggreSHUNS it’s the little things that count BROAD People

That’s not real love | I hate everyone equally He must be rich to be with her | She must be good in bed to have landed him

There’s someone out there for everyone Has he proposed yet? | How could you marry that? How could a child understand love and relationships?

Bringing anyone home for the holidays? | Did they go to college?

You’re LGBT!? So is my friend! You would LOVE each other! They should stay together for the children | Now that’s a REAL family

Interracial relationships don’t work | How did you land that? | Not everyone can be loved | Let’s just be friends

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I only want to adopt a baby, preferably a white one

BROAD Love BROAD Voice, BROAD Communities Them Monarchs

Love and Local Music Them Monarchs is an alternative, pop, funk trio playing in Chicago. Singer/songwriter Brady Wells fronts group with soulful melodies that compliment lead guitarist Robert Billington’s effortless and dynamic playing. Ed Greer stands out with complex and emotional rhythms that elevate the trio into a magnetic sound that creates a personal and approachable experience to new audiences. Dance, love, and live with Them Monarchs through their journey of music.

These lyrics are from the song “Ya-aburnee.” Ya-aburnee is an Arabic term that means literally, “You bury me,” capturing the idea of wanting to die before a loved one so that you never have to live without them. For more about Them Monarchs, visit https://www.facebook.com/ ThemMonarchsBand or www.themmonarchs. com

You could steal my life, wouldn’t that be something. To answer questions I have recited my whole life. But I think I need more time so I can be with you tomorrow. I finally found the one who can save me, So I’m fine to be right here never minding taking some spills. The whips and chains I’ve hated are faded So I don’t care to know where my story goes. I’m the foolish type to be ever thinking I could leave you behind just to get a taste of the other side. But I’ll hold you in my arms close And I’ll never let you go. I finally found the one who can save me. So I’m fine to be right here never minding taking some spills. The whips and chains I’ve hated are faded So I don’t care to know where my story goes. You gave me a way. You gave me a way. You gave me a way. You gave me a way.

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But I think I need more time so I can be with you tomorrow. Don’t you know don’t you know. My soul follows where your heart goes.

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visions & revisions of our culture(s) “Janitor” by Bobby

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Consider:

MICRO sacrifice, (dis)respect? 1. How do you see love in the themes of this poem - dedication, AGRES 2. The last lines of the poem are, “May they see you.” How can “seeing” people ADVA be a form of love? SHU NS

NCE

Link:

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BROAD

WE’VE GO T MAIL

words are useless

I Love You

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sometimes words arenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t enough Minna Roselli

BROAD Love BROAD Voice, BROAD Communities Janki Patel

2 Generations of Arranged Love Arranged marriage is preferred in Indian cultural because the parents of both people getting married look for familiar compatibility and prosperity of their children. They arrange the marriage because they believe the families should be tight knit following the marriage. Traditional marriage is said to lower the divorce rates. They only believe in one marriage. Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s

not socially acceptable for a man to have many wives. Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s important to correct a popular myth that in an arranged marriage people are forced to marry the bride/groom selected by the family. This is not the case. Rather the bride and groom are given options of people to marry and are told to say yes/no.

My mom hasn’t ever wondered how different her life would be if she hadn’t had an arranged marriage because it was so traditional. The positives of her marriage were that she got married at the age of 23. Through her arranged marriage she found my dad who doesn’t smoke, drink, eat meat, and isn’t temperamental. Those were values and characteristics that her parents wished her future husband would have. My mom would recommend an arranged marriage because there is a fundamental family support prior to entering the marriage. Thus if problems arise later in life, the couple is more likely to be able to work through them because of the ground values. In my opinion, I think that it’s time for the tradition of arranged marriage to die out. Being raised with Indian values, I understand that it is a deeply rooted tradition. I have the utmost respect for people like my parents and others who choose the path of an arranged marriage for their futures. However, I personally do not want an arranged marriage for myself. I feel that in trying to satisfy the requirements of my future husband proposed by my family members I would be compromising my own happiness. In my parents’ case, my grandparents lived with my parents following their marriage. However, in my case, my parents already have a home of their own, and I’m pretty sure that my in-laws will also be settled by the time I plan to get married. Thus, I doubt that regardless of the location where my husband and I choose to settle, neither of us will be living with either of our in laws. I don’t believe that my parents can have the best of both worlds by encouraging me to pursue a college education and post graduate education

My mom hasn’t ever wondered how different her life would be if she hadn’t had an arranged marriage because it was so traditional. and then expect me to marry and raise a family in the years following that. Professional education is expected to yield a professional career, one which like a child, will require my utmost attention, focus, and dedication. I personally know I wouldn’t be able to manage a family and a successful career because both are time consuming investments. On the flip side, I most certainly don’t want graduate with a Master’s Degree merely to prove myself smart enough to marry a man to mother his children. Is my life still arranged in that I have to say yes/ no to professional career vs children?

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My mom met my dad via her cousin sister right after graduating college. They saw each other and interviewed each other. They liked each other, but they didn’t know each other well. However, their relatives knew each other. Times are different now because it’s more popular for people to be introduced to their future spouses via friends. The couple actually has time to get to know each other individually before marriage. This doesn’t follow the custom of an arranged marriage because the family doesn’t play an active role in choosing the spouse.

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Consider: 1. How do these ads depict love? 2. In what ways are these ads problematic? 3. Do these ads accuately reflect the diversity of experiences of love? What identies are represented? Who is left out? 4. What message are these ads trying to send? What is the significance of a diamond ring according to the ads?

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HEaRt The beating, beating, beating, of this cerebral female heart. X. Cathexis

HEaRtscape I came upon a quote recently which said, â&#x20AC;&#x153;Everyone sees what you appear to be, but few experience what you really are.â&#x20AC;? When it comes to love, this definitely describes me. To some I am a tundra - cold and heartless and hell-bent on making sure that nothing but a few scrabbly bushes grow - the fiercely driven professional woman. Others are able to experience the part of me that is as warm and rich as the best amber waves of American grain - flowering and womanly as any Victorian housewife ever was. But which of these persons is me? Is it possible to be both devoid of love and lavishly full of it? Is it socially acceptable to face the world with my inner tundra, when I am still expected as a woman to be as lush and fertile as a harvest field? Am I betraying my feminist identity, my tundra, in the rare moments when I fantasize about children or the comforts of motherhood? My rational mind says, no, it is perfectly possible to be a feminist and a mother. But...my academic studies, my childhood...they tell me it will be harder to maintain my tundra as mother while Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m within a society that is still quite Victorian. Do I have to choose? Is my tundra just a rebellious phase? Is my harvest field just a sign of me conforming to the ideology of womanhood? Is it possible to run from and run towards love at the same time?

I can’t describe how clearly I remember approaching my mother to give her the love letter and also the pearl necklace my father and I had bought her. I can’t describe the way my blood froze when I stood within a foot of her and could already see the cranberry stains of wine of her lips, the way it seeped out of her skin like deadly perfume. It was 6 o’clock in the evening and the backs of my eyes stung with shame and tears. But I lied to myself and kept going, like I always did. I still didn’t know it then. Didn’t know she would never get better and that no amount of love I gave her could fix what was broken. I didn’t know I couldn’t save her. I thought I knew when the EMTs were pumping her chest in the middle of the restaurant. I thought I knew when I starting planning my life without her in the cold tunnel of shock while she wavered between life and death. But I didn’t know because I started unconsciously starving myself after that night to save her. Because the love I continued to selflessly give her, like a mother bird selflessly feeding her young, made me weak and vulnerable to psychological disease. To disorders like PTSD, depression, moral OCD, anxiety, and anorexia. I didn’t know until I was hospitalized near death that not only my love for my family, but my love and hope in a fictional being, had nearly killed me. In actuality, my tundra never fully froze over until after I recovered. Because it took months for me to cry out, hyperventilate out, and shout out my failure at salvaging the perfect American family I thought we were supposed to be. It took months for me to realize that I am the most important thing in my life, that I deserve all the happiness in the world, and that the only life I should be responsible for is my own. It took me months to let go of the abusive love I had held onto for the majority of my life. It took me months to realize that I MUST always put myself first - a lesson which has become very valuable as I grow into womanhood and face societal pressures to become the perfect selfless

girlfriend, wife, and then mother. I MUST put myself first even though, in a society that places the ideologically perfect family at its center, I am fiercely criticized for doing so. I love my tundra because when my heart froze over in my recovery - when I finally forgave myself and was able to love myself - it was the first time I ever felt like me. It was the first time I paid attention to what I want and what I need. In the tundra, it’s all about my self-survival. Walking among my tundra, it’s peaceful.

Because it took months for me to cry out, hyperventilate out, and shout out my failure at salvaging the perfect American family I thought we were supposed to be. There is the cold, stinging, but refreshing wind of reality without unreal expectations or dizzying voices of irrationality. I don’t have to care for anyone else. There is nothing there except me and the dreams and goals I create for myself. It’s unchartered land where no one can touch me, control me, or hurt me. I’m in charge because I’m the only one there. This awesomely rugged, self-loving, independent, and ambitious part of me I project is what most people are able to see. But I also remember, when not too long ago, someone uncovered a different HEaRtscape within me. For a time I fought him uncovering the part of me where healthy, abundant fields of love and warmth exist. It’s not possible for me to love anyone except myself in my tundra, but I was about to lose this person I already deeply cared for. I took the risk and opened myself up to the part of me capable of love, the part of me few people get to experience. So far the endless summer

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I explicitly remember the night my heart finally froze over and turned to tundra after years of gathering storms. It was my mother’s birthday and also the night she would almost kill herself. I was full of naïve hope and even more of naïve love. For some reason I thought her alcoholism had gotten better, that this would be the turning point. I had written her a love note full of words of encouragement and pride, like she was my child and had just conquered her stage fright to star in the school play.

I feel when I’m with him has been more than worth it, and I know it’s a much smarter, much healthier love than I gave my mother. Even the crooked smile and laughing heart with which I write this last bit is probably a testament to our human need for love - no matter how badly it’s hurt us in the past. I still don’t know if I can handle children running through my fields of love one day. I don’t know if both my tundra and fields can exist together. I don’t know if I can risk caring for another person the way I did for my mother most of my life. But I do know that this man’s love, contrary to my family’s, has made me strong not vulnerable, brave not weak. I told this man a few weeks ago that I would only stay with him if he realized my tundra, myself, my self-love and self-worth would always come before him, before any children, and before anything else. This promise of self-love and self-care is how I’ve achieved peace within myself, balance in my life, and reconciled society’s contrary expectations for me as a woman who should be devoted to both work and family, tundra and fields.

Maybe I’ve already reconciled my past and my future by achieving this self-love and didn’t realize it until now. Maybe I’m still with this man because I’ve decided, with whatever expectations or desires or surprises life throws at me, my tundra can not only withstand it but thrive with it in its own way. Maybe my loving him is the only testament to this that I’ll ever need. Maybe self-love is all we ever need.

This promise of selflove and self-care is how I’ve achieved peace within myself, balance in my life, and reconciled society’s contrary expectations for me as a woman who should be devoted to both work and family, tundra and fields.

words are useless

Amor Eterno - Eternal Love

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sometimes words arenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t enough Victor Raul Sanchez

broadside poetry in street lit style Kait Madsen

Found by a Janitor in a Middle School Locker Over Summer Vacation: A Sestina

ring To Unrequited Love: I have to confess, wea t I like my heart beating open on my sleeve, tha could, my dear, you. I really, really like you - a like that e maybe be called love, except then this not hopeless would leave me sounding like a shameless, r light romantic, and we donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t want that. But you t is one that cannot be ignored. I feel ligh s that I wear on my toes, dizzy in my head, and the jean for hoping have stains from my salty palm sweat, all like that Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll get even a whiff of your perfume, notes I did that one day in Biology when your pick them up. Oh dear, dropped and you had to reach past me to

y, ld love you dearl u o w I at th ew n Ik light in that moment ur sneakers that yo s, id ra b notes ch n re that plays music gh u love your long F la e th d rs an d forehead til my voice wea n u u yo to t u up, your freckle o l sh LIKE ver dance. I wil MY FRIES, OR N O T L A S that make my li E H T SLY YOU’RE LIKE E IS HOPELES IF L out: BE MINE! E D A N O M MY LE THE SUGAR IN I hope UNFLAVORED WITHOUT YOUR SPICE. e I’m truly endearing. I’m not coming across as spastic, becaus I’m a likeable You’d know if you’d let me take you out. me, but I’m light enough guy. I’m not tall, dark, and handso good-looking. I’ll wear and average height and even moderately g my poetry notebook my very best Chuck Taylors and will brin

so I can serenade you with sweet rhymes. You may not have noted that I am a poet, the real kind. They say girls like that, and I hope you do too. But you don’t seem like one of the normal girls that wear that sparkly crap on their lips. You wear some nice-smelling stuff, dear, cherry-flavored or something like that. I know that, from toe to brain, I’d light up if I could just kiss your cherry lips! But if you’d prefer, I’d like

one of those leathe r jackets they wear, if that’s what you w You will be my dear ould like. est friend. Please gi ve me a responding and I will be hoping note, for your uncondition al like/love. Foreve r yours, Evan McLig ht.

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just holding your hand, too. An yway, what I’m trying to say is that I like you more than I’ve ever liked an ything. I want you to read this note and decide to like me too. On grey and gloomy days, you’re the single light that keeps me going! When I wake up, I eat my Cheerios wit h only the hope of you bumping into my should er like you did three weeks ago ! My dear, I will sing you every song I know from Grease and even wear

BROAD Love BROAD Voice, BROAD Communities Dr. Monica Corsaro

Women, don’t go back to your ex! Women! Going back to your ex is not leading the process way of life! Ok, Ok, Ok, the other lesson in process life is context, so here it is. I was visiting with a long time guy friend the other day and he told me, Charlotte (yes, a totally made up name) is back with Dante (yes, a totally made up name). I listened intently with my mouth dropped to the floor. When he finished, telling the tale, we both looked at each other with the same, well-what-ya-going-to-do face and then we both said aloud to each other. “There is nothing we can do about this one until she wants to have a different life.” For you see she has been disappointed, and her heart has been broken many at time being with Dante----and we know her heart is going to be broken AGAIN. See, we her friends are exhausted. Let me tell you about Dante. When Charlotte met Dante five years ago he was (and still is) a handsome, charming, well -fit, vivacious tattoo designer. Dante always wears a smile there is never a conversation he cannot be part of. At the time he was a separated father of two young girls, and he had custody of them some weekends. He was very

popular wherever he went and always warmed up a room. Charlotte, at the time was single, she had been in a long term relationship previously, but it had not worked out. She was and still is beautiful, petite, fit, funny and is very organized and a caring friend. She at the time had a good working life and a good set of friends, as she does now. You know how these things go, these two good folks fell hard and fast for each other. They had a great fun dating life. Charlotte really liked Dante and was enjoying the double dates with their common friends and getting to meet many new friends. Charlotte was even getting to play step

Charlotte did not have a man “who would change” as soon as they had their son; he just acted with her as he did his first wife. It is not to say it is good or bad, but in this case he was not meeting Charlotte’s needs as a new mother of a very young baby. And at the end of the day he was not viable to support them because of his bad decisions. Dante had actually left a well-paying job to open a tattoo shop on his own, while Charlotte was pregnant. So the irony here is, he was NOT taking care of the family at all. Charlotte was essentially finding ways to make money and parent as much as possible. She in the midst of this time did get creative. She opened up an in-home daycare, so she got to parent, socialize her son and made an income for he and she. All-the-while Dante was not emotionally, physically or even financially present. Charlotte shared her unhappiness with her friends. We all tried to support her, love her and care for her, and even tried to gently make the point he is not going to change especially when he does not need to, you are taking care of his needs, providing a lovely home, taking care of the children and surviving.

When any of us go back to the place that is not at our best potential, we instead of growing, continue to act in such a manner that repeats and devolves instead of evolves. Charlotte and Dante finally did split. Charlotte and Dante, because they were now officially not together had to have a parenting plan and Dante had to show he would be the responsible parent at those times. During her new found freedom Charlotte went through a licensing program and now sells insurance making a good income for herself and her son. It seems Dante could not make it on his own and in fact he went back and remarried his first wife...WHAT, yes! Some people do not change they go to what they know. And friends that is not the process life. In this time period I was so proud of Charlotte, I would see she and her son and it was very clear she was good, present mother. She was even feeling proud of herself pursuing a new career track. All looked as if Charlotte was moving forward loving herself and her son, living a co-creative evolving life. But somehow between then and last Thursday Dante and his first wife had broken up again and Dante and Charlotte were getting back together? This is not the process way of leading a good life this is not a good jazz tune. Yes sometimes we have choruses that repeat a lot, but that is not a good jazz tune. For Dante this will be a great chorus he gets to live again. He will get to pursue his working dreams. He will be with a great woman who is

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adult to the girls on the every-so-often weekends. As time went on in the relationship he started to work more saying it was for them, but now was being more absent in the relationship. In fact those weekends “he” had the girls she would be the one who would be taking care of them at her apartment, which had been suited for a single woman. She now found herself changing her apartment, buying new furniture for the girls to make the apartment appropriate for them to hang out in, and to spend the night. Charlotte’s thinking at the time was, “I will take care of the girls because it is something I can do for us. And he will not be like this with our children!” Because you readers are wise, I know you all know where this is going. Yes they got more serious, they were sharing a house of their own together and soon she became pregnant. After the baby was born Charlotte found herself being pretty much a single mother mostly of one and then every so often of 3! No one ever taught Dante that to be providing for your family does not just mean being a breadwinner, but it means being present emotionally and physically in the lives of the children and his wife.

a great mom to their shared child and his two daughters from his first marriage. She will complain that he is not around enough. He will “hear her” be around just enough for a little while and then go back to his ways of absenteeism and pursuing his dreams. While she works outside the home to support them and runs the house for them. While it seems like I am picking on Dante really this is a piece for Charlotte and all the other women who think it is better to be with somebody, even your ex, than nobody. It is a man’s world and that is exactly why we are called women, to be all woman! When any of us go back to the place that is not at our best potential, we instead of growing, continue to act in such a manner that repeats and devolves instead of evolves. We are not healed and made happy instead our unhappiness just grows and grows, instead of beauty and creativity. When neither in the relationship is co-creating with the other in an equal way then neither gets a chance to process into their best potential. To be fair, neither Charlotte nor Dante got exposed to the process life. He grew up having his mother and grandmother doting on him and never challenging his spirit. They always did for him and whenever anything went wrong they blamed their surroundings, never Dante. In their eyes they were protecting him, but instead what happened was he never had to take responsibility for any of his own choices while he was growing up, he was used to others adjusting their lives for him. Charlotte grew up with divorced parents, both remarried, neither of them happy but they would tell her they had someone. She grew up hearing one parent demean another, and even blame the other for the divorce. Charlotte even saw her mother getting mentally and emotionally abused in her second relationship and even though her mother was not happy she would not leave the relationship. So the chorus that got repeated over and over to Charlotte was to keep the relationship in tact at all costs, even if it costs you. This thing about the process-centered life is you must be active in your life and in your own destiny, look for positive forces around you so they can be louder than the negative. The love relationship in the jazz-centered-process-way is about believing in the other as much as you believe in you. But first you have to believe in you. Yes, part of a love-relationship is supporting

the other in their endeavors especially the artful ones, but not at the expense of losing the creative light that makes you, you. Sometimes the relationship will be fast paced, sometimes slow, sometimes even dissident. The point is each hears the other’s song and you both get to sing. The Jazz-centered-process-life teaches us that our love relationships, even the bad ones are not a waste if we have learned something. Even those relationships can bring wisdom to the next relationship and make us a better partner. But if we are not willing to risk and move forward from what we know, we instead of processing into creativity will recycle old ways, old patterns, old choruses and not be happy. So women do not go back to your ex! It is a man’s world, and unless he is willing hear your song it will not be a powerful duet, instead you will just be the backup singer entering into the song when he needs you. Instead be a dynamic duet where you are willing to live a life of complicated notes and melodies, and each giving the other a chance to sing out and sing boldly respectfully and lovingly to one another. Then in the end you both have nothing but a song to be sung that nobody is there to hear. Women, do not be afraid to sing your own song, there will be someone there, man or woman, who will want to blend in with your melodies and sing with you in a beautiful harmony! *Editor’s note: see Dr. Corsaro’s article “The Theology of Jazz” in BROAD’s “In g/God(s) We Trust” issue to learn more about the process way of life.

If any female feels she need anything beyond herself to legitimate and validate her existence, she is already giving away her power to be self-defining, her agency.

â&#x20AC;&#x153;

just words? just speeches? bell hooks

When we drop fear, we can draw nearer to people, we can draw nearer to the earth, we can draw nearer to all the heavenly creatures that surround us.

Living simply makes loving simple.

True love does have the power to redeem but only if we are ready for redemption. Love saves us only if we want to be saved.

Genuine love is rarely an emotional space where needs are instantly gratified. To know love we have to invest time and commitment.

I still think itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s important for people to have a sharp, ongoing critique of marriage in patriarchal society - because once you marry within a society that remains patriarchal, no matter how alternative you want to be within your unit, there is still a culture outside you that will impose many, many values on you whether you want them to or not.

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words are useless sometimes words arenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t enough DĂŠnes Barna

Broken Heart Relationship

bookmark here find your next social justice text here BROAD Readers

Released:

First Sentence: “First the colors.”

2005

Genre:

YA fiction, historical fiction

Overview:

learns to story of a girl who e th lls te ly ul sf love with Zusak succes te. Liesel falls in ha by ed sh vi ra parents love in a time e, her adoptive at m ol ho sc s ou lli basement. She words, her rebe they keep in the an m h is w Je e the destrucand th ust also confront m t bu s ip sh nd d death it forms frie and the pain an em st sy al ic lit po tive unfair ved ones. inflicts on her lo d brufull of beauty an is g in rit w of e yl Death itself. Zusak’s poetic st interludes from by ly on d te up rr t a more tality, inte come to know, bu ve e’ w th ea D e lligence It’s not th acter whose inte ar ch ic et po d ing, regretful an atched. After read m un ns ai m re e e, and and all-seeing ey ching, your hom ol M , nd ie fr a e lik y. Liesel will seem your main priorit stealing books,

te Notable Quo

em, I have loved th d an s rd o w “I have hated e made them right.” av and I hope I h y things, ok thief man could o b e th ll te “I wanted to and brutality. But what n’t about beauty t those things that she did am I I tell her abou I wanted to explain that mat? w es o d under ti already kn stimating an do I ever simply re ve o y tl an ly const race-that rare same ing the humananted to ask her how the d its an w I s, . u it o e so glori estimat e so ugly and ant.” thing could b ries so damning and brilli o st words and has “Even death

a heart.”

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on:

Recommendati

In The Book Thief, Markus Zusak transports readers to Nazi Germany and introduces Leisel Meminger, an orphan who has just lost her brother and is forced to live in the Hubermann foster household in Molching. There, she is under the protection of Rosa Hubermann, the boisterous and strict loving mother, and Hans Hubermann, the kind and soft-spoken accordion playing father. The story is told from Death’s omniscient perspective, who is attracted to Liesel after witnessing her steal her first book. Death explains the aspects of his job-carrying souls and helping them let go-with a morbid tenderness mixed with coy and mischievous undertones. Under Death’s watchful eye, Liesel confronts the happenings around her, such as being forced to participate in Hitler’s Youth and watching terror take over the town, by continuing to steal books from fires, libraries and funerals. Liesel is surrounded by political warfare: food shortages, Nazi punishments and bomb raids, but the young girl finds solace in stolen words and builds a friendship with a Jew hidden in the Hubermann’s basement. As Death explains in the prologue, the story is about “a girl, some words, an accordionist, some fanatical Germans, a Jewish fist fighter and quite a lot of thievery.” The New York Times bestseller and Publisher’s Weekly Best Book of the Year chimes on notes of innocence, the power of words and the strength to exist in a time of destruction.

BROAD Love BROAD Voice, BROAD Communities Lucrezia Gaion

June 21, 1917 It is June 21, 1917. Outside the window, the rain hits the soil, turning it into black mud, and massive droplets of water slide down from the thick soaked leaves, crashing onto the ground. The noise the rain makes deafens me. Or maybe it is the almost palpable silence that is too noisy. During all these years I have done nothing but lose weight, lose sleep, and pretend to work. I cannot move. I cannot think. I cannot speak.

“Come on Anna, we’re just waiting for you!” said the voice of my mother from the kitchen. “We have guests.” I walked into the kitchen and I noticed the presence of two men sitting at the same table where my brother and mother sat. The first man was maybe in his sixties with gray hair. His face was harsh and severe. The other one was you, a boy just a little older than myself, with black hair and pale eyes that hid an infinite well of sadness. I looked at you, curious. “This is General Maclauso, he fought alongside your father.”

Everything is muffled and fake. Right now I would like to stop time and send it back to that day, the distant April 13, 1907, when, still young and carefree in my twenties, I was alive.

My father had been killed in action during the war, a few years after my birth.

The sun’s rays burned my closed eyelids. The scent of primroses, magnolias in bloom and peaches gently hit my nose. That year the heat had reached us much earlier than usual, so I was wearing summer clothes already.

I remember it like it was yesterday, Giovanni. Since the very first time our eyes met, I could not release my gaze from yours.

My mother called me from the house to announce that lunch was ready and I lifted myself from the lawn, stretching the folds of my dress. As I approached the large porch, I noticed a car parked near the entrance.

“And this is his son, Giovanni. This is my daughter, Annamaria”

It’s funny how the only things that are moving right now is the rain and the salty tear that is rolling down my cheek. A single, small tear whose meaning is more powerful than words will ever be able to express. Now the tape of my life can speed ahead to May

28, 1907.

“May I kiss you?” you asked, carefree. I still remember my heart pounding in my chest. A sense of giddiness took over my head and gripped my stomach. You asked if you could give me a kiss and I had already refused twice, as a respectable young lady. “Yes,” I murmured, and you gladly placed your lips upon mine. Now the memory becomes more vivid, so vivid that I cannot move. I put a finger on my lips, brushing them right where you rested yours for the first time. Now I feel nothing. Even the rain has stopped falling. The world itself has stopped. And I still play the long tape of my life to return to the night of September 12, 1907. A few hours earlier you had vowed to love me for the rest of your life. You had sworn before God and you had put the ring on my left ring finger, right where the vein leads to the heart. We had shouted our love to the world, young and happy. To us, it was a love that was timeless and without boundaries. In the dark room, with a trembling voice, you bared your soul. “I love you, Anna, and I now want to seal this love that bursts from my chest.” I kissed you, and we made love. Now the tears that wet my cheeks are mixed with each other. My face is sticky and salty. My hair is disheveled, getting wet as well. The tape of my life goes on, until June 1, 1915. You were holding a letter in your hand, looking at me with sad eyes. I had not seen such a painful and tearing look in your gaze since 1907.

“I love you, Anna, and I now want to seal this love that bursts from my chest.” “No, please, no...” I murmured. I had no breath to speak, my eyes were puffy with tears and my hand was resting tightly around my swollen womb. I did not believe it. It could not be true. It seemed that the world was being eroded and that its pieces were falling over me. “ I have to go, I’m sorry. The war broke out and they need soldiers.” “Where?” I managed to whisper. “They called me and I have to go to the war front.” At that point I started to cry uncontrollably. You embraced me, lifting my face with your fingers. “You have given me happiness, Anna. You pulled me from the bitterness that was about to take over my soul and my whole being. I will be eternally grateful to you for this. These past few years with you have saved me from a life without a future, from a bottomless abyss. And I love you, above all else. You are my reason for living. Without you, I would not exist.” I could repeat those words Giovanni. I remember them one by one. I also remember how your eyes brightened when you smiled, just before you reached the front door with your soldier jacket under your arm. Just like that day, now it’s raining, and just like that moment, I am holding a letter in my hand. “Maclauso Giovanni, killed in action.” click for contents

I was choking with laughter and you were holding me by the hand, pulling me panting through the park outside my house, trying to reach the Lone Oak, remember? So we used to call it. Hidden safely behind the oak tree you pulled a string of unruly hair away from my forehead and smiled.

screen/play film review, justice take Like Water for Chocolate

Released: 1992

Director:

Alfonso Arau

Major Cast:

Marco Leonardi, Lumi Cavazos, Regina Torné, Mario Iván Martínez

Where to Find:

Netflix instant streaming

Quick Description (no spoilers!):

“Like Water for Chocolate” is based on the bestselling novel “Como agua para chocolate” by Laura Esquivel. This dramatic and fantastical film weaves the epic love story of Tita and Pedro through a narrative of Mexican cuisine and folklore. Tita, doomed by Mexican tradition to take care of her mother, must watch her eldest sister marry her boyfriend, Pedro. Little does Tita know that while she slaves away preparing food like a Mexican cinderella, she is casting a spell on her family. Whatever she feels – sadness, anger, desire – is what those who eat her cooking feel. The result is a delectable film of mysticism and eroticism beset by tragedy.

BROAD thumbs up?

This film was an excellent escape from traditional American cinema which often values action above artistry. I left bewitched by the romanticism of 19th century Mexican society, the perfect backdrop for a film whose purpose it seems is to laud the magical, albeit unrealistic, ideology of Victorian housewives. Tita, the likeable victim of Mexican social tradition, is portrayed as the perfect woman: she cooks, she cleans, and she nurses a beautiful baby that is not her own. In short, everyone is besotted by her. I was besotted…Should I start cooking classes so I could please my man like she does? I don’t want kids-but she makes it look so beautiful and easy! She is so humble and selfless-maybe people would like me more if I was sweeter? These were the thoughts racing through my mind as the film ended and I walked home, drunk off the sweet ideology of womanhood… Because it is an ideology.

While I definitely appreciate the artistry and fantasy of “Like Water for Chocolate,” I think it necessary to warn women (and men) of its possibly wayward message. You can be a beautiful woman and life a full life without having children. You don’t have to be a perfect cook, or cook at all. You don’t have to breast feed to be the ‘right kind’ of mother. You might not have a magical relationship with the baby that is painfully pulling at your breast and driving you crazy all the time, and that’s ok! You may not be the affectionate mother who can always quiet the baby or child when it’s upset. Maybe that’s just not your thing. You may not even want a partner and that’s cool. You may value your career more than your children. Dare I say that is ok too? Yes! Perhaps, as we enjoy “Like Water for Chocolate,” we should pay more attention not to Tita’s actions but to her words. Whenever someone asks for the secret of her cooking, Tita always says, “Make sure you cook it with love.” So I say, instead of us men and women feeling like we have to live up to the (mythical) standards of our gender ideologies, why don’t we just do what we can, with what love we can give? I think that’s more enough.

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Not BROAD enough?

BROAD Love BROAD Voice, BROAD Communities Kelsey Henke

Why I’m not into Engagement Photos Engagement photos make me feel uneasy. Though I suspect that this is not the reaction they intend to evoke, I can think of few forms of photography that I revile more. While admittedly I have never been able to properly appreciate backward hugs in open fields and the symbolic value of a pair of hands contorted into the shape of a heart is lost of me, my consuming distaste for engagement photos does not come from an inborn hatred of all human joy. To me, engagement photos feel like a tired form. They are banal and uninspiring in part due to the repetition of symbolic forms: rings, flowers, sparklers, chalkboards, strings of lights, swings, tandem bikes, streams and footbridges. Engagement photography uses these symbols as shorthand. These symbols corroborate the couple’s narrative; each embracing pose or pink balloon vouches for the intimacy that the photo’s subjects presumably share beyond the moment captured in this frame.

Consider the ubiquity of the natural setting as a backdrop for engagement photos. The sublimity and intensity of rolling hills or beach settings is successful in connoting the utopian ideals of romantic love precisely because it relies on culturally shared meanings. As Eva Illouz argues in Consuming the Romantic Utopia: Love and the Cultural Contradictions of Capitalism, viewers bring to the picture associations of these atmospheres with “the nostalgic, the eternal present of the sublime, and the sacred atemporality of

The symbolic content of engagement photos can sometimes be doubly problematic as a number of familiar visual romantic tropes - men carrying women, women roping or dragging men down the aisle, women idly sitting beside a man playing a guitar or rowing a canoe - symbolically reproduce sexist cultural attitudes. These tropes are insidious because it is difficult, even for feminists, to discern when these gendered visual clichés cross the line from romance into models of male chauvinism. As Mass Communication scholar Charles Lewis remarks, “What a theorist like Goffman would see as a submissive pose, brides apparently just see a well-constructed romantic photograph.”* But it is not just unoriginal and chauvinistic tropes that I find disturbing about engagement photos; it’s the self-indulgence of creating a record of mutual devotion and the partiality inherent in manufacturing a photographic correspondence to a romantic relationship. The photograph is a temporally bound form, most often capturing a moment as opposed to a narrative. The moments that engagement photographers and their subjects choose to capture (or sometimes more accurately, contrive) communicate only parts of a relationship: the idyllic and extraordinary elements. Engagement photos omit or euphemize dimensions of relationships that are unsuitable or unworthy of sharing with their intended audience such as the overtly sexual, morbid or mundane. The sexuality represented in these pictures is restrained, signified by a pair holding hands, touching noses, embracing or staring into one another’s eyes. These poses actively deny the potential for exposing the subconscious and erotic elements of real human sexuality. This purposeful modesty testifies to the photo’s artifice; it is a visible limit to what part of a couple’s relationship is intended for public consumption.

... men carrying women, women roping or dragging men down the aisle, women idly sitting beside a man playing a guitar or rowing a canoe - symbolically reproduce sexist cultural attitudes. Even photos that are successful in minimizing their contrivance and superficiality are not immune from their own solipsism. Unless they are capable of passing for candid photography, these photos are unable to hide the deliberateness of their existence. They betray the merit a couple assigns to documenting their relationship, a merit that can sometimes feel like perverse grandiosity. The weirdness comes not only from both a couple calculating that taking the picture is necessary, but also from the couple judging the picture to be a suitable contribution to the lives of others. If these photos read as self-indulgent, it is probably no fault of their own. It is easy to read ritualized displays of love, honor and appreciation as an elaborate indulgence. Engagement photos are considered cliché and myopic because so is the concept of romantic love. And like other clichés, their social power is in their ability to be shared. The same familiarity in these pictures is to me, vomit-inducing, but to someone else’s aunt, sweet and nostalgic. What I code as pandering, someone else’s grandma reads as a timeless gesture of love. Ultimately, I do not care for most engagement photos because I find that even aesthetically successful photos that are able to deny their manufactured qualities cannot transcend their expectable sentimentality and their futility.

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leisure.” The familiarity of these settings (and other symbolic forms) is precisely what makes them so tedious: we recognize them because we have seen them countless times before. The reality that a photo of any combination of well-dressed adult dyads embracing in a vineyard could pass as an engagement photo confounds the photo’s primary function as a testament to a couple’s unique love. And as social networking sites such as Pinterest and Tumblr allow users to aggregate collections of stranger’s engagement photos, all illusions of novelty dissolve.

In the (k)now Knowledge is power. Power is change. Change is good. Sylvia Bennett

What is Love?: Baby don t hurt me i

Love is voluntary insanity, passion, quiet, calm, aggressive, shy. It is whatever we feel it is. The experience is different for every person in every context. It punches you in the gut and often makes you want to slap it right back. Love is the unsolvable puzzle that humans have been trying to figure out for thousands of years. Writers could produce millions of volumes toting its charms. Between Nicolas Sparks and Shakespeare alone, almost half that total has already been attempted. Love is universal in some basic way that has completely stumped me. Maybe it’s the similarity in the all-encompassing nature of the feeling or

that it stems from a place often beyond reason or logic. Love is chaos that everyone seems to be clamoring for. It’s the dream we seem to keep reaching for. And by love, I’m referring to more than “romantic” love; love for self, others, places, things, feelings, etc; “love” in all its abstract, complex entirety. And while we are raised on this hope, our society has cultivated a very specific image of what “love” is; it’s no surprise that it’s far from inclusive or tolerant.

Love, from my limited perspective, seems like an uphill battle already. It’s tough to define what you feel when your mother just texted that she’s “discusted and uphold” at your buzzed sidecut. At that moment, love was not the top of the emotional list. Vengeful wraith, maybe, but certainly not love. And yet, I still love my mom and I’d like to assume that she loves me, regardless of my questionable piercings, tattoos and hairdos. Love is something I have to work on continuously. Like my now dying lucky bamboo plant, it requires some degree of conscious cultivation. Lord knows, my mother and I can rage pretty hard, middle-eastern tempers out and claws sharpened. But, I have to always remind myself that most of the things we fight about usually stem from a good place. Sure, I understand my mother’s worry about me getting a decent job eventually. That’s the lovely fear that quickly tempers any flare-ups of senioritis. It’s what I pair my cheap wine with. And for my mother, that fear for my future has led to these recurring “conversations” about my appearance-related actions. The vicious verbal sparring is all a mask for the deep loving bond underneath. Awww! We typically realize this around the same time, one to two days later, and hug it out over some tea and baby pictures. I’m sure that this conception of love will be very confusing to some people. Some might even qualify it as not being “love.” Okay, hold on a moment, I’m stepping on my soapbox. Okay, ready. Love is not something you, as an outsider, get to qualify. You are not a judge at the Love Olympics, handing out scores in your neat little suits. Love is already difficult to understand when I’m expressing it, let alone trying to puzzle out how others feel and show it. So, stop. Stop falling into the practice of condemning what doesn’t align with your qualifications of “right” and “wrong.” We don’t see the world as it is; we see it as we, as

Lord knows, my mother and I can rage pretty hard, middleeastern tempers out and claws sharpened. But, I have to always remind myself that most of the things we fight about usually stem from a good place. individuals, are. So I’ll work on it and you work on it. Eventually, we won’t need to keep buying jewelry and flowers because Zales told us to. We can express our love in the manners we find most applicable, like shouting matches about shaved hair or a nice gift card to Metropolis. Love is consensual and that’s pretty much the only restriction. The old cliché seems fairly accurate considering it in this context: all is fair in love and war. Love is messy, tricky, complicated; literally I don’t even know what it is. So going forth, live, love and let others love. Soapbox rant out.

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Romantic love has been idealized, demonized, dramatized, quantized, normalized, commercialized- all the -ized! Love, even with its immense difficulties at just recognizing the blasted thing, has become a standard by which “normal” can be applied. Did you get your SO a diamond bracelet/chocolates/flowers? No? Oops, not love. Or at least, not “good” love. Your SO is of the same gender/sexual identity as you? Well, snap, you now get to deal with the is-it-even-love-in-thefirst-place discussion.

madads busted advertising, bustling economy Fiber One Bars

Consider: 1. What does this advertisement from General Mills say about how love is expressed? 2. What is the relationship between love and heteronormativity? 3. Is the love in this image considered mutual? Consensual?

ADS MAD TE QUO ER N COR

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visions & revisions of our culture(s) “10 Honest Thoughts on Being Loved by a Skinny Boy” by Rachel Wiley

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http://youtu.be/tRFOTqTicvY

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BROAD Love BROAD Voice, BROAD Communities Athena Mawn

Dear unnamed friend Good night. Sweet dreams. I love you. I love you like I love the warm glow of Christmas lights on freshly fallen crystal lattice structures. I love you like I love gazing out to where the waters of Lake Michigan melt into the night sky. And beyond that horizon, lies forever and my dreams. I love you like I love the wind that carries the scent of those half-forgotten aspirations across the waves. I love the taste of hope on my tongue. How it tastes like your hugs and laughs and the peppermint bark squares Ghirardelli hands out for free during the holiday season. Merry Christmas, fellow broke college student. The unexamined life may not be worth living, but the examined life can drown you. There sometimes comes a point when treading the waters of intellectual pursuits that some people stop swimming. Overwhelmed with anxiety, they can’t hold out any longer. When we get to that point, it is imperative to remember our source of happiness, so we can return, gasping, to the arms that will embrace us when we return to shore. Each of us has a different reason for living. A different source of happiness. For me, it is the unconditional love of my friends, family, and God. But God is not a physical being. We are though. We understand the metaphysical through physical means. Through the tactility of the Scripture, through the rhetorical brilliance of a bishop named Ambrose. There are times when I am willing to Kierkegaard it and live by faith, but there are other times when I feel my limbs fall slack with chill, and I raise

my eyes beseechingly towards you, God, seeking an answer. No response. There never is. Just this unbearable silence. No visions, no voice, no nostalgic smell of crisp, salty sea water or banana bread rising like a surge of a maddening crowd, their furor quenched by the soporific scent of cinnamon dancing the night away with golden sunkissed grapes. I can’t sense you the same way I perceive the physical world, through sight, sound, smell, taste, or touch. I cry out...Abba, Abba, why have you forsaken me? I am doubting Thomas. I am denying Peter. I sometimes...often...refuse to bear the whole cost of discipleship, to pay the price of complete, unyielding faith to you, my God. I am bewitched, bothered, and bewildered by you, God, but no amount of uplifting jazz music by the Queen of Scat dissipates the sense that haunts the recesses of my heart. The sacrilegious thought that maybe I can’t understand you because there is nothing for me to understand.

I want to be held and never relinquished. I want to love and remain in love with you forever. I know I am weak, I am but human, and thus a creature that is inherently indebted and incomplete in nature. But even if love can hurt, it is a risk worth taking. So I choose to love you, my Lord and God, and love others, like my best friends. I say I love you too often. In today’s world, I love you means everything from thank you for allowing me to borrow your pen to I want to spend the rest of my tomorrows with you. But simply because those three words are spent lavishly, does not mean my affection isn’t genuine. You are my friend and I care about you deeply. Deeply enough to remember what I have forgotten. I have forgotten how much it hurts to move. To have settled down in a place, but be uprooted from nurturing soil and transported elsewhere, away from home. I have forgotten because I don’t want to remember when I choked down the words goodbye and whispered I love you as the pick up truck with Brownie turned around the corner of Glenn Circle. I love you. I love you. I loved you. Please come back. The window pane snatched up the warmth of that whisper, and fog from my breath was all that was left behind. I am sorry. Not for being vulnerable and loving you, but I am sorry that I am leaving you. My favorite poem in high school was A Valediction Forbidding Mourning. But William Blake did not take into consideration how easily even those we love can become hazy memories like fog from whispered I miss yous. We fall in love with temporal beings that pass through our lives as quickly as the days do when we grow older. As quickly as we go from babies to moody sacks of hormones to parents to old men and women waiting for eternal rest to arrive and steal us away from our deteriorated state of body and mind. I am 18, but I am not free. I am obliged, whether by fate, like Aeneus, or by coercion of older, more experienced figures than I, like Odysseus and Philoctetes, to move to South Carolina. Maybe one day I’ll look back and think that the move was worth it. That going to Clemson University in South Carolina may have helped me with achieving my career aspiration of becoming a physician with Doctors Without Borders, so I could escape villainy and do something good and worthwhile with my life. Maybe I’ll have given without expecting anything back,

Socrates said that love was neither beautiful nor good, because what love desires, it cannot already possess. like God freely gave his son with no conditions, but that we use him as an example and bear our own crosses with dignity, whatever they might be. I don’t know though. There are many things I do not know. I do know that I will miss you. And I do know that I love you. Socrates said that love was neither beautiful nor good, because what love desires, it cannot already possess. But he was wrong. Love is both beautiful and good, and infinitely more. So I am lucky to have been able to fall in love with you, my friend, and to have experienced beauty and goodness. Lucky that you were there at the shore when I was treading through the murky waters of fear. Lucky that when I succumbed to doubt, as inevitably all mortals do, you were the one being in this physical world that I could turn to. And remember happiness again. A true friend like you is priceless, because friendships can easily turn for the worse. Those who are given the label of friends can urge you to commit acts that stray away from love. From beauty. From goodness. From God. But not you, my best friend. There are several things in this world, material possessions, that can corrupt us. But friendship is not one of them. For friends come from God, as all beings are part of God’s creation. Thus, if God is good and beautiful, so are friends. So are people. Thank you for being such a great friend. Thank you for having philosophical discussions until four in the morning, for dance parties to 90s pop music, for warm embraces and sweaty after Zumba hugs. Our time together is drawing to a close, but I’ll smile when remembering the moments we shared this past semester. Now I can finally stop pursuing wholeness. Because I’ve discovered it. I found it in you?

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But then I consider the consequences of living in a world without God, and I believe again. But I still yearn for you.

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Link:

youtube.com/watch?v=2xeanX6xnRU

Consider: Honey Maid, owned by Nabisco, which has the largest cookie/cracker production plant in the world in Chicago, has been a name brand for 90 years. 1. What kinds of love are represented in thesircommercials? 2. Which do you identify with? 3. Are there any other types of love that youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d like to see more of in commercials?

Link:

youtube.com/watch?v=YObuMDB6Mh8

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youtube.com/watch?v=3UMMn6oVtOc

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youtube.com/watch?v=Ri6Z6RWljI4

BROAD Love BROAD Voice, BROAD Communities Adam Mogilevsky

Love of a Village I had just turned 16 and my friend Cheyenne decided to take me out to dinner to celebrate at The Cheesecake Factory. I remember the feeling upon hearing that my friend was taking me out to a fairly expensive restaurant. I was overcome with worry and excitement. The reasoning behind my worry was that my friend was wasting such an extreme amount of money on me, however excitement took over because I never really had a chance to go to a restaurant such as The Cheesecake Factory. For most of my life, I grew up in a low-income environment. My mother and sister raised me and even then they both were was always working. It was up to me to really become independent but without my “Village,” I would have never been the person I am today. As far back as I could remember, a majority of my growth during my adolescence was intertwined between the lessons I learned from my family and the people around me; “The Village” I’d like to call them. Going back to my 16th birthday, Cheyenne had thrown me a surprise party. It was probably the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me, that and when my friend Avi had all my friends chip in for Lady Gaga tickets for my 17th birthday. This isn’t to say that these material items helped shape me, but it was the thought behind the acts that demonstrated what love is. During that party, my friends presented me with gifts (in my mind, I felt that the party was a gift enough!) I began unwrapping all the gifts; some were gift cards, others were cups and candies. Finally my friends Morgan and Devin gave me my final gift. I opened the bag and found

a Coolpix camera inside and was in shock. Their explanation was that their mother felt that I deserved a camera considering everyone in our group had one. I almost began to cry; the gift was the true testament that someone, who I was not related to, viewed me as their family because they went out of their way to purchase me a gift that was outrageously expensive. Aside from the material items, my friends became my family and as I became closer to my friends, their families began to see me as their second child. Growing up, my life was not easy and I spent most of the time rebelling. It took the guidance of the people around me to show me the correct path.

Another valued friendship, I would say, would be with my best friend Nicole. She showed me something pure and adventurous. Of course we came from similar backgrounds but we were (and still are) two peas in a pod. We complimented each other oh so well. My pessimistic mentality combined with her optimistic personality surprisingly never clashed. Nicole was my support and showed me something many people can’t see, and that was love. She looked past the bad qualities and stayed there for me even when people distanced themselves. From these people in “The Village,” I learned what it meant to love, the meaning of patience, the mental strength of perseverance and what extending my hand out to those who need it really meant. One of my fondest memories was when I was 18 and had moved out of my home because of irreconcilable issues. I had moved into the home of the DeGrazia’s where they, with open arms, took me in and showed me a new perspective on life. Mr. DeGrazia showed me the art of professionalism, the skills of self-defense and how to effectively solve conflicts. He was the father I never had and had helped me with various issues going on in my life. Mrs. DeGrazia is a strong woman who never backs down in a fight. This could be seen as her greatest strength and weakness. We were both very stubborn and at times butted heads, however, I appreciated her wisdom and sass. I spent a good six months in their home until I resolved my issues with my family and moved back in. The DeGrazia family is probably a godsend to this earth. They accepted me and defended me when I almost had lost faith in what loving another person meant.

Love, in my mind, isn’t about a boyfriend or a person you are lusting over. Its truest form is within the people who grew with you and helped guide you to make you the person you are. It truly takes a village to raise a child. My life before attending Loyola was lived through many families, not just my own. I learned of my heritage and but also learned that no matter what happens in my life, I still have my mom and sister to rely on. My mother was absent for most of my life and I developed relationships with families that were not biological but rather emotional. I learned lessons that my own family could not provide yet alone have understood. These people became my life and accepted me regardless of the fact that I wasn’t their child. Love, in my mind, isn’t about a boyfriend or a person you are lusting over. Its truest form is within the people who grew with you and helped guide you to make you the person you are. I spent a lot of my life being a brat and not acknowledging the sacrifices people made for me in my life. Perhaps writing this article was able to shed some light on my gratitude. There are so many others out there who also helped shape me into the person I am today. I may not have referenced them but they should know that they are always in my heart. I take in all the love from my “Village” and utilize it everyday. They helped build a person who was born from a dark world and somehow shined a light inside and said, “It will be OK. Stay strong!” I certainly intend on giving that back someday. You never know the impact you can have on someone if you just extend a hand and really get to know him or her.

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These people did not need to bring me along on family vacations or let me stay in their homes when my situation at home was almost unbearable. I asked myself, what is real love? Is love defined or categorized in regard to the undeniable connection to another person in a sexual demeanor? Or is love looking at some troubled teen and saying, “Hey! Things will be OK! Come have dinner at my place.” I owe my life to the people who took me in and shared a part of their life with me. One of my most valued friendships, I would say, would be the friendship with the Montijos. Cheyenne and her mother used to take me to their lake house in the summer. I worked 40 hours a week and to go to a place that wasn’t the suburbs opened my eyes to something real and beautiful. They became one of my second families! They took me out places and always gave me insight on the impeding adulthood that was to come after high school.

BROADs behind the scenes email text meet dinner indesign T4 dropbox table photoshop repeat BROAD 2014-15 Team

Kait leading our first ever BROADbox speaker event on restorative justice.

Mario and Mandy tabling during finals week and giving out free coffee.

Our holiday celebration party and meeting at Peteâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Pizza, planning out the spring!

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Tree ornaments in BROAD colors with the logo, a gift from Mandy.

BROAD Love BROAD Voice, BROAD Communities Julia DeLuca

Redefing Love:

The Evolution of Relationships in Children's Entertainment

Ever since animation has come about, there has been one common element: relationships. Now relationships are important because interactions between characters help set up the dynamics of the overall story, however, all of them have the same formula: boy and girl meet, boy and girl fall in love, boy and girl get married. That’s always been the formula in television, movies, many mainstream books and children’s cartoons and movies. While heterosexual relationships are in all forms of entertainment, this article will focus on children’s media because that is where many kids first learn about relationships. We’ve seen it in Disney movies, comics and graphic novels, cartoon shows on Nickelodeon and Cartoon Network and books targeted to children: boy and girl meet, they fall in love and get married. It’s not just the formula that’s familiar, but also the male and female characters. Most of the time they are white and upper middle class with no big issues outside of their romantic dilemma (i.e. racism, classism, sexism, etc.). Depending on the crew, these romantic protagonists can be deprived of any memorable traits or personalities to help us like and connect with them. So not only are these formulas predictable and have the same outcome, but there is nothing to offer those who

That’s where today’s children entertainment comes into play. I’m not going to talk about the quality of programming today, that’s been talked about already and is a story for another issue. What I have noticed recently is that some children’s shows have been trying to go in different directions regarding relationships: putting twists on who becomes involved with who or what it means to be in a relationship. First there is the 2000 Disney film Lilo & Stitch. Not only was the heroine not White, but also unlike with most heroines, her goal wasn’t to find a prince or a boyfriend. While the film also had to take time to focus on the alien character Stitch, the film also focused on the bonds between Lilo and her older sister Nani and trying to make the best out of a difficult life situation. The whole film focused on the meaning of family, with romance only being mentioned once or twice. I felt that was vey refreshing. Later we have Brave, where the film focuses on mother-daughter relationships, which very few (if any) children’s shows or movies have ever done. It demonstrates that mothers and daughters aren’t always going to see eye to eye on beliefs, but we must learn to see from each other’s perspective and learn to compromise with each other. Next came Frozen, Disney’s biggest box office hit, loosely based off the Hans Christian Anderson fairytale “The Snow Queen.” Yes, people are divided on how great the film was but what I did like was that the definition of “true love” was defied. When people think “true love,” they often think heterosexual romance (like in classic fairytales Snow White and Sleeping Beauty). However, this movie defied that belief and explained the bonds between sisters. Putting aside my personal views on the film, I like that instead of focusing on the princess and prince falling in love, as is customary in Disney films, it instead focuses on family relationships and teaching viewers the importance of embracing yourself, faults and everything. Well done, Disney. Great first steps to take. Then we come to, yes, Nickelodeon. If anyone is familiar with Avatar: The Last Airbender, then he or she will be familiar with its sequel series The Legend of Korra. At the finale of season one, the heroine Korra, an impulsive and stubborn martial artist and master bender of air, water, fire

Most of the time they are white and upper middle class with no big issues outside of their romantic dilemma (i.e. racism, classism, sexism, etc.). and earth (remember: only the Avatar can use all four elements; benders are only able to use one element), becomes romantically involved with supporting character and fire-bender Mako. However, in season two, they end their romantic relationship, realizing that their personalities heavily conflict with each other and are better off as friends. During season three, Korra develops a strong friendship with another supporting character. However, this was Asami Sato, a non-bender woman who is also a talented martial artist, battle strategist, business woman, mechanic and engineer. While friendships between women are not uncommon in children’s shows, this was different because both were previously involved with Mako before they ended their relationship with him. Normally this would be a source of conflict, but both formed a strong and stable friendship and had the most interaction with each other throughout season three. This continued on through the series’ fourth and final season, with subtle hints that there was more to Asami’s and Korra’s interactions than mere friendship. By the series finale, both were holding hands and smiling at each other in a way that did not demonstrate mere friendship, but hinted that there was something more. Now what makes this special are so many things, first being the main heroine Korra. Not many main heroines are non-White, but Korra is. She is also physically strong, has personality quirks and flaws, but overtime develops and becomes more sympathetic, patient and diplomatic without losing qualities that make her interesting and ba-

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have other things going on in their lives besides having a boyfriend or girlfriend (or even if they want one).

dass. Then there is Asami. At first she was created for there to be a love triangle between herself, Korra and Mako (which became popular due to the success of Twilight), but then evolved as her own character with unique qualities that made her a well-liked character and valuable member of Korra’s team. The evolution of Korra and Asami’s characters show that women don’t fit one set standard of qualities and you can be feminine while still being strong (physically and mentally). The women of the show aren’t fetishized based on their appearance or culture and are given development to be their own person. Then there is the development of their relationship. In children’s shows, women’s relationships with each other could not be anything more than friendship. But the series finale with Korra and Asami can be considered a game changer for children’s animation to show that romantic relationships between women are as intimate and wonderful as heterosexual relationships, and there is nothing wrong with either. While Korra and Asami were not shown as “officially” together, the series finale demonstrated that it could be a possibility, thereby opening doors for future children’s shows to knock down stereotypes and provide children with role models whom they could connect with. Hats off to The Legend of Korra for being a game changer for children’s animation and challenging previous concepts of relationships. The world is changing and different relationships are coming to light. Heterosexual relationships are no longer the norm with more states legalizing same sex marriages. As the world and its standards change, children’s media needs to catch up to reflect these changes while also providing relatable characters and scenarios for those who do not fit the “white heterosexual.” Not everyone wants to be in a romantic relationship. Others find that the standards they are conditioned to see as “standard” work for them. And for some, love takes on different meaning than what we are taught growing up. Some find happiness in a romantic relationship while others are content to remain single. Some children’s media is adding variety to its characters and relationships to show these choices which I hope to see continue. By continuing to tweak the old used formula and defy age-old customs of what “true love” is and what makes a “relationship,” we open our youth’s eyes and help prepare them to become more informed and better people.

As the world and its standards change, children’s media needs to catch up to reflect these changes while also providing relatable characters and scenarios for those who do not fit the “white heterosexual.”

words are useless

sometimes words arenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t enough Nicole Zollos

Feel Free to Have a Job; as Long as you can be a Mother, Wife, and Household Chore-Queen

Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s no longer a shock in 2014 when a woman has a job and in some households it is even necessary. However, the woman is still supposed to maintain the expected role as doting mother, wife, and domestic chore supervisor. Such a juggling act is unrealistic, harmful to the woman, and a strain on any of her relationships with others. The male may remain distracted, inattentive to the family that the wife has been tasked with keeping on track. To portray this, I made a satirical faux Christmas card, featuring a mom with a job, a whisk, and a baby. The dad has only his business phone.

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Words from the Artist:

Manga Addict Analyzing Anime and Manga Via Gender Julia Deluca

Alice 19

much research, I found one that not only tackles romantic relationships but also familial relationships. So in honor of this month’s issue on love, I will be reviewing Yuu Watase’s Alice 19th. Yuu Watase is one of the most well-known manga artists in the world. Her most popular series are Fushigi Yuugi: The Mysterious Play and Ceres: Celestial Maiden.

Synopsis:

Greetings fellow readers! Wow, December already. Hard to believe, I know. In less than a month it will be a brand new year. I hope you are all keeping warm in this cold weather. To me, nothing beats warming up with a nice hot cup of chai tea, and it’s even better if you have some fresh cookies available. Now this month’s column was hard to do because many mangas, especially shoujo mangas, focus on relationships, mostly romantic relationships but relationships all the same. So it was hard to narrow it down to just one. But then I remembered that this month’s issue is about all types of relationships: romantic, familial, and what a relationship means to us as individuals. But after

The manga follows the adventure of Alice Seno, a shy and meek high school freshman. Throughout her life, Alice has never been able to speak for herself, be noticed, or stand up for herself. This contrasts to her older sister Mayura, who outshines her in everything; she’s beautiful, academically gifted, a skilled athlete and member of the school archery team, and is her parents’ favorite. However, what Alice has a hard time accepting the most is that both she and her sister have a crush on school heartthrob Kyo Wakamiya. While walking to school, Alice comes across a white rabbit, who is actually a magical girl named Nyozeka. Nyozeka believes that because of Alice’s kindness and bravery, she is the next destined Lotis Master, a person whose uses words to possess great powers. These powers allow the Lotis Masters to enter an individual’s psyche and learn more about what makes them tick. After a dispute

Personal Opinion:

To me, this is one of Yuu Watase’s best works. While the manga did have a love triangle (which to me is very cliché), it also focuses on other relationships: the bonds between friends, the bonds with parents, and the bonds between siblings. Most shoujo mangas only focus on romantic relationships, but this manga has sibling relationships that receive just as much focus, if not more.

Pros:

The strongest aspects of this manga are the characters. I can relate to Alice. Growing up, I always felt like a social outcast and felt like everyone thought I would never measure up to anything. I also had difficulty expressing myself. I love how over time, Alice learns to express what’s on her mind and doesn’t let others push her around. She uses this strength to fix problems with her family. There are different ways to be strong and our heroine shows that perfectly. She is shy, but more courageous than she and others give her credit for. She has an inner strength that allows her to not only empathize for those who’ve wronged her, but also carry on when situations get worse. Not only does Alice get character development, but also so do the other characters like Kyo, Mayura, and others. As I’ve said before, I love the relationship developments in the storyline. Romance is in there, but the creator makes sure to put in as much focus on the family and sibling relationships as well as the romantic relationships. The artwork is also very expressive, and while the story is still action-packed and dramatic it’s still comedic. It holds very powerful messages: words have impact, we should never be afraid to express ourselves and that holding back what we feel can damage ourselves and those around us. One of the key lessons in feminism is to never be afraid to express yourself.

Growing up, I always felt like a social outcast and felt like everyone thought I would never measure up to anything. I also had difficulty expressing myself. Cons:

Some of what happens can be off-putting. First, what sets off the chain of events is an argument about a boy and part of that is because Mayura accuses Alice without letting her explain what happened. Second, a couple cases of sexual assault are easily forgiven. This set off some bad vibes for me. Perhaps it’s because of differing cultural values, but I feel that the guys who did this should’ve gotten punished. To me, it reinforces the whole “Boys Will Be Boys” cliché that excuses sexual violence, thereby letting it continue.

Overall:

I consider this to be one of Yuu Watase’s greater works not only because of the action but because I feel the protagonist is a better example of heroism, bravery, and what we are capable of if given the chance (or find the courage to do). The manga is also very short, only seven volumes, and it has been out for several years. You can purchase them very cheaply and read online. Warning: there are many emotional scenes so you’ll want to have some tissues nearby just in case. But it’s still a great read and one I still keep to this very day.

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at school involving Kyo, Alice and Mayura argue and in the heat of the moment, Alice tells Mayura “I wish you would disappear.” And just like that, Mayura disappears. While Alice looks for Mayura, Mayura becomes vulnerable to Maram, the dark side of the Lotis who use words to cause harm to others. They take possession of Mayura and she becomes a Maram master. Now the only way to save Mayura and stop the Maram from destroying the world is for Alice to master all of the Lotis Words to gain the necessary power and overcome her shyness to become more confident.

words are useless sometimes words arenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t enough Maggie Hurley

Dopamine http://www.maggiehurley.com

message me we asked. you answered. BROAD people

BROAD

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December 2014

status quo combustion Lubna Baig

La masculus Versus La femina

Love, Karma, Santa Claus and all Things Holy... Love is funny sometimes. It creeps up on you when you least expect it. I have heard this each time I sat on the couch eating Ben and Jerry’s dark chocolate ice cream, heartbroken over my latest breakup. Everyone from my mom to my best friend Jane would tell me to stop searching for love the minute a relationship ended. According to them, if I stopped looking, I would be surprised to see the unexpected curveballs love would throw at me. Love would find me itself and I need not go to exceeding lengths to search for it. Well, I am afraid I agree with them. When you think about it, life is actually funny that way. No matter how much you plan (even if you are like me and plan your life down to the minutest detail in a journal), the universe will still throw you curveballs. The curveballs are unexpected. You may think everything is going great with this hot senior you are dating and then something happens and you breakup. Or it may also happen that the ex you never thought you would get back together with suddenly calls you one Friday. Then you meet, have hot make-up sex and suddenly you both are the perfect Mr. and Mrs. Brady, sending personalized holiday cards to friends and family. Love and karma seem to work in mysterious ways. They seem to go hand in hand. Where love seems to work its magic,

karma effectively works in the background like a true soccer linebacker. After all the dates I have been on and all the relationships I have been in, I think for a relationship to survive, it needs love, karma, the luck factor, maturity and yes, a little bit of a Christmas miracle... When it comes to dating and relationships, the one thing I have struggled with is the “Look Factor.” The first thing I look for in a guy is his looks. As long as he looks hot, I don’t care a damn about his soul and heart. I mean, come on! When is the last time any girl walked into a bar and a guy told his mate, “Hey! Check out her soul!” My mom says that’s where I make mistakes and that is why I get my heart broken. I don’t analyze the guy and move on too fast. I fall in love too fast just because he

But the bad boys were bad, as in some lacked manners. They would not be verbally polite in front of friends or mom or do polite things like open the door if my friend was carrying groceries. They were the kind that would yell at the air hostess (if God forbid you were with them on a flight) and say, “Hey trolley dolly! Get me some beer will ya?” And yeah, some of them would drink and party like there’s no tomorrow. Also, most of the time I was the “real man” in the relationship and paid for most of our dates. Here’s the thing though- those bad boys know how to lure girls in. They know exactly what to say and what the girl they are dating wants. They are clever, sharp and cunning. They know when to trap a girl and when to leave them. They even know exactly what to say when breaking up with them. They excel in the art of relationships, getting a girlfriend and breaking up with one. But no matter what, I still want to date good-looking boys even if they are “bad.” I know what many of you are thinking, like this girl must be really dumb to still keep on wanting to date bad boys when they have done nothing but break her heart. I also expect a huge backlash and rants against me from all the guys that are labelled “nice” by girls. I know that bad boys are bad. They know when I am hooked on them. Initially, they get me hooked with their sweet talks. Later, as time goes by, if they feel the relationship has lost its spark, they talk about taking a break. Then that makes me sad and I obsess over what went wrong and what I did wrong. Compared to that, there are the nice guys who are willing to do anything to be with me, but I don’t accept them. It has nothing to do with “nice guys finish last” or with the dismal sex or anything else. It is just the thing that life is short. And believe me when I say, I have come to the conclusion that there is no such thing as a “bad boy” or a

But the bad boys were bad, as in some lacked manners. They would not be verbally polite in front of friends or mom or do polite things like open the door if my friend was carrying groceries. “nice boy.” There’s just plain human selfishness. See, by nature we humans are selfish. We want to be happy. We want to do things because we want to do it. The thing is, things do not always work out the way we want them to. For instance, we do not get the dream job or do not get paid as much as we want. Compromises, compromises, compromises. We tend to compromise with so many things that when it comes to love yet we are not ready to compromise. And love is something that is not based on compromise, right? We shouldn’t be compelled to be with someone we don’t love just because they are nice to us. Here’s a quote from He’s Just Not That Into You: “If a guy wants to be with you, he will make it happen no matter what and if he acts like he doesn’t give a shit about you, he genuinely doesn’t give a shit about you. If a guy wants to call you, he will call you. A man who wants to make a relationship

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has great hair, is a great kisser and is great in bed. Well, I tried to date the average-looking guys and guys that were “nice.” No offense to any nice guy out there, but the nice guys and me have never been compatible in anyway. Nice guys are apparently not great in bed while bad boys are. “That’s coz bad boys know how to do bad things!” says my best guy friend Jason. And he is right. Let me say this again: I dated guys that were really good-looking. They were really hot, like damn hot. They had the sexy abs, their ass looked great and their model-like hair resembled something out of Cosmopolitan. The kissing, the dates and the sex were hot and movie-like, like straight out of Twilight, The Fault in our Stars and 50 Shades of Grey.

It doesn’t really make sense to break up every time we don’t like something in our partner. work will move mountains to keep the woman he loves.” There, this sums up the plain human selfishness I was talking about. Any guy, regardless of whether he is bad or good, will be with you if he wants to be with you and if he chooses to be with you. Choice, that’s the thing. The nice guy that keeps asking me out is only doing so because he wants to. Similarly, the bad guy who kissed me and got me hooked did so because he wanted to. Life is short; why should we have to think about being with the ones who love us if we don’t like them back that way? And that is why I choose to be with a guy who looks great. I don’t look at whether he is bad or good. I just look at what makes me happy. I am OK with having a little infinity within the numbered days with a bad boy rather than compromising with a make-do nice guy. And I really think a relationship where both sides want to be with each other will go all the way to achieve a happily ever after. I am a pre-med, a science student, and an aspiring doctor at that. Doctors tend to be skeptical about things like happily ever after, Cinderella, Prince Charming, Santa Claus and Merry Ho Ho. For us, the concept of happily ever after doesn’t exist. We think relationships will work just as long as both sides want it to work. While that is true, God, Karma and a little bit of Christmas magic play a role when it comes to love. There is no denying that justice, though delayed, is eventually served. As you sow, so you shall reap. So, if you are bad to others, chances are karma is

going to bite you in the ass. Fate; it’s the thing that tells us if a relationship doesn’t work out because it wasn’t meant to be. I am a romantic at heart but I also believe in God. Loyola is a Jesuit institution. We are taught Jesuit ideologies here as part of the University’s core curriculum. This year, I took Philosophy 190 and we read Matthew’s version of the Bible. On the topic of relationships, Jesus says that when a relationship starts to lose its spark and love starts to fade, both partners need to replace that romantic love with Christian love and compassion for each other rather than splitting apart. I know I have talked about life being short and that most people like me would choose their own happiness. But, I feel if both partners mutually entered into a relationship without any hesitation and enjoyed a lot at first, then they need to give some time to their relationship rather than breaking up just because of some issues. It doesn’t really make sense to break up every time we don’t like something in our partner. And then there’s Christmas. I think more than Valentine’s Day, Christmas is a magical time for love. I like Christmas Eve, the snow on Christmas Eve and singing “Joy to the World” at midnight mass. I think the air is filled with love and cupid’s arrows during that time. After all, when we really, really, like someone, don’t we hope to God that the person should be with us? We hope, we pray and we keep the faith that the person will eventually be with us. So this year when Santa Claus came to the Damen Student Center at Loyola, I whispered in his ear that I wanted a good-looking bad boy for Christmas.... The bad boy, if he wants to, will move mountains to keep me. I am a hopeless romantic so sue me for hoping for a Christmas miracle. The truth is that love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don’t know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors. So screw all the mind games and the endless waiting for the phone calls and text messages. Screw all that crap about “he loved her most when she loved him least.” The simple truth is that, if you really want someone and they really want you back, you can make it work with a bad boy. Love is the most beautiful emotion in this world and a day will come, whether you are 14, 28 or 65, when you will stumble upon someone who will start a fire in you that cannot die. But as it happens often in life, they are not always the ones we spend our lives with. But with a little help from Santa, I am hoping that I will! Merry Ho Ho!

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no I or you, so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close.

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just words? just speeches? Pablo Neruda

He dormido contigo y al despertar tu boca salida de tu sueĂąo me dio el sabor de tierra, de agua

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight. I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

But when I hold you I hold everything that isâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;/ sand, time, the tree of the rain,/ everything is alive so that I can be alive:/ without moving I can see it all:/ in your life I see everything that lives.

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so I wait for you like a lonely house till you will see me again and live in me. Till then my windows ache.

Kaleidescope Shifting Perspectives on Our Modern World Sabrina Minhas

Going beyond for Self-Love The holiday season in Chicago is filled with love. A person grins in the store after finding the perfect gift, glowing with generosity and thoughtfulness. Friends walk together under hazy, dream-like skies, pausing their vibrant conversations for sips of coffee. Couples walk between rows of glittering trees and beneath canopies of lights, hands clasped tight and fingers intertwined as they share secret smiles and kisses. Families, by blood or chosen bonds, are warmed from the inside out, sharing their favorite meals from the intimacy of a restaurant booth.

I have been privileged enough to experience all of these moments. I have been lifted by the incomparable happiness of being loved by family, friends and partners. I am not, however, always lucky. I am both blessed and burdened to have an inherent understanding that love and life are transitory. Contentment and bliss are intermittently pierced with tragedy only to return again, forming the waves of fortune. The holiday season in Chicago is an anguishing time for lonely, listless spirits. A person stands frozen in the store, eyes welling up with tears, after finding the perfect gift for someone they will never see again. A person struggles beneath the weight of a gloomy gray sky as they desperately try to explain their emotions to a well-intentioned friend who does not understand heartache. A person gazes at a couple passionately in love, hoping the warmth of their happiness will permeate the barriers built to protect vulnerable hearts and cold that settles into restless bones. A person speeds through a meal alone, surrounded by laughter that cannot be heard. I am still among the privileged. My heart expands with love from valued friendships and familial support, and even skips the occasional beat when a beautiful stranger smiles at me, but I have also learned to love the cold

Tragedy taught me that love takes a multitude of forms that can be sustained by beauty and life. I felt love when I sat in the grass and stared out at the meeting of a lush sky and lake, stunned by the painting that came to life and changed with each minute, and soothed by the silence broken only by a melody of waves. I felt love when I was nearly 5,000 miles from home, breathless and giddy in the shadow of a white mosque at the top of the dusty mountain that contained the homes of Tunisian Berbers. I felt love when I curled up beneath blankets for an afternoon of reading as the sunlight streamed through my window and the scent of coffee pervaded my room. I felt love when my headphones encapsulated consuming bass, haunting melodies, delicate instrumentation and resonating lyrics, electrifying my brain and eliciting reactions so strong they become sensations. Self-love means finding wholeness in myself and the moments I experience. Self-love means being willing to support and believe in myself. I search for inspiration in remarkable women who refuse to be hindered by hardships. Imagine the love Jane Matilda Bolin must have felt for herself to remain dedicated to social justice despite a career rife with racism. Bolin was born on April 11, 1908 in Poughkeepsie, New York. Her childhood was marked by the tragedy of losing her mother at a young age and the complexity of being interracial during the civil rights movement. She occupied a space tucked away from the tense political climate because her father, Gaius Charles Bolin, was an attorney who had his own law firm and was respected by the community, sparing her from prejudice. His involvement with the NAACP, however, pierced her sheltered perspective as she was exposed to grotesque images of lynching victims. Bolin was infused with a passion for law after spending hours working in her father’s firm and pouring over his texts, while her empathy for the civil rights movement fueled her desire to fight for social justice. Bolin excelled in her high school class and was one of two black students to enroll in Wellesley College. She was instantly ignored and isolated by her class. Bolin recalled struggling with loneliness caused by the ostracization and prejudice, but she graduated in 1928 at the top of her class. Bolin was

I have been lifted by the incomparable happiness of being loved by family, friends and partners. I am not, however, always lucky. I am both blessed and burdened to have an inherent understanding that love and life are transitory. mocked by her college counselor after she decided to apply to Yale Law School. Bolin’s counselor discouraged her due to her race and gender, believing that a black woman would never receive work as an attorney. Bolin, however, ignored her counselor’s warnings and was accepted to Yale Law School. Her classmates harassed her, literally slamming doors in her face. She remained focused on her academics and became the first black woman to graduate from Yale Law School in 1931. Bolin faced discrimination and delays at each step of her career but continued breaking through barriers for the rest of her life. She was the first black woman to join the New York City Bar Association after passing her bar exam in 1932. She was the first black woman to work as an assistant corporate counsel for the city in 1937. She was the first black woman to be sworn in as a family court judge in 1939. Bolin emphasized civil and human rights, distinguishing herself by ending Jim Crow practices in the juvenile justice system and discriminatory practices that restricted black probation officers’ case loads. She emphasized the importance of fighting for women’s rights, recognizing the discrimination women faced. Bolin refused to compromise her personal sense of style, working in fashionable clothes instead of judicial

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and solitude because I recognize the importance of self-love. I cannot say that I always love myself, but I am slowly reminding myself to always be on my side.

Self-love, unfortunately, requires rediscovery for those who have been socialized to belittle themselves. robes that made the children in her court uncomfortable. Bolin faced the challenge of being a single mother with a demanding career after her first husband died in 1943, but she worked tirelessly to raise her child while continuing her fight for social justice. Bolin retired against her will in 1971 due to the mandatory retirement age. She worked with children and families for the rest of her life as a volunteer for numerous organizations in New York City. Bolin died on January 8, 2007 in Queens, New York at the age of 98. Jane Bolin’s story always leaves me in awe. I can hardly imagine the nuanced thoughts and feelings Bolin must have experienced throughout her life. She was overwhelmed with the desire to better a broken world, and ambitious in her endeavors to achieve her goals with the highest level of excellence. She was racked with self-doubt, frustration and heartache from the discouragement and discrimination embedded in every institution she had trusted, and giddy with the triumph of her successes. She was soothed by the support of her family and friends, and content with the surety that she was pursuing her calling. I believe it must have taken a significant amount of self-love for her to persevere through racism and prejudice and relentlessly accomplish her goals. She was never dissuaded from believing in her inherent worth, ability to succeed and right to support, dignify and respect. We all have the strength and perseverance to overcome obstacles. We find our best traits when we have no choice but to depend on them. Selflove, unfortunately, requires rediscovery for those who have been socialized to belittle themselves. Self-esteem continues to be an issue with signifi-

cant impacts on politics, economics and culture. Seventy-five percent of girls with low self-esteem report engaging in negative behaviors like cutting, bullying or disordered eating, and about 20 percent of teens will experience depression (DoSomething.org). Low self-esteem causes girls to reduce their own self-worth. Seven in 10 girls believe they are not good enough or are lacking in their looks, academic performance and relationships (DoSomething.org). Self-esteem is often discussed in relation to body image, but low self-esteem harms a person’s ability to love themselves and believe in their ability to succeed, resulting in profound impacts in adulthood. In the article “The Confidence Gap,” Katty Kay and Claire Shipman compile research that suggests women are more likely to underestimate their abilities, overlook opportunities and speak less at meetings due to the fear of being labeled bossy or aggressive. I am concerned about blaming women for their actions or accusing women of lacking ambition. I recognize, however, the importance of socialization and double-standards in a culture that oppresses women and allows disproportionate representation in nearly every sphere of public life. Dove commissioned research suggesting that lowered self-esteem could cost the UK 14 percent of female managers, 16 percent of Olympic medalists, 7 percent of female doctors and lawyers and reduce the chance for a female Prime Minister by 2050 by 18 percent. The research is not foolproof, but it has significant and thought-provoking implications. It is likely that lowered self-esteem holds women back. Self-love, however, goes beyond success in the workplace. It is about understanding your inherent worth as a person - body, spirit and mind. I know that our lives are filled with innumerable joys. We will be surrounded by people we love. We will be immersed in work that ignites our passions. We will achieve successes that can hardly be believed. I also know, however, that we will all experience our own struggles. We will endure adversity without warning. We will suffer disappointments despite our best efforts. We will endure losses we thought would be unbearable. You are the constant through all the triumphs and tragedies of your life. I am on the journey of learning to love myself. I hope it is an adventure we will all take as we commit to advocating for ourselves with compassion, care and support.

words are useless

Superwomen in Love

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sometimes words arenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t enough Proyecto AlegrĂa

Angry Atheist Angry. Godless. Opinionated. Mario Mason

What is Love? Does it Exist? I believe in love. Even if my parents’ marriage didn’t work I still believe in true love because they have showed me love and I’ve seen others love. It’s just too beautiful not to believe in. When I think of love, I think of this girl I used to know. She loved cupcakes but she hated cakes in every sense of the word. You’re probably asking yourself, aren’t cupcakes and cakes the same? They are, but that didn’t matter to her. It all came down to presentation. Presentation overshadowed content, and for her that affected the entire thing. Cakes are often shared between friends or strangers, slowly sliced, with messages written out and artificial flowers just for show. Cakes are tiring. Cupcakes, on the other hand, are usually single servings with no messages written out in icing. Their only existence is to taste good. Cupcakes were created to satisfy in a more convenient way. Cupcakes do not need an occasion to be eaten, they don’t need to be shared among people and they don’t have layers. Cupcakes don’t want to complicate your life. I really wish there were more cupcakes in the world. I need a cupcake. I don’t need love to be this big, giant affair. It doesn’t have to be explosive or heart-wrenching. We could be alone together. I don’t need much. I could be writing a BROAD article and you, watching TV. You drinking chai, me sleeping. It doesn’t have to be like every romantic movie where it’s all or nothing. Really, all I need are

those quiet moments where we just stop in silence and, without saying a word, are both reassured in a way that we’ve always wanted. Love is scary though, especially when you’ve only ever had enough to leave you wanting more.

message me we asked. you answered. BROAD people

December 2014

What are your most recent reasons for breaking up with someone?

I was bored

Long distance wasnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t working

I was getting serious with him. My relative asked if I would marry him and when I thought about it, the answer could only be no.

She wanted too much from me.

I threatened to break up with him. He informed me we were never together...

BROAD

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Honestly, it was because I wasnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t getting any

BROAD Love BROAD Voice, BROAD Communities Megha Patel

His Heavy Heart My heart fluttered the moment I saw him. “Is that a gun in your pocket, soldier, or are you really that happy to see me?” “You don’t put a gun in your pocket, it goes into its holster,” he replied in strict monotone, oblivious to the fact that I had just attempted to crack a joke.

“I know. It’s just that your gun was sticking out like- Oh, never mind.” It was clear he wasn’t listening to my lame explanation as he hoisted himself onto one of the makeshift stretchers we had here at basecamp. He peeled off his military jacket and continued to do so with the rest of his layers as I readied my stethoscope and all the other tools I needed to check his vitals, as required.

I was used to his apathy. He was, after all, a front line soldier. He had little to no interest in cracking jokes with the world being as serious as it was. I looked up at his back. His battle scars say it all- he lives with a heavy heart. And here I was, my heart all over the place. As an army nurse, I’m supposed to be dedicated to my cause. Instead, I’ve been falling for this silent broken private ever since the day he came into the infirmary with severe burns and bullet wounds. Since the day I met him, I’ve known there was more to him underneath that nonchalant mask he bared. But I couldn’t get under that. No matter how hard I tried, he wouldn’t let me through. I knew he was doing it on purpose too - he didn’t want anyone to get through. It wasn’t allowed, for starters. We were here on strict business. We had to be rational.

And here I was, my heart all over the place. As an army nurse, I’m supposed to be dedicated to my cause. Instead, I’ve been falling for this silent broken private.

But who is rational these days? If people were rational, we wouldn’t be here. If people were rational, there wouldn’t be any wars. There wouldn’t be any soldiers, no army nurses, no him, no I. This aching, unyielding pull of my heart wouldn’t be here either. So maybe it was best to be irrational. These feelings I harbor have become a part of me in the last couple of months. They have taken deep root within me, fueled by the fantasies my mind has fed my heart to cope with my soldier’s apathy. I have struggled to give a name to these intense feelings and though I had ruled out lust, maybe this is a form of lust in the unconventional use of the word; it’s a form of emotional desire. But isn’t that the same thing as love? What even is love?

And although it’s his job and his duty, I never want him to have to use it.

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I think maybe love is that gun in his pocket. I believe love is being aware that it’s there and being able to joke about it. I believe it’s understanding my soldier, the one who carries it, and accepting how consequential it could be.

World of Women Measuring the Strength of Women in Pounds & Kilos Elishah Virani

This is Love A close friend recently asked me what love is. Had she asked me this at any point earlier in my life, I might not have been able to give her a satisfying answer, or an answer altogether. Over the span of the past few months however, I’ve learned a great deal about the meaning of love and what it really is. I’ve learned that love isn’t the explosion you feel in every part of your body when you see that special someone, like everyone says it is. It isn’t a constant smile fest, with nothing but sunshine, and happiness, and roses. It isn’t showering each other with gifts and compliments, or going out on fancy dates all the time. Love isn’t texting and calling each other all day, every day, or thinking about each other at 3 a.m. on sleepless nights. In fact, love is the complete opposite. Love is the butterflies you feel in your stomach every time you lean in for an intimate kiss or the throbbing in your chest when you share a special moment with your significant other. Love is emotionally draining, yet at the same time so revitalizing. It’s full of happiness and pain, jealousy and reassurance, confusion and simplicity, and the combination of it all is what makes it so beautiful. Love is staying indoors with your favorite movie and terribly cheap and unhealthy snacks, sitting around in comfy clothes and simply enjoying each other’s company. It is staying by each other through financial stability and unsteadiness and making the most of what is available.

Love influences every part of your daily life. Every decision you make is based on someone else or your relationship with them in one way or another. You put their best interests before your own and always seek to attain your mutual benefit. They become an important part of your life, an important part of you. When you go out, something always reminds you of them. Although you aren’t consumed by thoughts of them, they are always lingering somewhere in the back of your mind. Love is selflessness, love is sacrifice, love is compromise, love is commitment and love is trust. This is love.

ADS MAD TE QUO ER N COR

tell-a-vision visions & revisions of our culture(s) “How to be Alone” by Andrea Dorfman

AL L TE ON VISI

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EN/ SCRE Y PLA

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ARK M K BOO RE HE

BROAD N ATIO LIBER ERS D LEA

LTY FACU D E E F

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ING VISIT R O T EDI

ADS BRO

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http://youtu.be/k7X7sZzSXYs

EM SAG

1. How comfortable are you with being alone? 2. What is the relationship between love and loneliness? 3. What part of this poem speaks to you the most? ICRO

Link:

R NTEE VOLU CES VOI

EER CAR L CAL

AD BRO P C RE A

Consider:

WLA ED IMAT REAN

words are useless sometimes words arenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t enough Jodi Sutton

Mothers Sacrifice

Words from the Artist:

It is very important to me to show, through my art, the little seen image of the female soldier who is also a mom. She embodies spirit, love, femininity and a willingness to serve this nation. She is beauty.

message me we asked. you answered. BROAD people

BROAD December 2014

Define the relationship with your parents in one word.

Loving

Complicated

Courteous

Admiration

Yikes

Love

Cool

Silent

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Money

The Pink Paperbacks Novel reflections from a bibliophilic feminist Ellie Diaz

Raising a Glass to Unconventional Love in Literature Books swarm the shelves on my bookcase and even overflow onto the floor. Classic novels like Pride and Prejudice, Anna Karenina and Jane Eyre, action thrillers such as The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo and The Da Vinci Code, and sob stories like The Book Thief, The Great Gatsby and Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince clutter the shelves. When I look at my bookshelf, I see white, young or middle-aged, straight characters staring back at me. The lack of diversity in my book collection is not only appalling but also embarrassing. For the BROAD LGBTIQ issue, I had to travel to Myopic Bookstore in Wicker Park to hunt down a LGBT novel that I could review. Out of the gleam-

ing stack of novels, there wasn’t one that had a gay or lesbian protagonist. There wasn’t even a novel that mentioned an LGBT relationship. Excuse me while I cover my head with my hands in shame. I love books. I love reading novels about love, whether it ends tragically or gleefully sappy. As readers, we’re attracted to love. It infiltrates novels because love surrounds us; whether it’s self-love, an old flame, the love for family, the emotion between friends or lust. If I could write a love note to a romance novel, it would go something like this:

Thank you for always being there with me through the heartbreaks and on the rainy days. Thank you for not being mad when I dripped ice cream on your pages or when I sobbed uncontrollably into your binding. Thank you for creating love that’s magical and mysterious. See you in a few, Ellie Although I love romance novels whole-heartedly, that doesn’t mean they don’t have a little work to do. Love plots are often easy to navigate and characters start to fall into routines or lack diversity. But the fault is also mine as a reader and a consumer. I buy love novels that have the same theme, the same characters with different appearances and the same conventional plot. I have the power to decide what I’m reading and how I’m going to interpret it. In Goodreads’ list of “Popular Love Books,” all four Twilight novels, The Fault in Our Stars, Pride and Prejudice, Divergent, The Notebook and 50 Shades of Grey make the top 15 novels. These novels have straight, white, relatively young characters that fall in love. I’m not demeaning the plot or prose of any of these works. I hail Pride and Prejudice and have witnessed the utter outflow of love from fans of The Fault in Our Stars. Some of these novels have helped readers with crises. They capture heartache and joy. Currently, I’m reading the Outlander series by Diana Gabaldon. It follows Claire, an adventurous and outspoken married nurse in the 1940s who accidently travels back to 18th Century Scotland. She marries a thick-accented Scottish man named Jamie and is conflicted between the life she has with her husband and her new romance with the Scot. It’s filled with steamy sex scenes and Notebook-worthy quotes. But it’s a love story I’ve already read. No, I don’t know the ending to the novel but I always knew she would end up with Jamie and somehow be forced to marry him. I remember my mom reading me The Paper Bag Princess in bed when I was little. It’s a picture book about a princess who is infatuated with her betrothed pompous prince until a dragon storms the castle, steals her prince and burns her hair and precious dress. The princess finds the dragon, outsmarts her and saves the prince only to

Love plots are often easy to navigate and characters start to fall into routines or lack diversity. But the fault is also mine as a reader and a consumer. I buy love novels that have the same theme, the same characters with different appearances, and the same conventional plot. find him ungrateful. The last picture in the book is of the princess dancing off in the sunset sporting her paper bag attire. I want to find these love books, where characters fall in love with themselves in unpredictable endings (but perhaps with 200 more pages and tinier pictures.) I consume love novels like fire consumes air. I either devour them in pieces, savoring every chapter, or I swallow them whole in one sitting. This year, I’m making a New Year’s resolution to read love novels that I haven’t read before. I’ll read novels that focus on self-love or that feature unexpected yet welcomed characters. After scourging book review sites for new unconventional novels, here’s my new reading list: 1. In One Person, John Irving Winner of the 2013 Lambda Literary Award, Irving shares the story of Billy, the bisexual narrator, who struggles with his identity in a 1950s boarding school. He not only falls in love with a transgender librarian but also with the books he’s

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Dear beloved friend,

been given. This politically charged novel challenges identity with the strength of its prose. 2. The Bluest Eye, Toni Morrison Pecola Breedlove wishes her eyes were blue so her beauty could be recognized like the other blonde blue-eyed children. Morrisonâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s first novel demonstrates the uncomfortable search for identity and self-love in the autumn of 1941. 3. The Snow Child, Eowyn Ivey A grieving and aging couple, unable to have children, discovers a young blonde girl with a fox trotting by her side in the Alaskan wilderness. The couple accepts her as their own but wonder if the enchanted child is real or a figment conjured from desperation and depression. 4. Schematics: a Love Story, Julian Hibbard Schematics is a love story told in geometrical shapes that captures the specificities as well as the all-encompassing forms of love in measurements of electricity, gravity and genetics.

Compiled like an auction catalog, Important Artifacts expresses a failed relationship story through snapshots, mixtapes and dishes, leaving the reader to conjure an explanation. I declare that the year 2015 will be the year that I search for the unknown and unconventional in literature. I want to read love stories about aging couples, drag show romances, the journey for self-love or about losing identity and the challenges or satisfactions of finding it. I want to learn about love in complicated layers. If you have a book suggestion for me to read or review, email me at ediaz6@luc.edu. Letâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s discuss finding new routes in novels and charting the unknown journey in literature. Who knows? Perhaps readers will transform the unconventional into conventional and weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll have a whole new reading list next year.

5. Important Artifacts and Personal Property from the Collection of Lenore Doolan and Harold Morris, Including Books, Street fashion, and Jewelry, Leanne Shapton

I consume love novels like fire consumes air. I either devour them in pieces, savoring every chapter, or I swallow them whole in one sitting.

words are useless sometimes words arenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t enough Hilbert Art

Bitter Shells https://www.etsy.com/people/Hilbertxart

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(Love.War.Relationship)

words are useless sometimes words aren’t enough Nicole Zollos

Always look put together

Words from the Artist:

No matter the task, a woman should, apparently, always be ready for the red carpet. Women must be prepared to impress others at a moment’s notice. Men, however, are perfectly fine to mow the lawn in nothing but grassstained shorts. The media feeds into this by their tabloid pictures of the stars without make up as they run to the grocery store. The headlines read, “You’ll never guess who!” and “Look who got caught!” Caught what, exactly? Wearing simple clothing and no make up to run a simple errand? To show this, I had this young lady get all dolled up to sweep. Instead of dirt, I used flowers so as to stay with the “glamour” aspect. I have her in an empowered pose to portray the recent stand against this specific phenomenon.

broadside poetry in street lit style Aishvi Desai

If I only had the courage to pick up a pen and a page

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If only I had the courage To pick up a pen and a page, And write the 3 simple words To my fearless fighter, Things would not have shaken, Hearts would not have broken. ents, Those wonderful and breath-taking mom Vanished in my silence. I was hurt. He came along and gave me comfort. , But still thought it was too good to be true And kept quiet even though I knew. I wasnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t at home when he had to go, But I knew it wasnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t too late if I wrote. He would come back in an instance, If he knew I was his joyance. My doubts and fears came in the way, And lost the martyr in dismay. , While standing on the ledge of the window w, The last thoughts hitting me like an arro If only I had the courage, To pick up a pen and a page.

Sanity Optional Beyond this point Peach Stephan

I Prefer the term

CHAMP I stumbled down the steep steps of a Wrigleyville apartment. Randy slobbered over my face one last time and asked, “Ya sure you don’t want me to walk you to the train?” I shook my head yes, I’m sure, and he closed the door. Of course I can find the goddamned train by myself. I am a smart independent lady you diphead. I am also very drunk. Of course the jackass should have walked me to the train, it was 3 a.m. But Randy needed to understand that I did not need him in any sense, even for the rational purpose of not getting slaughtered in the dark. I started walking away from the frat house then swiveled back to shout, “Sleep tight ya morons!” at the whole cult of drunken monkeys. Scouring the area, I evaluated my next course of action. Hmm. To get to the train I am positive that I either take a left or a right. But probably a right--yes, yes definitely a right. When in doubt, go right. That is why it is called right. Because it is the right way to go, derp. Get it together, Drunk Peach.

While navigating the foreign neighborhood, alone but unafraid, I cautiously approached two clumsy silhouettes in front of me. Naïvely determining there was no threat, I rolled up next to the young staggering girls with a wide grin and an “Ayyyee!” By some ridiculous stroke of luck they were headed the same way as me, so I admitted, “I’m sorta lost so I think I’m gonna follow you.” Then the welcoming pair and I glided gracelessly through the streets with arms linked, an impromptu parade of bad decisions. Solidarity, I thought, what a great thing. Suddenly, I was being drawn into an overpowering light. I pursued it, feeling excited and scared. But my strange new friends were with me, all of us pausing to stare up at it like one of those noisy helicopters dragging a banner ad that you can’t resist reading aloud as it moves across the sky and you don’t realize it’s actually a raunchy pun until after you’ve finished speaking. But this glowing light was an innocuous IHOP sign with a caption that seemed to read in glorious slow motion, Open 24 Hours. While mentally adding “eating a mountain of smiley face pan-

Attempting a grandeur tone, I slurred with syrupy delicious lips, “Youuu can call a dude who gets around anything and it’ll sound coool: bro, chap, player, Romeo, libertine, dawg, ladies’ man. But the only thing I can even call myself is a Stupid Slut! Like, can’t we call ladyplayers ‘Champs’ instead of ‘Tramps?’ I like the way it sounds. Like, ‘Hey Chica, did you hit that? You’re a champ.’” The point is, I have never been in love for more than an evening and I am more than okay with that. At the very least, I come out with amusing stories. Long-lasting love scares me. I have my audacious dreams and my independence that I am petrified of trading for the companionship of someone irresistibly wonderful. So I find “love” in cozy bar corners and in sweaty mosh pits at concerts. Sharing divine conversation with someone until they are no longer a stranger is enough for me to go home with someone, and why shouldn’t it be? I can have some of the best parts of love but without the loss and complications. When men have one-night stands, they are praised and celebrated. There is no reason for women to feel like they should be ashamed for doing the same thing. Call it selfish, call it trashy; I call it Having Irresistible Charm and dammit I think I’ll add that to my résumé. Sure, I often realize I have misjudged a person in the harsh, sober light of morning. However it is very easy to gather my things, scrub thoroughly, and have a beautifully productive day. There are problems to be solved and goals to inch closer to; I couldn’t possibly spend each moment agonizing over why some boy can’t understand me. So falling in love for the evening isn’t dirty or shameful; it is really quite grand and even progressive. At this point in my life, the only way I can see love is as a game. And you’d best believe I’m the champ.

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Attempting a grandeur tone, I slurred with syrupy delicious lips, “Youuu can call a dude who gets around anything and it’ll sound coool: bro, chap, player, Romeo, libertine, dawg, ladies’ man.

cakes” to the running list of things I shouldn’t have done on that Thursday evening, I engaged my companions with a lively drunken monologue. Tasteless as it was for my audience, a sleepy crowd just trying to enjoy a nice 4 a.m. meal, I still find what I said relevant. I think my speech would have seemed more civil and legitimate if I would have thought to invade the hostess’ podium. It would have definitely given MLK a run for his money, at least as far as liberation speeches go.

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