ABOUT MY LEGS
When I could stride in journeys through the forests and the mountains and the valleys and now, with the ocean and the wind
And when the tide comes, I will let the shore reach me
The untethered waves will embrace me, melting my legs into the sea
Where the soft current carries me, And I will forget the times when I could swim
Because even without my legs
I will still hear the strong wind and feel it on my bare skin, Caressing me.
And I will hear the sound of the kids running, their feet carving memories into the delicate stones While I watch, knowing I can’t bring mine back But I smile because I, too, could once run like that
And I will enjoy the solitude Because without my legs, I’m closer to the trees and the ocean will always be there to move me
My movements shudder to a stop. I feel the anxiety creeping in and I can’t help but freeze. Tears spill from my eyes, wetting my reddening cheeks. Nothing can pull me out of my stupor as a panic attack begins to set in. It racks my body and the only thought that comes to my mind is “I wanna go home.”
Coping with anxiety and panic attacks while adjusting to a new culture has been an overwhelming ordeal. Frequently I find myself longing for something comfortable: my best friends, my partner, my family. At times, it feels like the walls are caving in on me and there’s no escape exit. The pressure becomes overwhelming and I feel myself collapsing. I reach out desperately to grasp onto something solid, only to pull at straws.
Coming into this semester abroad, I was stupidly overconfident. To an extreme degree. During the summer, I thought it
would be a piece of cake. Until it became real in the JFK airport and I broke down seeing my family leave me. Tears blurred my vision as the metal detector noises blared. I found myself utterly lost, surrounded by hundreds of other strangers, with nothing to hold onto.
So far this semester, I’ve cried more times than I’d like to admit and texted my friends and family that I missed them an embarrassing amount of times. “I can’t do this anymore, I just need to go home.”
“I wish you were here with me, things would be so much easier.”
“Why
can’t I come home
sooner?”
The phrases float about in my mind and on the tip of my tongue. They ring in my ears when I repeat them for the
LONGING FOR HOME
Natasha Cicogna
umpteenth time to my partner and best friends. They trigger endless tears and countless breakdowns.
Two months into my time here, I don’t feel fully adjusted. In some instances, I’m more homesick than when I first arrived.
What I’ve come to realize so far is that adjustment is a process that never really ends. I thought I’d be fully accustomed to life here by the end of one month. I don’t think I’ll ever be fully at ease in Buenos Aires but that’s not necessarily a bad thing.
I can see and understand the allure of Buenos Aires. The city is beautiful and eventful, it feels like it never sleeps. But it’s not home. It’s not New York City. And I have to constantly remind myself to stay present in the moment here. Frankly, it’s excruciatingly difficult. I miss my favorite book stores, my favorite restaurants, my favorite museums that bring back tons of memories. Hell I even miss Bobst. Like a shit ton. But that’s okay.
It’s natural to feel this way, to long for home and to struggle when you’re away from it. It’s natural to feel out of place in a foreign language and in a foreign country as a study abroad student. It’s okay to long to be back with your friends and family. I think being here has made me appreciate who and what I have back home. This experience is wonderful, but I now treasure the time I have with my support system ten times more than before.
In every experience we have, good or bad, there’s something that we take and learn from it. Having gone through multiple slumps during my time here, I’ve learned a lot from my low points. The panic attacks, the overwhelming anxiety, the bouts of depression are important to acknowledge and learn from. Throughout this semester, I’ve learned how to prioritize myself, how to take care of myself, how to be social more easily and how to be more impulsive. I think I’ll come out of this experience a more whole and confident person. But the process to becoming that person is a long, winding path filled with obstacles.
11 HOME
photo by Leah El-Ouazzane
when my house was built mother buried crystals across the land black tourmaline by the treeline pyrite by the gravel road hematite under the front door runes of protection sealed with sage she’d trace the perimeter with bare feet filling the air with smoke praying under her breathe a terrestrial ritual beneath a full moon she’d say streets are just asphalt meant to be crossed meant to crumble from blades of grass flourishing in its fissures ripe wounds turned verdant scars i always knew drop seeds and dragons blood instead of lawns and landscaping and mother never taught me the word property
most evenings i’d trespass the swaying palm trees beyond my house to dance among the smooth stones to bathe in the cerulean to admire the forest’s emerald green crown because the land knew no bounds besides the ocean and the ocean knew no bounds besides the shore by the time the sky burned orange i’d reach the foliage at the foothills and i’d know to turn back because there are directions in the dirt hidden in its veins and maps in the sky sewn into the constellations
12
trees
cerulean creek forest’s crown knew knew orange back constellations
when i see home i see yucca tall grass a mother lighting sandalwood and i remember that the ground has no name that wire cannot do the job of mountains that signs are as temporary as footsteps washed away by a storm and days eclipsed by midnight that the soil is always humming with music and soaking in the aroma of crushed garlic and that blood is not just ichor but roots
GROUNDING
13
Juliana Guarracino
14
photo by Leah El-Ouazzane
15
16
17
Damla: ok, what was the first thing you guys did this morning?
Laura: I ate some strawberries
Alex: I washed my tattoos
D: What is one thing you would love to master?
L: I wanna master how to cook
A: I would like to be fluent in spanish
D: Where is home?
L: Home for me is in Colorado
A: The South
D: What do you miss about home?
L: I miss going on long walks in the mornings by the mountains
A: Yeah, like being in nature in an open field
D: Whats your favortie book?
L: My favorite book is Song of Solomon by Toni Morrison
A: Invisible Monsters Chuck Palahnuik
D: Favorite movie?
L: I dont really watch movies
A: uh, I guess.. Old boy, old boy is a good movie – the original – not the remake.
D: What was your favorite movie as a kid?
L: Princess Diaries
A: Mighty Morphin Power Rangers, the new movie*
D: What's your coffee order?
L: I dont drink coffee, so tea
A: Yeah me neither, so lemonade?
D: Are you more extroverted or introverted?
L: I think I'm an ambivert… a little bit of both
A: I think I lean… introverted, naturally
D: If you could get a coffee with one person from history, who would it be?
L: I would get coffee with my grandparents
A: Asada Shakur
D: One thing you always leave the house with?
L: I leave the house with a book and a pear, always
A: I always have my NYX Butter Gloss, shade Madeline
D: iconic! What's your favorte spot in New York City?
L: Elizabeth Street Garden
A: love the library by Bryant Park
D: Do you believe in any superstitions?
L: knocking on wood
A: gotta knock
D: What classroom do you have the most classes in?
L&A: Borges!
D: What is your favorite mode of transportation?
L: I like to walk
A; I love a longgg train
D: How tall are you?
L: 5’4
A: 5 feet
D: What are your hobbies?
L: I like to read, I like to write, be outside, and go to cafes
A: I love a graphic novel or making little like, clay trays and trinkets
D: What new hobby do you wanna learn?
L: I just started ceramics class
Here's an excerpt of an interview with our student representatives Alex Chapman were interviewed by Damla Önder. Alex Chapman our Global Site Ambassador. You can see the full
18
A: I do wanna learn to throw pottery
D: How would you describe each other in three words?
L: I would describe Alex as someone who's very bold, someone who, is always genuine, and who makes good things happen, always.
A: You're so kind. I would definitely describe Laura as kind. I would say, flexible, like you're ready for anything, and then, eager, like you always have a great attitude about being ready for anything
D: What is one of your pet peeves?
L: People who walk slow
A: Don't chew loudly
What is your first memory in life?
L: I think mine is spending time at my Dad's restaurant when I was younger
A: I like vividly remember dancing with like my sisters in my mom's bedroom to Boogie Wonderland, or some Earth Wind & Fire song.
D: Who do you look up to in life?
L: I look up to everyone I meet in a different way
A: Probably my sisters but don't tell them that
D: What fictional place would you love to live in?
L: I don't really know if Iwant to live in a fictional place
A: I love the neighborhood from the big comfy couch
D: Any hidden talents?
L: I used to be a busker, like on the streets, and i would play my violin on the streets for like, my whole life growing up
L: What about you?
A: Not as fun as that, but I can count numbers.
I know 25 digits of pi, currently.
Used to be 50.
L: I think you should try it.
A: 3.1415926535897932384626433
D: Amazing!!
L: Awesome
A: dont double check
L: dont, dont check
D: Who is your celebrity crush?
L: Mine is Ocean Vuoung
A: I love Naiomi Scott and Jonny Knoxville
D: What was your first job?
L: I was a violin teacher
A: I was a S.A.T. tutor
D: What is your dream job?
L: I … I dont really think I have one
A: I think i just want to be happy and make enough money to do what I need to do
D: What is your favoirte food to eat?
L : I love sweet potatoes
A: Mac and Cheese
D: Do you have any pets?
L: I do. I have a dog and a snake
A: I don't
D: If you could describe your style in one word what would it be?
L: Simple?
A: Flowy
L: Yes, alex has.. Always has the best skirts, so flowy
A: Thank you. Honestly, you're very elegant and sophisticataed
L: Thanks!
19
representatives at NYU Buenos Aires. Laura Zhang and Chapman is our Global Equity Fellow and Laura Zhang is video interview on our instagram @dahazinenyu.
20
photo by Kris Yang
Afuera
21
Afuera
The idea to write this article started with a giant octopus looking at me from the window. As my bus passed by, I barely managed to see the signature of this mural: Santiago Ortega. After finding his socials, I encountered many other incredibly talented and unique artists working on murals and graffiti. Here are my top three artists whose works I managed to see live on the streets of Buenos Aires.
The work of Santiago Ortega was the first one I saw. His purple octopus on the side of a fish restaurant on the very edge of barrio Palermo Hollywood was the brightest spot of the whole street, and certainly very attractive for the visitors. For this reason, it has become popular for many restaurants, bars and shops, especially in Palermo, to order murals for their buildings’ front facades, which has made the neighborhood so much more lively and colorful.
Looking more through Santiago’s work, I have noticed many elements of nature in his murals. He has done many murals
of various colorful birds, tropical animals and plants. The most captivating part of his work for me has been the style and line work like on the octopus mural, and a great choice of bright contrasting colors. However, Santiago’s work is not only in murals – he has many fun mixed-technique paintings of cities and great tattoos!
I first saw the works of the second artist, Joaquin Torres Zavaleta, also called Bater, on the internet through other artists’ connections and collaborations. However, his unique graffiti made me immediately head to the outskirts of the city to Barrio Parque Chacabuco to see his work live. In his interview with Buenos Aires Street Art, Bater says that his inspirations are 16th-century Flemish masters Pieter Bruegel and Hiëronymus Bosch, and it is definitely very visible in his works. They are surreal, with numerous characters and elements intertwined with each oth-
22
er in seemingly chaotic ways, but creating together a complete picture. Bater also incorporates many natural elements in his works – tropical flowers and plants, as well as some animals and body parts, such as hands, hearts, and eyes. Another very recognizable characteristic feature of Bater’s work is cyclops. In the same interview with Buenos Aires Street Art, Bater says that the eye for him is “a method of communication, a form of interaction between the person who looks at the wall and the wall or the character itself”.
Very often, Bater’s works have an important message and meaning behind them. The graffiti that I managed to see, painted by him and other members of the TNG crew of graffiti artists that he was a part of, was built in 2013 and dedicated to the 30 years of Democracy in Argentina. The artwork is called ‘Libertad y Conciencia’, ‘Freedom and Consciousness’, and all of its elements have a lot of meaning behind it. According to the article Democracia Argentina: Muralismo de THG by Buenos Aires Street Art, the hands represent the work of the men, and the chains – the end of repression, while the traditional argentine animals in the center symbolize the freedom in every environment: water, air and earth illustrated by a surubi fish, a condor and a jaguar respectively. Coming to see the mural, I did not expect much, since it has been 9 years since it was painted. However, it remained bright and colorful, and only a little bit was covered at the bottom with the fresh graffiti of others. Children were playing football right by the wall, on the other side of which I saw a sports club. The graffiti
was under the highway in the middle of the park Chacabuco, and its beauty certainly enhanced the surroundings.
When visiting the international literary festival of Buenos Aires in Centro Cultural Recoleta, I saw a whole room dedicated to the artwork of Cabaio Spirito, another street artist from Buenos Aires, whose characteristic works are made through numerous stencils that combine images, portraits, messages and geometric forms of various bright colors. The room in the cultural center has long become a popular place for aesthetic photos, but the message behind this and many other works of Cabaio Spirito is much more important. He has done numerous works all over the world and was even invited by Bushwick Collective to paint a mural in Brooklyn, New York. In his work in Bushwick, Cabaio portrayed the people that the big cities usually want to hide away, and move from their center to the outskirts: immigrants, transgender people, and refugees. That message makes the viewer look differently at his mural in Centro Cultural Recoleta, where he has portrayed the faces of many Afro Argentines. Cabaio Spirito has also worked on the walls of the stadium of La Boca Juniors, as well as many bars and other public places in Buenos Aires, São Paulo, Salvador de Bahia, Barcelona, Valencia, Mexico, and New York City.
It has been an amazing experience to find out more about the people behind my favorite colorful murals and graffiti in Buenos Aires. Each work was remarkable and unique in its own way, just like the life stories behind them.
23
24
TAME WATER Kris Yang
You walk into water.
In two months, the ducklings will turn gray and brown, the willows will drop their branches, and people will crowd this shore with cigarette butts and alcohol bottles. You desire spring. But you don’t really know about spring. All you have is the cliché of greenness, and the cycle of life and death. The final act will be about this alteration. My body would be nailed on your stage, and you would come out of water, pause in front of me before you leave. The curtain would close. The past is dead and you move on with a new self. That’s how you want us to end – an ode made of my death to your rebirth. We should all enjoy a nice spring day, so I will make your wish come true. I sit down on a rock and stick myself into a steel rod. Its pointy end is warm and moist by my blood. In exchange I wish for a little gift. You have stopped swimming and the water is at your waist. You are waiting for your name, my last line. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. You are giving yourself a standing ovation. I used to believe that my breath for your name would never run out, as if you were part of me. But you, with your confiding glance, soothing voice and soft fingers on my back – you are only the bait that lures me to the final trap. I take another big gulp of air, out comes the ashes of your name. You know how memory works? My memory thinks your name is trash, and dumps it out. In your script, my pitiful mind would be begging you to shed a tear for my wound and hold me in your frosty hands. At the first word and world produced by your heavenly voice, my pain would be replaced by joy. “You fucking slave,” that’s what you would be thinking while I lick my blood off your fingers. And the curtain would close. It’s not easy to tame water, because one can never be the owner of water. It’s wild, free, and never learns to obey. The key is to think of it as a mutual exchange: give what water wants and hope it returns the favor. You must make water dependent on you. You don’t know that water is washing off the color of your face. You don’t know that water is scraping the flesh off your bone. You don’t know that water can be tamed.
25
26
27
photo by Chi-Ting Tsai
29
photo by Leah El-Ouazzane
The Dictatorship. The Dirty War. The Disappeared. Los Centros Clandestinos. Before even learning about what these words meant, I was surrounded by them. In class, in passing, in the media, in casual conversation. The very makeup of the city holds and expresses the memory of these horrific pasts. “Nunca mas”, never again. “Por ahora y siempre”, for now and forever.” These acts of remembrance are acts for truth and for justice. They serve not only to commemorate but to remind. The rhetoric around these acts of memorialization are forceful. The dates 1976 and 1983 are burned into my mind, remembering them more clearly than the wars I learned year after year in school. The very environment and culture is saturated in remembrance, memorial, and repetition. As they bleed through the fabric of the city, another disappearance slips through the cracks to be more than forgotten but buried. Black people have been in Argentina for centuries. Before independence, before the formation of a unified nation, before its very name was codified, they’d been here. Among modern rhetoric such as all Argentines “son de los barcos”, the heavy racializing of neighbors like Brazil, and the prideful claim of being 97% European, the truth that Argentina was once almost 40% seems anything but fact. This transformation from fact to the unbelievable was no accident. In a contemporary culture defined by memory, when it came to afroidentidad, the goal was to leave no trace. Afrodescendientes were segregated into sectors of cities where death was imminent. To force a whitening of the country, it is said that as President, Sarmiento entered military operations he knew would be lost in order to be conscripting Black men to their deaths. In the late 1800s, when the national census was being developed, it was decided afroidentidad would be excluded due to their supposed low and therefore irrelevant numbers. After nearly two centuries, it wasn’t until this year that afrodescendientes were
finally included on the census. It wasn’t until this year that afroidentidad could be claimed and recognized on official, national documents. It wasn’t until this year that the “97%” was called into question on such a scale. There’s a sort of cognitive dissonance I see play out everyday. One moment, I’m walking through Parque de la Memoria, a physical space bringing the Disappeared back to the light, only to then come back to school that same day and hear of a professor who says racism doesn’t exist in Argentina, seemingly forgetting how active a process disappearing is. These claims are heard everywhere–there’s no racism in Argentina, there’s no black people in Argentina, that doesn’t exist here. How can the culture and people who birthed such giants of Argentine culture like tango simply not exist? How can one remember their products yet forget their presence? How can one do that forgetting in a country where memory defines history’s presence in the contemporary world? We forget all the time. Memory isn’t a locked box. Things fall and fade just as they remain or are rebuilt. Consciously and unconsciously, we reorganize and shift, make room for more, make room for new, or make room for better. In a society soaking in memory–deliberate, conscious, and loud–forgetting appears as a choice. It is not the simple, slow dripping of a faucet coming to quiet over time but a forceful twist of a knob to silence and suppress. If what Argentina has done for the crimes of the dictatorship is pry eyes open, what it’s done for afrodescendientes is wrap its hands around their throats to stifle the smallest of breaths. Yet, even in this suffocation, afroidentidad screams out. The very act of existence loosens the grip, twists the knob. The very sound of rushing water from the pipes before it exits is enough to be evidence of presence. It is that presence that exposes the “forgetting” for what it truly is, that forces a harsh memory preferred to be kept hidden.
Alex Chapman
31
32
33
photo by Chi-Ting Tsai
@DAHAZINENYU
photo by Leah El-Ouazzane
photo by Chi-Ting Tsai
