FEMINAL
growth
FEMINAL
growth
the creatives behind
FEMINAL Nastasia Delmedico editor-in-chief & publisher Theresa Rosenhall editor Stefy illustrator ig: @5tefyy
Special thanks to: Joe Delmedico Silvana Delmedico Jessica Laurenza Stephanie Criminisi Alexandra Muia Alyssa Vinci Mohamed Mahrous
EDITORIAL NOTE
NO PORTION OF THIS MAGAZINE MAY BE REPRINTED, DUPLICATED OR TRANSMITTED WITHOUT THE WRITTEN PERMISSION OF THE PUBLISHER. SUBMISSIONS ARE MADE AT THE RISK OF THE SENDER; FEMINAL MAGAZINE WILL ASSUME NO LIABILITY FOR LOSS OR DAMAGE. OPINIONS EXPRESSED IN FEMINAL MAGAZINE ARE THOSE OF THE AUTHORS AND DO NOT NECESSARILY REFLECT THE VIEWS OF THE PUBLISHER. FEMINAL MAGAZINE DOES NOT ASSUME LIABILITY FOR CONTENT.
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the
writers of
growth Abigail Zerr ig: @rainbow__ink Emsi Whitney ig: @emsiwhitney Fatma Shaban Heala Maudoodi ig: @m_heala Jinan Safko ig: @jinansafko Kathy Hamidovic ig: @kategorical_poet N. Collins Marie F.e. ig: @f.e.marie Miriam Hechtman ig: @_fourlines_ ig: @poeticabondi ig: @wonderwomenglobal Ria Chakraborty ig: @ria17sep Shaza Elnour ig: @shaza.elnour Zahra Rizvi ig: @zaaraofthesea
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4 the creatives behind FEMINAL
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the writers of growth
7 publisher's note poetry . . . Cul-de-sac
Kathy Hamidovic
shrink to grow Emsi Whitney
bruised bloom Emsi Whitney
becoming
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Abigail Zerr
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how do i tell you? Abigail Zerr
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Uprising
Ria Chakraborty
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Flow like the water of life Heala Maudoodi
wanderlust Marie F.e.
dreams
Marie F.e.
The Message
Miriam Hechtman
Dear Letter P
Miriam Hechtman
A Lesson on Self-Love Shaza Elnour
the feeding N. Collins
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life writing . . . 24 Growing Old
Fatma Shaban
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short stories . . . 28 The Yin and Yang of it Zahra Rizvi
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question & answer with jinan sakfo. . .
Want to be in the next volume of Feminal? Flip to page 35 to find out how!
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#feminalmagazine
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the publisher's note growth
To say that a lot has changed this year would be an understatement. I met a new kind and caring person, moved out of my parents' house, found a new job, and celebrated the engagements of some of my oldest friends. To say this all happened with minor speed bumps would also be an understatement. With all this change, comes growth—in several of shapes and sizes; it’s a process that you can count on throughout one’s life no matter what. Sometimes we grow further into the same, old habits, and other times we grow out of the person we were yesterday. In either case, growth is an inevitable—often times uncomfortable—course. This issue includes poetry reminiscent of healing, a short story, and a new Question and Answer feature with one of Instagram’s rising Insta-poets. Here’s to a third issue of reading stories.
Nastasia Delmedico Editor-in-Chief / Publisher
#feminalmagazine
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p o e t r y
i would give my eyes pictures of you to keep the watercourse from drying out. i’ve returned to the stream many times since you’ve left, unaware that you still hold rights to the channel in dryness and in flow.
Cul-de-sac
By Kathy Hamidovic Remember the chalk? Drawing silly faces on sidewalks? On an empty cul-de-sac street? “Cul-de-sac” sounded so roseate then, But the road kept circling back. Remember the chalk, Drawing boring history on boards? And the hard chairs where we dared To ignore those drawn-out lessons? Thus, the road kept circling back. Remember the chalk, Drawing parallel lines between us? We wiped it madly on ourselves, Yet the dust never settled, And the road kept circling back. Remember the chalk— Drawing, with time's hand, around us, Slowly lowering our acidity; We all connect were things began, So the road keeps circling back.
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#feminalmagazine
poetry / growth
shrink to grow
By Emsi Whitney the first time i understood that i was unwanted came like an omen in the night. my mother walked the hall between the rooms of her children, peering into the darkness at the shadowed faces breathing softly against cartoon character pillows. every night i would lie awake. my eyelids hovering with the heaviness of a moment unfinished. her footsteps split the quiet in half. my tiny body—child-scent, messy hair, missing teeth— would tremble like a well-beaten dog. waiting. i could hear her stop and linger in the doorways of my brother and sister, her love for them quietly filling the empty space of the corridor. a sense of feeling spilling from the cracks in her as she watched. enthralled by the sleeping beasts of her creation. my pulse rose on a herd of wild stallions. i could taste the moment of her interest like salt on my tongue. her feet moved toward the staircase. 1, 2, 3, 4
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#feminalmagazine
my door was the only one left. a gaping maw spread wide in hope. my child’s heart nearly burst as it beat. she stopped for a moment and the electric charge in my lungs crackled, robbing me of breath in my chest. i lay very still in my bed. her shadow dipped into the darkness of my room and disappeared there. her fingers closed on the doorknob. slowly the pocket of light from the hall slipped away. there was no warmth. no craving to hold and cradle. my room was a puddle of inky black. and i curled into myself. every night, like the shiny, brown millipedes i’d found beneath rocks. fading into nothing just as she wanted. if i shrunk enough maybe one day the door would stay open.
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poetry / growth
bruised bloom
By Emsi Whitney i unload my mind at a table with a sticky circle of coffee on it. whispering poems that have clung to my dry throat. my hands grab at each other— the only friends i’ve known in a long time. all of the stories spilling out burn as they come up. they could be poison or antidote. messiahs preaching the peace of my heart. bards who have almost forgotten how to sing. whose voices have grown ugly in the dark. angry weather set loose on an unsuspecting landscape. at night i lie on my back feeling my spine. my fingers, the place where my heart disappears inside a cage. i have bitten my lips for too long. i have given up springtime. you listen with a face like winter. wanting me to stay cold forever. i can only recite the song of my genus, crying for yellow sunshine on these frost-bruised petals. i must trim myself to grow.
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#feminalmagazine becoming
By Abigail Zerr the weight you carry is necessary how else do you plan on becoming a mountain?
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poetry / growth
how do i tell you? By Abigail Zerr
how do i tell you that i have grown out of this love? it is three sizes too small. and if i continue to wear it my lungs will shift like continents.
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#feminalmagazine Uprising
By Ria Chakraborty A frail seedling curls its nimble thumbs into the mist-drenched soil and sways with the pine-scented gushes of wind as the warm sunrays grace its childhood of innocence and playful monsoons. Newborn smiles scatter across the riverside valleys. At springtime, a fragrant aura envelops the sky. Blackening skies coupled with orange-hued streaks of lightning, immerse the world in an ocean of bottomless despair. The cracking spines of the earth threaten to uproot dreamers but, the thunderstorm leaves braver souls behind. An uprising accompanies the summertime butterflies; for the most vibrant flowers vanquish the harshest of hurricanes.
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poetry / growth
Flow like the water of life By Heala Maudoodi
Behold how easily it is to be disheartened— You amongst everyone would presumably know best— Craving a love so deep, reckless, and free, Would be an ocean relentlessly failing to fill your cup. The hunt for a soulmate was ever so preposterous, but To bestow one’s weight on another’s shoulders is blissful. Trust every word they say, for like gratifying jewels, They have high value and rare to be uncovered, Eyes that wouldn’t betray their words or intent, For such hearts would be undeniably pure, Attempting to place such a ruling upon a soul But again, and again, failure isn’t overruled. Encountering all native beauty to be overthrown By devilish, monstrous egos that seize control, Was it I who committed wrong by entrusting? Or my fate to have no other converse my tongue? Like two yearning mountains never touching, our Love never did effortlessly flow like the water of life.
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#feminalmagazine wanderlust
By Marie F.e. Her roaming spirit asks her to leave. To leave this comfort. Instead, to wake up in towns she doesn't know, To have conversations in languages she doesn't speak, To eat food she had yet to taste. Her soul craves an adventure that lasts a lifetime. She hopes to entangle with foreign hearts, And never break free.
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poetry / growth
dreams
By Marie F.e. Under the moon Michelangelo painted the Sistine Chapel, And Shakespeare wrote Romeo and Juliet. Under the same moon Cleopatra became the first female ruler in Egypt, And Van Gogh painted the Starry Night. And you, my love, what are you planning to do to honor this moon?
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#feminalmagazine The Message
By Miriam Hechtman She was the messenger And now she’s become the message. There is skin to be shed There are truths to be told.
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poetry / growth
Dear Letter P
By Miriam Hechtman You have let us down With your prison of patriarchy, patriotism, and policing— Give us passion, people power, and peace, Give us poetry. Give us popcorn and poppy petals, Passion fruit and paper planes, You can keep your prim and proper, Your prom queens, kings, and princesses. Prepare for the people’s revolution— Price that on your parking pay machine. Let’s pay it forward to the precious, To the players waiting to be picked, Let’s pray for the persecuted pencils that stopped professing, Let’s protest the privilege that pervades our public system. Give us pride without the prejudice, A president who is not a prick, Protect us from polite politics, Passive aggression perpetuates what is sick. Pave the way for the people’s performance, Void of promise of a pretty paradise, No more push or pull please, Present us with a parallel paradigm. Polly has put the kettle on, She’s got the pressure at boiling point, The patriarchy no longer polarizes the people, We are privy to its pretense and perversion. So dear letter P, I offer you my presence, This pussy is a poet And I have spoken.
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#feminalmagazine A Lesson in Self-Love By Shaza Elnour
I drank tea for the first time without sugar, then looked at myself for the first time without the sweet, outer coating. Now, when my mother and sisters tell me “I love you,” I unlearn the habit of unravelling the letter “I,” stop myself from picking apart “love,” and learn to hold the “you” whole in my mouth. Admiration is no longer in question. I am relearning the ways to add strength into my diet— sitting patiently— until I’m laced with toughness, inside and out. Never do I forget to exfoliate, to soften and soothe my soul, to be gentle to myself. Who would have thought that adding these things into my own regime of self-love, would work just like sugar.
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poetry / growth
the feeding By N. Collins
i water myself with the same muddy puddles of a 5-year-old storm.
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i’ve been told to practice letting go
and all i can do is learn how to play with a boomerang
#feminalmagazine
i’ve been told to practice letting go
life writing
and all i can do is learn how to play with a boomerang
#feminalmagazine Growing Old
By Fatma Shaban Most people think that growing old is an agony; most ladies even try to hide their real age. But growing old can add value to your life in more ways than one. With age comes confidence; you will no longer find yourself bending to the decisions of others who dissuade you from your own. Conflicts with others are less frequent, as individual ego is no longer inflamed. Most of your responsibilities towards your children are much less in nature; although you are always a parent first, you can now be a friend too. Your body will change, that is true. But good things can grow from unfavorable situations. As a doctor, I know that if you develop atherosclerosis due to the physiological wear and tear of blood vessels, hypertension is likely the result. Yet, this condition has a great advantage on your health because it leads to the reduction of blood supply to the parts of your brain that crave addictive traits. With age, you live with fewer cravings— satisfied with much less. Patience, wisdom, and experience are things you carry with ease and share every day. Your partner used to snore and keep you up at night. But you learn to love the things in people that you once disliked, as you understand that people—much like life—are temporary, only here for so long. Long ago your car was second hand, but you were always in a hurry, very speedy or even reckless. Now, with a new car, you drive slowly, cautiously, and become mindful of all you can lose. Experience has taught you the fragility of life and everything in it. That growing old is a privilege in and of itself. It drives mercy out of us. What an advantage.
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life writing / growth
Have a life writing piece you want to share? Email feminalmagazine@gmail.com to submit your work.
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s h o r t s to r i e s
they claim to treat you better than most by comparing themselves to those who have treated you poorly, pulling you towards them for comfort during discomfort, but who is in control of this swing?
#feminalmagazine The Yin and Yang of it By Zahra Rizvi
In one of the abandoned rooms of the Community Centre behind Mother Dairy, the women of Lodhi Colony assemble twice every month to talk. They call it the W.E. Workshops where “W.E.” stands for Women Empowerment and their collective effort for it. The number of members is never the same. When it started the turnout was huge. Then, interest decreased, only to rise again shortly after. Everyone is allowed access except for men. As a member, you can listen, talk, and lead. Judgement is never passed—at least, that’s what everyone says. Today’s meeting at Lodhi Colony is special. “These meetings have been going on for some time and this current batch of attendees have been regular,” says Mrs. Verma. “We all agree we have felt a change. We trust each other and that’s success. I think the next step should be helping each other. So, bring forth your confessions and your sisters will help.” There is applause and the self-processed leader of the sisterhood is happy. A silence begins which is strangely taut with tension. Nobody wants to start. “Okay…I broke my husband’s antique family heirloom-vase and I don’t know how to tell him,” confesses Mrs. Verma. Several other confessions follow, until young Mrs. Juneja’s stands out: “My husband wants to join this group.” Some women laugh. Other are silent. “He asks me about the meetings and he’s sure that not only could he help, but also benefit from them. He is a Gender Studies teacher. His friends are also interested so I was wondering if we could let them come…for… one…” Mrs. Juneja lowers her voice as she catches the glare of many puzzled members. The woman cutting bitter gourds into even pieces by the window laughs. “But, darling, this is a Women’s Empowerment Workshop. What will men do here? Tell your man to do something better on his weekends.” Mrs. Juneja looks around for support and, not finding any, nods slowly. Before another question can be asked, Naqvi ma’am speaks up. “Why shouldn’t we allow men to come to our meetings? Maybe educating them would be a good idea for a change.” Mrs. Verma clears her throat. “Maybe we could try that.” At first, a handful agrees. The others look unsure. Here, for once, they are not wives or mothers, they are women. Letting in men would break the illusion of utopia this room brings and they don’t want that. However, as soon as they realize the illusion, they want it to be real. They want to be themselves outside of this room and in their homes.
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short stories / growth
Finally, the last piece of bitter gourd is cut and the last woman in the room shrugs. “Fine. It’s time to give them a chance to improve, I suppose. God knows, mine could do with it.” Chairs shuffle and drag against the floor after the decision is reached. Roshni, who was sitting away from the windows, smiles as she leaves. Maybe next time she would tell them that she liked girls and not boys. Maybe, next time.
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4am & i uncurl from my velvet self dislocate all the wounded parts install new limbs in my half sleep sometimes i wake with the usual shoreline but often wake up foreign without softness and then with i register the loss wait for something to root along my strange borders and somewhere i make fruit & self-sustain.
jinan safko question & answer with
feature q&a / growth Tell us a little bit about yourself. I am Philippine-born, raised in Virginia and currently live in Toronto. I am passionate about writing especially with poetry and the way its small margins cannot contain the thickness in their meaning. I am a handful of languages I am learning to take to mouth. I am finishing up my first poetry book to be published in the later year. I am also in love with film and learning its craft, and this year I will be in a short film written and directed by a dear friend of mine. When did you first start to write? I’ve been writing since as long as I can remember! My earliest memory of writing was when my parents gifted me a children’s toy tape recorder, and I would sit on the floor of my room crafting a story I could record and play back to them. I think they still have the little cassette tapes in storage somewhere, so it’s safe to say I’ve been writing since then. Where do you draw your inspiration from? Do your ideas spring to you late at night, or come to you early in the morning? I think most of my inspirations come from a need to analyze and make sense of whatever feeling I’m going through as a form of some meditative healing. I definitely draw from other sources like locations, moments, the people I talk to, and things I read, but my best ideas happen when I’m listening to music on my bed and really being able to just vibe with what is on my mind emotionally, physically, etc. I think some of my better poems came really late at night or right before sunrise.
I think crafting a poem is like painting—the artist is particular with the paints and brushes they use —which is why I am very aware with my word choices, the way I phrase things, and even the spaces inside the poem. I go through about 5 or more edits depending on how long of a poem it first started out. Do you have a favourite writer? If I had to really pick just one favourite writer it would definitely be Sylvia Plath, my first love. She has such strong mastery and control over word usage, and I only wish I could have her same strength! I also have a great love for Nayyirah Waheed and Warsan Shire. I could go on about them both. Warsan for the beautiful tapestry she weaves for each poem and Nayyirah for the way she plays with words, makes the words heavy and turns it into something more. What is your favourite piece you’ve ever written? Has there been a difficult piece to write? Well, I’m constantly challenging myself to evolve as a better writer so my favourite poem at the moment is the recent one about self-love and the cycle of that act. I wrote that around sunrise and didn’t completely love it until the afternoon. I tend to write my poems in a place of patience and letting it rest when I can’t do much with it. I try not to get frustrated and let it come together when it wants to so I haven’t exactly crossed a difficult poem yet.
What does your writing process look like? I tried keeping everything in a journal before, but my writing is too disorganized for that! I have all my notes and journal entries in my phone and laptop now, and I guess it saves trees this way, but I do love that romantic feel of writing on paper. My writing process starts with some stream of consciousness writing, and then letting it rest before reading through my old notes and entries so I could find something I connect with to build on that. I love smaller poems so I constantly condense lines as much as possible without losing what I am trying to convey.
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#feminalmagazine What advice do you have for young, female writers? Honestly, the best advice I could give is something a close friend of mine gave me and that is to just write what is in your heart, on your mind, and keep writing and you’ll grow along the way. Don’t be afraid of your ability to grow with your art! Top 3 female writers you follow—go! @wairimu_das_schonste_madchen @hennapoetry @soyenwrites — I love them! They are amazing writers in their own right and such great inspiration. Is it difficult to separate yourself from your work? Yes and no because, while all my poems are drawn from my life in one way or another, I allow myself to write with an objective stand point where I am the writer looking through and analyzing that feeling inside me. I suppose writing for me is a form of closure.
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feature q&a / growth
Any remedies for writer’s block? Yes! If you have writer’s block, stream of consciousness works wonders for me or just immerse yourself into the world whether in the form of books, films, art, people, or even the mundane things in life! I think experiencing life and displacing yourself into something new can help a writer’s block. It’s like stagnation and your body is asking you to grow. What does growth mean to you? I think of growth as a cycle. There is a certain reaction you get being in the world, and you have to be able to bring that internally and figure out what good you can do with it. You have to be strong for it, and I think fearlessness is a muscle you have to exercise. It’s a kind of balancing act making sure the world doesn’t eat you alive while also finding nourishment by taking what the world gives you and turning that into sunlight.
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FEMINAL
love
Submissions for Volume 4: Love are now open. Visit feminalmagazine.com for submission guidelines.