Flawless Mag - The Future Issue by Flawless Mag

FLAWLESS MAG

ISSUE 8 SPRING 2019

THE FUTURE ISSUE 1

Editor in Chief Sydney Logan

Assistant Editor Niki Hester

Layout By Flawless Writes Tiffany Carbon Emily Cardona Harriet Chan TJ Coste Skylar Figaro AZ Nowell Leah Heath Niki Hester Erica Jones Jacqueline Menjivar Shruti Rajkumar

Cover Shoot By:

Vivien Liu with Jacqueline Menjivar

Creative Director Sydney Logan

Assisted By

Marquelle Bell

Flawless Brown is an artist collective and sisterhood for self identifying women and femmes of color based at Emerson College in Boston, MA. We aim to develop socially conscious art while forming sisterly bonds.

FLAWLESS BROWN EXECUTIVE BOARD SPRING 2019

Jasmine WIlliams President

Hanna El-Mohandes Chair of Pictures

Sydney Logan Chair of Writes

Caroline Rodriguez Vice President

Issel Solano-Sanchez Chair of Stage

Nina Rodriguez Chair of Comedy

Annie Hinh Secretary/Treasurer

Jacqueline Menjivar Chair of Sisterhood

Laura Frometa Chair of Marketing

LETTER FROM THE EDITOR The future can be scary. It is uncertain, unplanned, and impossible to fully grasp. When I was given the responsibility to be the editor-in-chief of Flawless mag, I was terrified to be given the task of producing this vital magazine. I was uncertain. I felt like I did not have a plan. And a magazine was impossible to grasp. But I was able to make this work of art with a board that redefines sisterhood and members who represent the future of what it means to be a creative. The theme was chosen for two reasons. One, this year marks Flawless Brown’s fifth anniversary on Emerson’s campus. For five years, Flawless has challenged what it means to be a woman of color in various industries and to different works of art. Secondly, I wanted to use this magazine to remind everyone who reads it that whenever the fight feels futile, that there is nothing left, there is always the future to look to. Thank you to our founder for creating Flawless and giving us all a voice. To our past presidents and our current, Jasmine, thank you for supporting this project through thick and thin. Jalyn, you have been an amazing support system even though you are an ocean away; you are the best soul sister I could ask for. Thank you to the Board of Flawless for holding me up and keeping me up during this process. And finally, to my Flawless Writes team, thank you, and remember: the future is yours. With all my love, forever and always, Sydney Looking back at my first year at Emerson, Flawless Brown stands out as a bright spot. I’ve loved getting to spend nights surrounded by other women of color, getting to learn, laugh and grow together over the course of the year. I’m forever thankful for Flawless for giving me a home among so many amazingly talented people. I’m also especially thankful for Sydney for being an amazing leader and supporting all of us throughout this entire, sometimes incredibly difficult, process. This semester’s theme is Future. I couldn’t help but smile when I heard that because it feels incredibly appropriate. I am so excited for the future of Flawless Brown and all the time that I’ll get to spend being apart of the amazing work and bonding that goes on here. I have so much love for all the love that this organization radiates. Love, Niki FLAWLESS BROWN flawlessbrown.com // facebook.com/FlawlessBrownEC flawlessbrown2014@gmail.com // @flawless_brown_EC on Instagram 3

TABLE OF CONTENTS 1

To The Future by Sky Figaro

The Future of a Nation by Erica Jones

A Letter to the Girl I Used To Be by Niki Hester

Girls of the 21st Century by Caroline Rodriguez

Museums in the 22nd Century by Sydney Logan

Error 404 by TJ Coste

12 The Future of Beauty Is Brown by Anna Maria Coste 13 Dream Big Little Black Girl by Sabrina Wigfall 15 Eastern Standard Time by Leah Heath 17 iUgly by Emily Cardona 19 Glow Green by AZ Nowell

TABLE OF CONTENTS 21 Future Photoshoot by Vivien Liu & Jacqueline Menjivar 29 Eeverything We Lose by Ximena Delgato 31 East Boston: A Neighborhood in Flux by Jacqueline Menjivar 35 Dear Me: A Letter to Myself by Shruti Rajkumar 37 Anger by Harriet Chan 38 Realizations by Erica Jones 39 This Pale Institution / Ancestral Offering by Ilina Ghosh 41 Little Black Girl by Danny Johnson 42

Future of Women in Media by Tiffany Carbon

The Future of My Heritage by Tiffany Carbon

2020 Vision by Harriet Chan

To the Future By: Skylar Figaro

The future I know it may be scary, but remember you’re the only person who can control where your life will go. All the fears, tears, and struggles will be worth it when you succeed in finding happiness. Remember, dreams don’t come true just by sleeping, so, go out there and get it. Never tell yourself no, so many people will tell you no, please don’t be one of them. I know time is always passing by, but remember to take deep breaths, admire the world around you. Stop apologizing for how you feel, and give yourself mental breaks, you can’t save everyone and lose yourself in the process Don’t rush yourself because of others around you, we at times push our timing and envy the success of those around us, while finding celebration in their struggle. Everyone struggles, take your time, life isn’t a race Life starts when you get out of your comfort zone, it may be shaky, but if you’re doing it You’re already winning Lastly, don’t stand in front of yourself Stop telling yourself, your going to wait until tomorrow or the weekend Live and go get what you want today, whether it’s writing, exercising, shit even drinking water If you keep telling yourself to wait your just stopping yourself from achieving shit, there is never going to be a moment when things are going to be perfect for us to just do something We have to make the moment and take it This is our future And my message, to the future.

The Growth of a Nation...

It started with slavery. Henry, Tituba, Harriet. Frederick, Robert, William. Ellen, Olaudah, and Nat.

Included some lynchings. Moore, Jesse, Mary. Charles, George, the Scottsboro. Thomas, Abram, and Emmett.

Led to segregation. Little Rock Nine, Jim Crow, Brown vs. Board. Ruby Bridges, Julia Burns, Willie Jenkins. Plessy vs. Ferguson, Bolling vs. Sharpe, and Sweatt vs. Painter

Turned into government loopholes. Samuel, Terence, Sandra. Freddie, Walter, Tamir. Philando, Alton, and Eric.

Silenced the bold. Martin, Rosa, Jackie. Malcolm, Thurgood, Booker. Obama, Ella, and Maya.

Now where is the future for our people? When is equality going to be reached? The future is in our hands. Who is next?

By: Erica Ashli Jones

New Message To: The Woman I Want To Be

I can see you in the distance. I’m just barely able to make out the way you hold yourself, so much more confident than nowadays. I can see the outline of your hair that you let float freely around your shoulders now that you no longer care what everyone thinks of you. I think I can make out a smile on your face, a real one that reaches your eyes. That might just be wishful thinking. I hope that it isn’t. I remember back when I had no idea what kind of woman you would be. It was nice to feel like my future was spread out before me like a deck of cards, to feel like I could choose whichever one I wanted and it would be magical. I know who you are now. I know the things you have achieved, and the things that you are still working towards. It’s scarier this way, but you’re showing me that it is worth it.

Cc Bcc When I’m discouraged I think about you. I imagine you coming home after a long day and no matter how much your exhaustion fills you up there is still room for contentment. I know you’re happy with where you are, and I know you’re excited about where you are going. Most of all I know you’re proud. I know you’re proud of the little girl that we used to be for not being afraid to have big dreams. And I know you’re proud of me for not giving up on those dreams no matter how overwhelmed I feel.

I cannot wait to be you, Niki Hester

Photographed by Caroline Rodriguez

Museums in the 22nd Century

There aren’t any security guards. They don’t need them anymore. No one wants to steal this stuff. Who would buy them? Who would admit to wanting them? No one sits at the ticket desk either. No tickets to sell. You can come and go as you please If you so choose. Everything is set up to look new Like someone has taken care To get everything ready for homeowners Who are never coming back after a long vacation.

All that is left is forgotten kings And silent warriors And stone witches. Stories are left untold And masks are no longer lifted To reveal a land That is threatened to be lost. The building lays forgotten Holding permanent fixtures In a world forever changing.

But there’s a heavy layer of dust On the stairs And the windows And the sculptures. The air is stale and rough and old. The wonder is gone. The magic is gone. The love is gone.

Sydney Logan

{

ERROR 404: CATEGORY NOT FOUND

/* By TJ Coste

}

{A mechanical voice rang through the sterile waiting room. “Appointment 022104.” A glowing set of numbers projected onto the glass box that was the receptionist’s desk flickered to reflect this announcement. } One of the six waiting patients rose and approached the desk. The receptionist turned to greet them, scanning them from head to toe. His practiced, pleasant expression faltered when his gaze locked onto the narrow road of amber light that stretched between the patient’s right eye and ear. -> ”Did you have difficulty finding the android wing? It’s only a few turns down another hall. I can send someone to escort you.” [The patient shook their head. “My name is Alex Guzman. I’m here to see Dr. Freed.” ] -> “Do you have a model number that comes with that name? I can look to see what sort of mix-up happened in registration,” he said. He turned away from them and brushed his hand through the light construct in front of him. -> “I’m a human, sir.” -> “I’ll need to confirm that. Place your hand against the glass. The human-looking one.” [Alex pried their left hand free from their pocket and pressed it to the glass. Small circles framed their fingertips and palm, spinning slowly as the program worked to process their information. The yellow light cast a gold glow on their brown skin. When the spinning stopped, all six circles flashed red. A low beep sounded behind the glass.] -> “Can you try again? With the android arm?” {This attempt caused another flash of red and a pair of beeps in rapid succession. They sounded sharper, urging Alex to return their hands to their pockets as fast as they could. “I can input my information manually. I know it all by heart.” } 14-> “Of course you would. That’s what androids are for.”

-> “That’s not what I mean. This happens a lot, I like to be ready for it.” Alex recited a set of numbers associated with their history at the hospital. {The receptionist took a long moment to reply with, ”Place both of your hands against the glass. I can’t let you into the offices without confirming your reason for being here.” } -> “I included that with my registration.” -> “Do you want to miss your appointment? Dr. Freed is very busy, as you should know, and I don’t think she has another open slot for several months.” { Alex rested both hands against the glass, touching one fingertip at a time, then both palms. This rejection was the fastest; the entire wall of glass lit with red, and a deep keening sound rang through the room. Alex stepped back and grasped their hands behind them. } The receptionist didn’t get a chance to give them more orders. Dr. Freed’s face appeared in the window of the waiting room’s doors. They slid apart to let her through so she could wave to Alex. -> “I’ll take care of this, Scott. Thank you for your efforts. Alex, follow me.” } {They took a seat beside the door of her office as she shut it. “I have excellent news for you. A real solution. We’ve developed a cloning procedure for finer pieces.” When Alex said nothing, she continued, “We can give you a human right arm and left leg and finally a human ear and eye that will connect to human nerves! If you make it out, you’ll have no more problems interfacing or be doubted for your classification.” } [Alex shifted to face her and folded their right arm over their right leg. “Is this all you called me in for?”] {Her posture sagged. “Alex, please consider it. Think of how much easier it would make your life. Don’t you want to be recognized and understood by your own kind? I don’t think you’ve ever interfaced successfully. How difficult does that make your relationships? Or friendships?” -> “I wouldn’t know. I’ve had to make do without it,” they said. -> “Doesn’t it wear you down?” she asked. -> “Sometimes. But it’s not a problem with me,” they said.

{She straightened and covered their right hand with hers. “Alex. The check-in system thought you were a virus.” } -> “Then its program needs to be corrected. Why is that never an option?” They pulled their hand from underneath hers and slid it into their pocket. “Why am I expected to risk my life to fix a problem that isn’t mine?” [She drew back, hands folded in her lap. “You can’t expect the entire world to change just for you. That isn’t how things work.”] {Alex bristled, and the road of light connecting their right eye and ear pulsed rapidly. A visible heartbeat. -> “I’m not asking the entire world to change. I’m asking for my own people to put any amount of effort toward understanding me. If humans can interface with androids, why is it too much to ask that they extend the same courtesy to one of their own? I was born, just like you were. It isn’t my fault my body is like this. I never asked for it, but I won’t give up my life for the chance to change it just because it makes other people uncomfortable.” } {Dr. Freed’s frown was sad. The same pitying kind they had received countless times before. “What, then, do you intend to do about it? It sounds to me that you don’t want my help anymore.” } -> “I’m writing my own interfacing program. I have been for over a year. You’re right. I can’t expect others to make room for me on their own. They never will.” [They brought their right arm up to tap their temple, where the road of light split to bridge their senses together.] -> “I have to be the one to demand the space that should already belong to me. I am a human being, even if that doesn’t always come across.” -> “And you think people will agree to this? No one likes having their world views challenged. Your good intentions may not matter,” she said. [Alex stood. -> “That’s for me to find out. I have to find a way to live the life I’ve been given. I don’t need fixing. I’m not broken. I just need to inform everyone else of the truth I already know.”] } 16

The Future of Beauty

Is Brown

Dream Big Little Black Girl By: Sabrina Wigfall

She lies awake at night, Wild kinks brash against the sheets, Imagining a simpler time... One that is full of peace, Dream big little black girl, Her dark skin bathes in the moon’s light, As she searches for herself in the dark, Lost in her own mind, As she lives inside someone else’s dream, But not in her own reality, Dream big little black girl, She can see a future, One that’s filled with glee, Smiling and living her own dream, Running her toes through the sand, Laughing a laugh that is so deep, Contouring those round cheeks, Basking in that light, A light that was once so far, But now so close, Dream big little black girl,

Relieving herself of trauma, Forgiving those around her, Learning to love herself, And breaking free of those chains, Swim fast little fish! Dreaming of a dream bigger than her own, Retrieving her youth, That was rightfully her own, Seeking happiness and joy, Because she deserves nothing more, Her thoughts? Hopeful, Her dreams? Lucid, And her voice? Resilient, Her dreams are coming sooner than she thinks, So close she could almost taste it, That girl? That girl is me, Flowers bloom in the spring, As I will, I will be reborn and succeed as I please, Future me I hope you can hear me, Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m almost there, Drink me in! Feed me your light, And watch me flourish ... overnight, Dream big little black girl

Eastern Standard Time Leah Heath

Currently an East Coaster, however, I was born and raised on the West Coast. I’ve seen the sun set into the water and rise up from the other end, the start of a new day. My mountains are further but I’ll at least always know where they’re at. But let’s take it back a bit… The last time my mother drove me anywhere was to the airport; it’ll be the last place she drives me to for awhile. Who knows how long it will take for our paths to cross again. We’ve resolved to just knowing it will happen, one day. We arrive. I get out of the passenger’s side of the car, and retrieve my rose gold luggage from the trunk. We had to make our goodbye quick and sweet, lest the traffic control guy blow his whistle at us, like he did to that family over there. “Text me when you board and land,” my mom says to me. “I love you.” No tears. “Ok, love you too,” I reply. I turn to go into the airport with my life in the luggage beside me. I hear a honk and turn to see my mom, raised eyebrows and holding my drink up and she mouths, Do You Want This?! I mouth back, No, and wave my hand, Turning to go into the airport for real this time. I successfully make it through TSA and have hours to wait, then board my plane. More hours later, I land in Chicago’s O’Hare International Airport, infamous for its flight connections. I have officially jumped two hours ahead in time; without having the need for my feet to be touching solid ground. This light feeling of walking through a doorway, only to find yourself in a different place entirely buzzes through me. A time travel in and of itself. I text my mom that I’ve landed, and keep traveling. I find some food and continue to the next gate that will take me to my sister living on the East coast. I walk, I sit, I eat, I get up, I board. This flight being much shorter than the first, I’m now in my final destination’s time zone. Three hours into the future. I forgot to text my mom when I landed. My sister picks me up, and it wasn’t until I was settled for bed that I remembered to contact her. Since I’m three hours ahead I have come to the conclusion that I can call my mom at midnight. It may be an ungodly hour for me, but not for the rest of my family on the West coast. And so I call, “Leah!” “Hey mom, guess what?!” “What?” “I time traveled.” It’s odd really if you think about it. I am constantly three hours in the future. I’ll always be three hours older. When I turn 20 my twin will still be 19. I’m having dinner, meanwhile my family at home probably had lunch not long ago. I ring in the new year with the ball drop instead of the fireworks bursting off the Space Needle. Here I’m stuck in this futuristic time setting where I have to be an adult and find my own way out in this world. Living three hours ahead changes a lot. If you think about it, plug-in outlets are upside down. No more carpeted houses, everyone lives with sleek shiny hardwood floors. Rain piles up and up here, feeling like I’m standing in a river that I didn’t ask for. Roads feel smaller, prices are lower, and the future is cold. So cold. I cover myself with my pile among piles of blankets and smile. I laugh silently to myself, I’m a time traveler. 21

iUgly The new genration of ugly Hideous. In every way. Here’s to the ugly ones, the black, the brown, the white passing, the tall, and the too fat to fit in the ideal beauty guidelines... the ones who appear differently — they’re not in love with the rules and they have no respect for the concept of ideal beauty. You can relate to them, you can see yourself in them, you can feel the realness of their body, but the only thing you can’t do is hide them because they are the real thing… they push the concept of perfect beauty off the table, and while some may see them as the ugly ones, we see beauty, because the ones who are ugly enough to think they can change the ideal standard of beauty, are the ones who do.

— Emily Cardona, 2019

Gen [Z] The most unattractiveness ever in a woman. *From $18.99/mo or $549 with trade-in.

Glow Green by: AZ Nowell

It started off as a normal day. I had just arrived at the Natural Sciences Facility of New Lagos for work when I saw one of my coworkers running down the hall towards me. Her eyes were wide and searching, her glasses barely clutching to the end of her nose. She looked as if she had just seen a ghost. After pressing my index finger to the panel at the front desk, waiting a beat, then pulling away when it glowed green, confirming my identity, I called out to her. “Imani,” I pulled my lab coat the rest of the way on before placing my hands on her shoulders, steadying her “Is everything all right?” She shook her head as if to clear it before focusing her wild eyes on me. “Asha,” she breathed, “They’ve found something. You need to come to the lab with me immediately.” I nodded, my eyebrows stitched together in worry as I followed her back down the hall towards the Humanity Studies Lab. I had never seen Imani this disheveled in all the years I had known her, and the fact that whatever she had seen put her this off balance made me question if I wanted to see it myself. Nevertheless, we arrived at the large glass doors of the lab, both of us delicately pressing our fingers on the panel on the wall, waiting until it glowed green, and pushing through the doors and into the large, white room. As soon as I stepped through the threshold of the lab, I felt of the the cloud of tension hanging over everyone in the room settle onto me. Quiet murmurs passed between the various scientists in the room, all of their faces creased with various levels of worry and concern. Imani grabbed my wrist and pulled me to a large glass box I had never seen before on the other side of the room, pushing past the group of scientists clustered around it. A makeshift bedroom had been put together inside, looking just as neat and well kept as the rest of the facility tended to be. There was only a bed with crisp white sheets and a grey blanket draped on top, a porcelain sink and toilet, and a steel chair placed in the middle of the room with someone sitting in it. My eyes widened as I finally understood why everyone was so concerned. “They found him frozen in a glacier in the Arctic Circle while doing some environmental checks last night.” Imani told me as I stood there, gaping. “At first they thought he was dead. But when they brought him back to the lab early this morning and thawed him out he woke up.” “Is… is this a new form of albinism?” I asked Imani, unable to pull my eyes away from the figure sitting in the chair. He was dressed in a grey sweatsuit that matched the blanket, slightly too big for his lanky figure. I saw Imani shake her head slowly out of the corner of my eye as she took a deep breath. “They’re saying he’s a Caucasian.” A Caucasian! My heart leaped into my throat. But that’s impossible. The Caucasian ethnicity was officially declared extinct about 400 years ago. Africans were able to eventually establish their own worldwide empire, finally left to their own devices without their oppressors. We created a new, real form of democracy across the globe; focusing on a more humane approach to control. We destroyed all nonsensical hierarchies between groups of people. A new green initiative to reverse the symptoms of global warming was launched, prisons were abolished, basic utilities like water and electricity were no longer privatized, and several other things on top of that. Humanity was finally living in peace, working together instead of working against one another. The world reached the closest thing to utopia that it possibly could, and the single thing that could throw all of that out of balance was sitting in front of me.

“They’re thinking of releasing him.” Imani said. “Releasing him?” I hissed back at her, astonished, “We have no idea what he’s capable of. Do you know what he could put us through? What his people put our ancestors through?” “Asha, trust me, I know.” Imani pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose, “But the decision might be above our heads.” We both stood silently for a moment, continuing to watch the man behind the glass. His eyes darted back and forth, drinking in his surroundings. There was fear behind those eyes although the rest of his face was still. This power dynamic was something he probably wasn’t used to. “You know,” Imani said slowly, “The more that I think about it, the more I’m starting to agree.” My breath caught. “You think they should release him.” It wasn’t a question, really. “We don’t know if he’s the same as the others in history.” she said almost as if she was trying to not only convince me, but herself too. “The likelihood that he is is significantly higher than if he isn’t.” I replied. “What about ‘innocent until proven guilty?’” she asked. “What about ‘those who don’t learn from history are doomed to repeat it?’” I brought my gaze back to her. “You can’t be serious, Imani.” She stood a little straighter, looking me directly in the eye. “I think I am.” Right then, one of the head scientists of the facility, Dr. Omiata’s, voice rang over the crowd, calling our attention. “If everyone would please move into the conference hall,” her strong voice echoed across the large room, “We have decided to bring the decision of what happens to the man found during last night’s environmental check to the community.” As the group began to make their way back through the glass doors and towards the conference hall Imani grabbed my sleeve, stopping me. “I’m going to vote to release him.” she said. When I opened my mouth to protest, she held up a finger and continued. “You know full well that if the situation was flipped and you were the one trapped in that box, you would want a chance to prove yourself. We need to give that man the chance that his ancestors never gave us: to prove our worth.” With that she turned and followed the crowd out through double doors and towards the conference hall. I turned and faced the box once more to look at the man sitting in the chair. His icy blue eyes moved slowly from the mass exodus leaving the lab to me, studying me before catching my eye. His face was still, but his eyes were pleading. Confused. Lost. We stayed like that for a while, not breaking eye contact. After what seemed like eternity, he slowly raised his palm and pressed his fingers to the glass, still not moving his gaze from mine. Not really sure what I was doing, I lined my fingertips up with his, the glass cool against my fingers. As I did this his face relaxed, the blank facade dissolving and the ghost of a smile appearing on his lips. I only pulled away when I heard Dr. Omiata’s voice begin to speak from the conference hall. I knew I was running out of time to make my decision. As I finally walked through the doors of the conference hall, my electronic ballot in my hand, Dr. Omiata was finishing her spiel. “... that being said,” her voice boomed with authority, “You may now input your opinion of whether or not the Caucasian should be released into the general public into your electronic ballots.” I looked down at the screen in my palm, a green check for yes, a red “X” for no. A deceivingly simple way of deciding the fate of someone’s life. I sat there staring at the screen, weighing my options for a while, long after most of my colleagues had made their decisions. Eventually, I knew what I had to do. I took a deep breath, and pressed my finger softly against the check mark, waiting until the entire screen glowed green.

FUTURE PHOTOSHOOT SHOT BY: VIVIEN LIU ASSISTED BY: JACQUELINE MENJIVAR CREATIVE DIRECTOR: SYDNEY LOGAN ASSISTED BY: MARQUELLE BELL

MODELS: EMILY CARDONA TJ COSTE SKYLAR FIGARO ERICA JONES JACQUELINE MENJIVAR SHRUTI RAJKUMAR

With Love, Flawless Writes

Everything We Lose by Ximena Delgado I lost my country when I was fifteen. Except lost might not be the right word for it. It was snatched from my fingers, stolen from the palm of my hand. One day I had it and the next it was miles away. Being taken care of by another brown person with my last name. When I look at a map I know exactly where it is. I can point to it with my eyes closed. But six years later I’m still not sure I’ve ever found a way to go back. I’ve been losing my language ever since. As if it was misplaced somewhere inside of me so that I can only reach it when it’s absolutely necessary. When I need to explain something to my mother, translate for my father. When my body shakes and the tears come in uncontrollable waterfalls. When there are no words in the English language to fill the holes which have been left in my bones. No words to explain how the missing parts within prevent me from moving forward. The only part I hold onto is the accent. The small reminder that English is not the place where I belong. That even though I master it, it will never be mine and I will never be theirs. I probably lost my family when I was pretty young, it just took me a long time to realize it. A long time to understand that money and love don’t come hand in hand. That you can’t hand out bills and expect them to pass as part of the family. There is something beautiful about a long table filled from top to bottom by 30 people who share the same blood. There’s also something quite sad about those 30 people not knowing anything about each other. I’ve come to learn then, that family cannot be dictated by blood. That the red we share in no way ties us together. That the bonds and connections of life which are strongest are not the ones from where we come but from where we find home.

I’ve lost that home at least three times in my 20 years. The roof remained, the walls still the same pale white which I had known since I was little. But the house changed its address, it moved to another country. It went searching for safety, for freedom. I’m not sure it ever found what it wanted. But even though the houses all looked the same the people within were broken. The bodies had been made hollow, empty from anything that could cause them pain. Together we learned to coexist. We turned that old house which was new to us into our sanctuary. We called it ours even if it never belonged to us. We managed to accommodate ourselves in this new country that didn’t want us. Pretended like those around shared our history. We created new traditions, tried not to forget about the old ones. And in the end we couldn’t help but feel like we were a part of something bigger than ourselves. As if all along the stars had written in the sky that this was the place in which we would settle. We kept our papers close, visas in hand, always ready to prove that this was our home and that the safety was real. I lost my friends at the same time. The people I had grown up with. Those who shared birthdays and first-grade graduations and Halloween costumes and dia de los muertos celebrations with me. Those who had seen me become a woman. Those who had held my hand when my grandmother died. I lost the memories of my childhood. Left behind the people who had given me so much to remember. All my firsts. First friends, first boyfriends, first family with a different last name. The people who told me about the future they imagined, the future we created together. The friends who were supposed to walk down the aisle with me at my wedding. Now I remember their names, their faces a blur. Sometimes I think I hear their voices calling my name, begging me to return.

I lost the first boy I ever loved six months ago. But lost is once again not the right word, he left. Chose to walk away. And there is something horribly sad about someone deciding that you are not worth the effort. Something heartbreaking about giving them all you have and still not being enough. He’s the first and only person I ever said I love you to. And the day he left he took with him pieces of who I was. I tried to find parts of him and me in empty bottles of tequila, tried to erase the memory of his arms around me with sleeping pills and drugs. But every morning the bed would still have an empty place in it. Too big for my body alone, too cold for the winter that refused to leave. He walked out the door and the oxygen followed. I struggled to breathe for a long time. Struggled to write. I wrote and rewrote him day and night. Turned him into metaphors and similes. I made the breakup sound poetic, even a little beautiful. But it wasn’t. It was plain and simple. I wrote about the beginning, the middle, the end. I wrote about the day he kissed my scars and called me beautiful. About the day he said he would never love me. About the first and countless times he made me feel worthless. But it wasn’t until I had to spit his name out into paper a thousand times that I realized the writing would never replace him. I’ve lost things that I thought I couldn’t live without. I lost my mind a while back and have only begun to find it recently. I lost my happiness and created a new one. I lost my food, my culture, my land. I lost the bruises on my legs which matched the pain inside. I lost my anger and took hold of a completely different kind of rage. I lost people who loved me and those who I loved. I’ve lost seconds and minutes and even days falling into myself. I’ve lost the will to keep going. But I’ve also lost the fear of failing and falling and breaking.

And with everything I’ve lost there’s also a lot I’ve found. I found a new type of family within a little building that was falling apart. I found a sister in the orientation I was forced to attend because I was ‘foreign’. I found a new skin color that didn’t exactly equal my own but which managed to embrace me and keep me whole. I found countries every weekend that didn’t care where I was coming from but where I was going to. I found that even though sunflowers don’t bloom year round they always manage to come back. I found that the empty parts of me could be filled with new pieces. That everything can be replaced with something better. That the thing about growing is shedding the broken skin off and getting a brand new one. That the things that go are meant to leave and those that stay will stay forever. I found words to heal and music to dance to and a whole new way for my eyes to see the world. I have lost myself in oceans and cities and forests. And I have found myself in books and tears and laughter. So to everything and everyone that I’ve lost, I hope you’re doing okay. To everything and everyone I’ve found, I thank you. Because I wouldn’t be who I am today if it weren’t for them. I wouldn’t be Mexican and white and a combination of the two. I wouldn’t be bilingual and mestiza and complete. I’ve learned that when things leave we need to release our grasp on them. And to everything new that is yet to arrive, welcome it with open arms. Because it is inside the loss that we find what really matters.

East Boston

A Neighborhood in Flux

Photographed by Jackie Menjivar

dear me: a letter from my younger self by Shruti Rajkumar dear me, you’re four years old right now and still fairly new to the rules of the world. you’ve anointed naivety your faithful companion, and have found peace in flying from the rusty swing that stands firmly in the backyard of your childhood home. everything seems perfect right now, i am sure. i wish i could tell you that you will carry that innocence with you to the grave, but with passing time it will drain out of you like Tinkerbell when she lost her light. i wish you could have stayed the embodiment of purity, forever untainted, but blank canvases show nothing but the fear to even try. i’m writing to you now to tell you what lies ahead. you’re going to face some hardships, that of which are inevitable. you will chase away the minutes and those moments you should have held on to will slip from your fingers and leave a void your heart. betrayal and heartache will fill the gaps and there will be times when they overstay their welcome, leaving you empty from all they have looted from you. society is going to fill your mind with falsities and disguise them as truths. the world will be cruel, there is no doubt about it, but not as cruel as it will make you be to yourself. i’m not here to alarm you, or make you fearful for what is to come.

yes, you will know the face of pain at far too young an age, but you will come to realize she is just a lesson destined to be learned. you will learn that your skin is not something meant to be lightened or erased in America’s classrooms. you will learn that your body isn’t a mistake that you have to spend your days repenting. you will learn that you have a right to exist, and that you do not have to apologize for the space you take up. you will learn that a number on a scale says more about what is wrong with the world than what is wrong with you, and that it is no measurement of the value of your worth. you will learn that help is always given if you swallow your pride and ask, and that your name was not meant to be altered to fit more comfortably in the mouths of the uncultured. you will learn that you are meant to be here, and from there you will learn to love the little things, like the smell of early morning coffee cups, the sound of your best friend’s laugh, late night drives with no set destination, the warmth of two arms holding you close, the way your heart swells from the warmth of the whispered “i love you’s.” you will live to appreciate the storms, the way they knock you down so you can start over with the rise of the sun in the morning; and you will live to see the day that you stop seeing the color brown as the dirt that stains and chips away the dollar signs of the white man’s shoes, but as the bark of the trees that we depend on to breathe. i’m here to tell you what lies ahead, the beauty and the ugly of the paths you will have to take, and i’m here at nineteen years of age to tell you that in the end it will all be okay. 41

Anger By Harriette Chan

Hey Girl, don’t be shy I know you’ve got it. It’s the Anger That’s why you picked up the pen Isn’t it? That’s what pumps in your heart Isn’t it? That’s what runs in your veins When the truth hits When you learn they dont give a shit About people like you Or people like me That’s what keeps your motor running Isn’t it? That’s what makes you undefeated Isn’t it? That’s what you’re gonna use To change the world Mark my words Girl, You’ll change the world You and that Anger

Realizations I was everything he ever needed, Smart, respectful, and kind. I was all he could asked for, Supportive, loving, and good peace of mind…

But somewhere along the way… We drifted apart. He started to show he didn’t need me, And that simply broke my heart.

Months past and I left the place where we first met, but I found myself still wondering about before. I wished and hoped and prayed, Until my heart could take no more. Now here I am, with answered prayers, but a heart still at unrest. Because something doesn’t feel right, Maybe this is just a test… I don’t know what the future holds All I do is pray, That one day he realizes I was everything he ever needed, And that I see I was nothing to my dismay. I’m sure one day he will come back To see what he has missed. And maybe it will all work out Or I’ll be too pissed… To give this one another chance, after hurting me before… I know my future self will realize I was always worth much more…

By: Erica Ashli Jones

i give this pale institution my time emptying my resources to learn my skin color South Asian Art, the Science of Mindfulness, Hindi school, Yoga classes, History of the Mahabharata lectured words by white women that I’ve only known before from my grandmother’s lips what does it mean to ask the same system that forced you to assimilate to teach you your culture back what does it mean to not know how to act amongst your people what does it mean to never be Indian Enough when my brother and i traveled ‘home’ we were treated as tourists void of norms, language, connections grappling with an unfamiliar life we may have had without immigration aching for a heritage we were told applied to us i search my taste for the spices, my mouth for the pronunciation, my style for similar colors and patterns, as if some leader of all first generation people must come anoint me as worthy i want to have the knowledge to respond to my kid’s questions of cultural belonging the possibility that i could be the cut-off for thousands of years of tradition and community is heartbreaking

Ilina Ghosh So this is me trying. sitting in a class lecture about the mighty warrior Arjuna, feeling pressure from the white room to have answers about things Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve never experienced outside of their microaggressions i am lucky to at least know my lineage colonization did not wipe that out i will not let my parents be wiped out they fought for us to have a whole new life and with that sacrificed the possibility of fully understanding me here i am attempting to recover an understanding of them to liberate my identity from the chains of labels 45 to reclaim my time at this pale institution

Little Black Girl by Danny Johnson Little black girl, with those curls in your hair The wind in your face My laughter filled the air My happiness was mine

I am me A little black girl

And mine alone to embrace

With wild curls in my hair

Always comfortable in the skin I’m in That was the best place to be I wouldn’t rather be anybody else if I couldn’t be me Unapologetically me I worked so hard at what I’ve become I wouldn’t let anybody take the piece of mind that I’d grown I’ve been told what I can’t be Never what I can So I took it upon myself to decide who I am

Melanin in my skin And not a care in the world.

The Future of Black Women In Media By Tiffany Carbon 47

To anyone that might get offended by pro-blackness and black praise, this article isn’t for you. The entirety of it will be honoring, recognizing, and celebrating black women and their futures in the media. People have been screaming for representation and more coverage of black women for decades, and though it still lacks, it has gotten better. Throughout the entertainment industry - the film and music world - black women are becoming more and more prolific and in the words of Auntie Maxine, they’re reclaiming their time. Black women are tired of always taking the worst possible backseat available in their careers and being treated like extras. In the past two years, it’s been extremely relieving and enchanting to see more and more black women be at the forefront. At an art school whose film program is a very big part of its appeal, I personally don’t see a lot of black, female visual media arts students. Maybe they’re just all overshadowed by the “artsy” white boys who ejaculate over Quentin Tarantino and David Fincher. It’s common knowledge that directors, actresses, and artists don’t have to all come from the same strain of technique, style, or man. So, why are women in the industry so shut out? Why does it take a #TimesUp “4 Percent Challenge” going viral with the backing of actors in hopes to encourage their peers to work with women directors? (And why when women directors finally get a chance, it’s always a white woman?) Why can’t young black actresses blow up after one movie like white actresses? Why does it take years for women artists to gain recognition for their work? Director: Melina Matsoukas is a director mostly known for her music videos but has recently begun directing tv episodes and will make her directorial film debut with Queen & Slim that’s set to be released this November. She made herself more known to the public by directing episodes of critically acclaimed shows like HBO’s Insecure and Netflix’s Master of None. Before that, musicians all ran to Matsoukas to bring their visuals for their music to life. She’s worked with a multitude of artists before including the iconic Whitney Houston and Rihanna but Melina has become most known for her work with Beyonce. Melina and Beyonce first joined forces in 2007 with the singers single, “Suga Mama”. Since then, Matsoukas has been a go-to for the singer; she famously directed multiple visuals for Beyonce’s Lemonade including “Formation”. With her reputation from directing the “Thanksgiving” episode of Master of None, the episode that’s seen as one of the series’ best, there’s a lot of excitement for Queen & Slim. The film is written by Lena Waithe which stars Daniel Kaluuya and Jodie Turner-Smith. What makes Melina so desirable and important is her dedication to working with other black creatives as she continues to showcase, drive, and propel their art. Actress: Kiersey Clemons is one of my favorite actresses today, so it’s no shocker that I would include her in this article. Mostly known her for her breakout and great performance in the acclaimed Dope as the main character’s lesbian best friend, but she’s so much more than that. She first got her start on Disney Channel, making appearances on the network’s tv shows for a couple years and even starring in one of their original movies. Following that, the actress became a recurring character, Bianca, on Transparent, Amazon’s Golden Globe and Emmy winning series. In 2017, she starred in the comedy Neighbors 2, drama The Only Living Boy in New York, and sci-fi Flatliners which all showed her ability to play a diverse group of characters. She also captured people’s attention in Easy, Netflix’s anthology series that portrays various relationships with a focus on their bonds, issues, and sex lives. Her first lead role was in 2018’s Hearts Beat Loud, a drama/ comedy about a father and daughter who start a band. Fans were happy when it was announced that Clemons would star as Iris West in the DCEU’s upcoming Flashpoint, who’s white in the comic books, that’s set to be released in 2020. In 2019 her movie Sweetheart, that debuted at Sundance, will be released where she plays a woman who washes ashore an island thinking she’s alone without knowing what lurks at night. The actress will also star in the live-action Lady and 48

the Tramp as Darling, along with Z a sci-fi live action, and The Language of Flowers. Kiersey’s a needed form of representation for black girls, but also for queer black girls as she’s openly queer herself, that want to enter the entertainent industry. Her vibrant personality is shown in every interview or goofy Instagram video she posts, as she continues to shine bright and be herself. Artists: Megan Thee Stallion is a Houston born rapper that’s known for her raw, sex-positive, and demanding raps. She was born into the music and rap world as her mother was also once a rapper. Despite that, she’s only been rapping for three years now but has very quickly and easily made an impression. She rose in popularity after a cypher she did went viral on the internet. She prides herself on being known for her music and her style, never relying on a relationship or a co-sign to boost her career. She dropped her EP mixtape Make It Hot in 2017 which was followed by her debut album, Tina Snow, in 2018 that reached #11 on the charts. That same year, while still attending college at Texas Southern University, she was signed to 300 Entertainment. Female rappers are often ignored and put down in the hip hop/rap world while their male peers are given opportunity after opportunity to fail and try again. Megan acknowledges that there needs to be more representation, but also recognizes that female rappers aren’t a new wave; they’ve always been in the game but just didn’t receive the same spotlight as men. Megan is someone that you instantly fall in love with and respect as she carries herself with so much power. If you ever find yourself needing a confidence booster or just something to dance to, put on Megan Thee Stallion for some horse power. With every decade, there are more English artists that take over the entertainment industry and we see another example of it with Mahalia, a 21-year-old singer from Leicester, England. She discovered her love for songwriting when she began writing her first songs at age twelve. She signed with Atlantic Records UK at only age thirteen but was never in a rush to put music out and become an instant star. She wanted to grow and learn like a normal child, something teenage stardom would have prevented. She released her first EP Never Change in 2015 which consisted of only four tracks when she was 17 and continued releasing more songs before eventually putting out her debut album, Diary of Me in 2016. Her soulful and contemporary r&b style sets her apart from the other artists of her generation as her music can have the effect of a 90s artist (specifically “Sober”). Her soft and mellow voice can make listeners think she’s some young, inexperienced artist to look over, but I disagree. The softness of her voice allows listeners to hear her words and stories better; allowing the production and beat to stimulate the music rather than distract listeners from baseless writing. In 2018, she released another EP, Seasons, where she delved even deeper into r&b as she delivers both upbeat and slower songs. Mahalia is currently touring Europe and just finished her shows in Australia. Her following continues to grow as does her artistry and I know when she finally begins touring in America, I’ll be front row. Black women have too long suffered not being appreciated in their fields. It’s time that they’re prioritized and given their shine. The entertainment industry is extremely way too big to only focus on a certain group of blondes, blue and green-eyed stars. It shouldn’t take trending viral hashtags and outrage for people to finally award black creatives the recognition they deserve. Black audiences shouldn’t have to dig deep to find black art while being force-fed another skinny white boy that can cry. Black women deserve representation, not just caricatures of what white writers and producers think they are. Hollywood’s fishbowl of the select few of black women they like needs to be broken down and dismantled. In my future, I want to see, hear and feel more black women in the industry as it has been proven again and again that we’re the ones to do things right.

The Future of My Heritage By Tiffany Carbon I’m from the West Indies Physically the Virgin Islands But ethnically, Dominica Commonwealth

There are few better feelings than coming home, The smell of our spices and rich ingredients Hitting me in the face

I speak differently I see things differently I was raised differently

But what happens if I forget the recipe?

I’ve spent much of my life in America But my home has and will always Be the Caribbean My culture is carried with me wherever I go Constantly resting in the back of my mind But I can’t help but wonder

How do I continue traditions, Cherish and preserve them for my own children Who I want to grow up the same way I did Island breakfasts and soca Saturday’s Big lunches on Sunday And summer’s “on island”

How do I maintain it?

Early childhood saw me shying away from myself Now I find such pure joy in being surrounded By people who share my upbringing

There are few better feelings than coming home, the smell of our spices rich ingredients hitting me in the face

In my future, I hope to see loss of caution when expressing my thoughts the way I do around others who share the accent

But what happens if I forget the recipe?

In my future, I hope to see More of my, “Nature Island” The natural greens of hints of coral of Dominica

Our language is contaminated with The blood of English and French colonialism, But I love how it rolls off the tongue of elders How do I keep it alive when I’m not fluent?

The turquoise and sapphire hues of blues that signify VI things that to me are unlike and better than any others

Forty years from now What do I do When my grandmothers

In my future, I hope to see the spirit of the West Indies continuing to flow through me like the Blood and bones that keeps me alive

Aunts and great aunts Father and mother Are gone? There are few better feelings than coming Home, smelling our spices, rich ingredients Hitting me in the face But what happens if I forget the recipe?

2020 Vision by Harriette Chan I’ve got 2020 vision. I can see it now In January we curse out 2019 And promise to make a better year In April it will still be snowing The winters only get harsher And longer In June the Commons will light up in colors Green for spring Rainbow for Pride In November I’ll vote for a President For the first time in my life And it’ll be better than the last In December We will do it all again