Flawless Mag - The Harmony Issue

FLAWLESS

MAG

ISSUE 6 • SPRING 2018

THE HARMONY ISSUE

Editor in Chief Lucie Pereira

Assistant Editor Jalyn Cox

Content and Layout by Flawless Writes Nada Alturki Bianca Blas Lissa Deonarain Ilina Ghosh Vivien Liu Sydney Logan Elizabeth Martin Jacqueline Menjivar Anahita Padmanabhan Rija Rehan Caroline Rodriguez

Cover Shoot: Photographer Lissa Deonarain

Director Rija Rehan

Models Amber McCleese Anahita Padmanabhan Ilina Ghosh

Flawless Brown is a sisterhood and artist collective for self-identifying women 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 2018 Lissa Deonarain President

Sydney Rae Chin Chair of Sisterhood

Lucie Pereira Chair of Flawless Writes

Jasmine Williams Vice President

Issel Solano-Sanchez Chair of Flawless Stage

Nina Rodriguez Chair of Flawed Comedy

Samantha Schechter Secretary/Treasurer

Amber McCleese Chair of Flawless Pictures

Taylor Carlington Chair of Marketing

Flawless Brown flawlessbrown.com | facebook.com/FlawlessBrownEC | contact@flawlessbrown.com | @flawless_brown_ec on Instagram

Letter From the Editor

It’s Thursday night and my sisters are laughing, the kind of loud, full-bodied laughter that bubbles out easily when you’re totally relaxed. Maybe someone is joking about fighting a white man, or reciting a funny Vine—whatever the case, when we are all together, we relearn how to own space with our uninhibited exuberance, tension releasing from our bones.

For the past four years, Flawless Brown has been where I feel the most whole. Being a woman of color at a predominantly white institution can mean feeling constantly out of place, out of sync. Finding sisterhood in Flawless Brown is what recalibrates my mind and nourishes my soul. It gives me the strength to take on any challenge and fight any battle (or any white man), knowing my sisters will be right there beside me.

This issue of Flawless Mag is extra special to me not only because it’s my last as editor in chief, but also because every member of Flawless Writes contributed a piece of art or writing (with submissions from women of color outside of Flawless as an added bonus). The Harmony Issue is truly representative of who we are. It has been the greatest honor to lead Flawless Mag for the past two years, and I’m beyond excited to see it flourish in Jalyn’s capable and brilliant hands. As always, I am so grateful to all who have entrusted us with their brave and beautiful art, and to my dedicated Flawless Writes team for putting this issue together with such care.

Harmony is about finding peace in the natural ebb and flow of life; it’s about beginnings and endings. As I say goodbye to Flawless Mag, I’ll carry my sisters’ laughter with me in all the days ahead.

Love always, Lucie Pereira

Upon finishing my freshman year at Emerson, I can look back and see that I found a place for myself in Flawless Brown. It is an organization where I felt I could be myself and accept my identity as a woman of color. Flawless creates a safe space for women of color where they don’t need to hide or blend into the background. They can come together, collaborate, and express their art in the purest form with a sisterhood that supports each other through everything.

Thank you to all who submitted and thank you to Flawless. I also want to send a special thanks to all the seniors, especially Lucie and Lissa (two of the strongest, most wonderful people who I am blessed to know), who will be leaving us this coming May...Please come visit, we’re all going to miss you so much!

With love, Jalyn Cox

1 HER

Sydney Logan | Poems 3

THE IMPORTANCE OF INTERSECTIONALITY Anahita Padmanabhan | Essay

6

OUR LADY FRIDA Valerie Reynoso | Art

7

EATING BEETLE FRUIT Vasantha Sambamurti | Poem

8

PARK BENCH Sydney Elise Johnson | Poem

9

EL PEZÓN DE GRETA Laia Blade | Photo Series

13

EAT FUCK SLEEP Amber Marie Hood | Poem

14 HARMONY

Rija Rehan | Art 15

MY PARENTS Jalyn Cox | Essay

17 BALANCE

Caroline Rodriguez | Essay 19 BODIES

Elizabeth Martin | Short Story + Art 24

HARMONY PLAYLIST Bianca Blas | Playlist

Table of

Contents 25

THE HARMONY SHOOT Flawless Writes | Photo Series

31

BLACK HAIR Sydney Logan | Essay

33

SWIMMING HOLE Noella Deonarain | Essay

36

GIRL WITH GUITAR Valerie Reynoso | Art

37 UNTITLED

Cassandra Martinez | Poem 38

ISSEL SOLANO-SANCHEZ Bianca Blas | Interview

43

SELF LOVE, FOR YOU Meg Mowery | Art + Poem

45 TENSION

Jacqueline Menjivar | Photos + Poem 47 UNITY

Bethany Owens | Photo Series 50 A GUIDE TO BREAKING APART AND PIECING YOURSELF BACK TOGETHER

Lissa Deonarain | Poem 51

COLOR SPACE vvn | Photo Series

52 DÉCOUVERTE

Nada Alturki | Short Story

HER

Sydney Logan

I. Summer days are the ones she craves the most The ones where her light catches on skin And the ground heats to match her temperature She doesn’t mind the clouds Offering reprieve Even something nice to look at

But sometimes the days last too long And she becomes aware of how lonely it is To burn bright without anyone else There is too much of her

And as she begins to set She looks and sees Her opposite, her salvation Big and white and oh so beautiful Ready to take over

They never say hello Never acknowledge that they share the same skies

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HER

Sydney Logan

II. She loves the winter nights The ones where the colors are as cool As the temperature outside She doesn’t mind the quiet No one there to watch her Just the silence

But the nights begin to end And the world begins to wake up And it all becomes so so loud She cannot think, or breathe

And as she begins to dip She looks and sees Her opposite, her salvation Bright and golden and warm Ready to wake up the universe

They never say goodbye Never acknowledge that they are forced to exist separately

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The Importance of Intersectionality

By Anahita Padmanabhan

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Since President Cheeto has been elected, women have had a hell of a year. But throughout that year, I have noticed that while we have been making strides in raising our voices, we often forget that ALL women deserve to raise their voices.

Intersectionality is often left to the wind, and white women have taken over this wave of feminism we are riding.

Let me be clear, if your feminism isn’t inclusive, it’s not feminism.

But white feminism isn’t new in our country.

This dates back to the very first feminist movement that took place in this country, the women’s suffrage movement. The movement was founded by white women, who intentionally chose to fight for the white woman’s right to vote over abolition. Susan B. Anthony once said, “I will cut off this right arm of mine before I will ever work or demand the ballot for the Negro and not the woman.” The suffragettes made a guest appearance at the 2017 Women’s March as white women dressed in white, reminiscent of their predecessors who did the same as they marched for their right to vote.

PSA: the Nineteenth Amendment, when ratified in 1920, exclusively applied to white women.

In 1947, Native Americans got the right to vote. In 1952, people of Asian ancestry got the right to vote.

In 1963, voting rights were declared civil rights, and African Americans finally got the right to vote. After that, it took years of activism to make it so that those laws were followed, because white folks didn’t make it easy for African Americans to actually register or vote.

As we figure out how to navigate this newest wave of feminism and the mounting social movement we are in, we must consider what intersec-

tionality means. The dictionary definition is: “the interconnected nature of social categorizations such as race, class, and gender as they apply to a given individual or group, regarded as creating overlapping and interdependent systems of discrimination or disadvantage.” It’s pretty straightforward—no one is made up of any one identity.

Just think of every label you can attach to yourself. Here’s my list: Woman Indian First generation Cisgender Straight Able-bodied Middle-class College-educated Gemini (Funny)

The point of this is to show that there are so many different aspects of my identity that mean something in every interaction I am a part of. Every social situation I enter, each of those factors acts upon what’s happening. When I go for a job interview, the fact that I am Indian, the fact that I have a degree from a college, the fact that I am a woman, all means something, good or bad. The point of intersectionality is understanding that you have to consider the that there is more than one factor at play in any given situation and movement.

It’s important to understand your place of privilege when entering a social movement and know that your experience as a woman is not the same as the woman next to you.

Let’s look at some of the biggest feminist

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movements taking place at this time: #MeToo and Time’s Up. Lupita Nyong’o was one of the first women to out Harvey Weinstein. While it’s great that other women have also stepped up, where was the coverage for her? On All In with Chris Hayes on MSNBC, Jane Fonda said, “Something’s shifted. It’s too bad that it’s probably because so many of the women that were assaulted by Harvey Weinstein are famous and white and everybody knows them. This has been going on a long time to black women and other women of color, and it doesn’t get out quite the same.”

When you use your privilege to overshadow others, you silence a whole community. You create an environment where someone either has to hide a part of who they are or has to completely take themselves out of the conversation. We don’t get to pick and choose who we are. You don’t get to pick and choose who other people are. And you certainly do not get to dictate who has the right to speak out and who has the right to equality.

I was at the Women’s March in D.C. in 2017. I was there surrounded by white women chanting for Scarlett Johansson to come back on stage to finish her speech about how her friend, not even she herself, needed Planned Parenthood. I watched these women chant and yell for the white speakers. Then I watched the white woman next to me shout, “Let’s go already!” while the women of color who organized the damn event tried to speak.

Six women of color are on the board of the Women’s March organization (don’t ever forget the leadership role women of color have always played in social movements). And none of them got the respect they earned at that march. There was a sea of pink pussy hats in retaliation to Agent Orange’s disgraceful remarks, but what about the women who don’t have vaginas? Where was their place in that?

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Women make up a majority of the eligible voting population in America. That means if 60% of female voters voted the same, we’d win every election. We have so much power that we don’t realize. And it’s because not all women welcome every kind of woman. Women of upper-middle class status need to fight for women on the brink of poverty.

Women who have the right to marry their partners need to fight for those who don’t. Women who can walk down a street and not have slurs thrown at them need to fight for the women who are degraded every day. Those with voices must help those who don’t.

Martin Luther King Jr. said, “No one is free until we are all free.” That quote might be a few decades old, but some of y’all need the reminder in the year 2018.

I can’t explain to you why you should care for other people. I can’t tell you why you should care about the DREAMer, the transgender woman, the lesbian, the black woman, the Muslim woman.

You just should. People are people, and in the years to come we’re either going to be the generation that brought justice and equality to all, or we are going to be mocked for our lack of empathy.

There is a right and a wrong side to this. It’s time to choose because as long as we fracture ourselves into groups, we are weaker as a community.

We let crazy orange men sit at our capital, and watch as one by one, his employees resign. We watch the government he’s created slowly strip away civil rights. We watch our government break and realize too late that we did this to ourselves.

We are always stronger together. And it’s about damn time we stood up for each other.

By Valerie Reynoso

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E AT I N G

beetle-fruit

By Vasantha Sambamurti

You should choose the fruits beetles choose because they choose Pure-fruit Sweet fruit, safe fruit so good they sell them on Trees.

The branches may bead themselves with a personal animal, but nothing comes close to a seed in a seed, fruit engendered in fruit young beetle coiled & growing.

When they become too large, they leave the fruit.

They leave it for you to eat, Plump, Pulp juice Engendered in fruit.

Remove the seed And understand what they’re Leaving.

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Park Bench

By Sydney Elise Johnson We sit here hand in hand cheek to cheek.

We sit here our hearts soft eyes seeing each other the way we want to.

We sit and my door is open wide inviting you in because I want to hear your notes listen to your radio play your tune.

I sit we sit and listen to your music all day, through the night into the next dawn.

But through it all you don’t ask about my mute station or radio.

You don’t ask me what my favorite song is or if I like the thumping bass.

You don’t ask but you still think hope believe imagine that you know me that we, you and I can live in harmony.

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El pezoĚ n de Greta fashion designer: Laia Blade stylist: Marina Bosch photographer: Mar Armengol stylist assistant: Andrea Bagheera

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Eat Fuck Sleep

By Amber Marie Hood

I’ve got a feeling in my stomach A fat bitch like me would mistake for hunger I’ve got a yearning in my pussy A lonely bitch like me would mistake for love I’ve got a tickle in my throat A talkative motherfucker like me would mistake for poignance And avoidant So I eat I fuck I speak Impulsivity making way compulsivity disguised as necessity (Impulsive giving over to compulsions disguised as need) I get high To overeat To over fuck To over speak Talking with my mouth full Fucking with my belly full Eating with my hands full, mind somewhere else All the while feeling endless Bottomless, replaceable, disgusting Eat Fuck Speak No sleep

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Repeat Repeat Repeat

Harmony

By Rija Rehan 14

My Parents.

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By Jalyn Cox

When I see my parents, I do not think “black and white.” I never even knew color was a thing until I was old enough to notice some of the awkwardness at softball games. When both of my parents showed up, people would look to me and make comments like, “Now it makes sense. I thought you were [insert any race but my own].”

When I see my parents, I see the months of love letters sent back and forth between the two when my dad would go away for the military. There is a piece of love between the two that they never let distance touch.

When I see my parents, I do not think about the struggle of race in their relationship. I see a love and harmony bonding the two together. I don’t see how my parents were turned away from private beaches because of their “mixed” union. I see the pictures of a marriage taking place on a beautiful public beach.

When I see my parents, I see how I am the most perfect combination of the two. I have a mixture of my parents’ eyes, ears, mouth, hair, and skin. I do have my mom’s feet and my dad’s nose though.

When I see my parents, I don’t think about how other people assume my siblings and I are adopted when they only see one of our parents. Waiters and waitresses will ask where we are from, and while my dad indulges and entertains their ignorance, I always notice my mom’s eyes narrow and harden at what she takes as an attack.

When I see my parents, I see two opposites melding together in what seems to be balance. My mom cares too much about what others think, and my dad helps her stick it to the man every once in a while. My dad works too hard, and my mother helps him remember the more important things in life.

They have a strong basis of understanding because they both place their family higher than anything else in the whole world.

When I see my parents, I don’t think about how people, to this day, believe that my mom and dad being together, that creating me, my sister, and my brother, is bad. I do not think about how we are different. To me, we are just a family. We sit around the dinner table every night whether it is 6pm or 10pm, and we eat dinner together.

When I see my parents, I think of the way my mother always tells me relationships are supposed to be easy. Nothing should be complicated and make you unhappy. When it’s right, it’s right.

When I see my parents, I don’t think of the ways they are different. I don’t think of how they are a percentage. I don’t think about how my parents’ marriage occurred only thirty years after it became legal.

When I see my parents, I think of mom and dad.

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BALANCE

By Caroline Rodriguez

As a young child, the church felt like home to me. My grandparents were

very religious and had pictures of La Virgen y Jesús in their bedroom. Once, my grandfather gave me a Sacred Heart of Jesus as a gift to hang up on my wall. I learned the Sign of the Cross in Spanish and English. I associated the church with the large outdoor parties it hosted; men grilling arrachera, grandmothers handing out tamales, little kids dashing with painted faces to play basketball next to the bouncy house someone rented.

I went to a Catholic school near my childhood home, just north of Logan

Square. It was a small elementary school made up mostly of Latino kids from the neighborhood, and massively underfunded. I was in the first grade when the school shut down, and my parents transferred me to an Irish Catholic school in the Lakeview neighborhood of Chicago.

My mother is Irish Catholic, and her faith had never conflicted with my fa-

ther’s, so I figured that this new school wouldn’t be too different. I was very wrong.

The school was mostly white. There were no Spanish masses and the church was painted in ugly shades of beige. The students were also upper middle class, which made my family’s relative struggle to pay the high tuition stand out even more.

It was at this school I started learning some of the more restrictive aspects

of Catholicism. Any informational discussion of sexuality was seen as inappropriate, which only lead to an environment of young teenagers who did not know how to talk about sex in a healthy way. Girls were bullied when their bodies developed too early or too late, and at thirteen years old, they were labeled as either a “slut” or “prude.” It was assumed everyone was straight and cis, unless you were using the labels gay and lesbian to bully others. Although I had many encouraging female teachers, the church itself still reinforced traditional gender roles, fostering toxic masculinity through aggression and emotional unavailability.

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When I tried to turn back to the church that I grew up in, I realized that the

same problems with gender and sexuality were pervasive there as well. I started going to church less and less; when I did go, I could barely sit through sermons from the hypocritical priest, who preached acceptance then spent his days off yelling at women at Planned Parenthood. Eventually I stopped going altogether. I felt like all of the joyful memories of my childhood had been devalued, and I didn’t know what to do.

Religion is tied so closely with my culture, it is impossible to ignore, no mat-

ter what I believe in. I grew up with prayer candles and rosaries around the house, saint statues in my backyard. Easter and Christmas, while very religious, were also some of the biggest family gatherings all year. I wasn’t sure how to hold onto my culture without also being religious.

Eventually, I started to reconnect with some of the aspects of spirituality

I found comfort in. I don’t go to church anymore, but I still keep a candle of La Virgen in my room. I’ve also invested more in connecting with parts of my culture that aren’t expressly religious: the language, the music, the food. Even though I am not a practicing Catholic myself, I can still respect the comfort and joy it brings to so many of my family members, and I understand why it’s become so ingrained in their identity. I don’t miss being part of the church as a kid because the same values are still strong in my life: happiness, family, and love.

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Bodies By Elizabeth Martin

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There was a legend about the well in the

and friends that Dee had long since announced

garden.

that she disliked. Amelia had assumed that it

was her family’s occasional disregard to Dee’s

It was said that when someone wished

upon this well, their wish was heard by a

race and ethnicity and insisted that it was

goddess. Taking mercy upon the pitiful souls

never intentional. While it was frustrating at

that have pleaded to her, she grants the wishes

times, Dee wasn’t worried about that. Whether

to the most deserving of people—those who

Amelia’s family even knew where Haiti was—

have the most selfless of desires.

much less whether they were culturally

Dee had come to realize that

competent—was not that important

she must have had a deeply

to her, as she had been met with the

ingrained selfishness within

misconceptions before and knew how

her. After all, it would have

to deal with them.

been the only explanation as

It was the fact that they were a ten

to why she woke up the next

couple that worried her.

morning in the same body

Amelia was thin, lean and well-

that she had wished away the

defined by the healthy lifestyle that

night before.

she had been brought up on. Dee

on the other hand, struggled as

“Hey—hey, sleepy

head, wake up.”

an overweight black woman, and

Dee groaned, rolling

attempts to remedy this were few and

away from the harsh light that poured

far for her. Dee’s round body and Amelia’s lean

into the room when Amelia opened the

one had earned the pairing the nickname “ten”

curtains.

because of the similarities to the number when

they stood side by side.

“We’ve got a long day ahead of us, first

we’re going to eat breakfast with Mom, then

we’re going to drive out into town so I can

when looking at photos, it was a painful reality

show you off to some friends of mine and

that Dee couldn’t live down, most certainly

then...”

not when Amelia’s family were the main

perpetrators of the “endearing” nickname.

Dee stopped listening to her girlfriend

More than a playful observation made

as Amelia began to ramble on about her

Dee was suddenly taken out of her musing

problematic display of possession to family

when she felt a warm body press flush against 20

her. Less than startling, it was comforting

might see my fat jiggle. I have to consider if

when paired with curious fingers that began

other people are overwhelmed or squeezed

to trace the curves of her own exposed body,

while sitting next to me. I can’t even dance

ghosting over her skin ever so teasingly.

without worrying how my motion is going to

read to other people in comparison to someone

“What’s wrong?” Amelia suddenly

whispered into her ear before pressing her lips

who can more their body more freely—like

against Dee’s shoulder. “Does it have

you.”

to do with Grandma asking whether

Amelia opened her mouth to say

Haitians eat cats?”

something but paused, lips slightly

parted as the right words never came

Dee wanted to laugh at the

playful comment, but she couldn’t

to mind­—instead, opting to answer

bring herself to, instead asking, “Is it

the unasked question in Dee’s

weird that when I move, I think about

explanation.

how my body looks--how my body

“No, not in the same way. I mean,

moves in the space around me?”

I try not to touch people, but I

“What do you mean?”

don’t worry about all that, I guess.

Dee sighed softly, turning

But let me say again, not in the

around, arm now resting upon

same way.” Amelia began to trace

Amelia’s hip. Amelia, seizing the new

her fingers along Dee’s back, hand

opportunity, scooted closer, hand sliding

now running over her side and thigh.

to the small of Dee’s back, breasts now resting

Amelia’s eyes trailed downward, as if admiring

against the top of Dee’s stomach as their bodies

the contrast of pale skin against dark.

melded together further.

worried about how my skin stretched over my

“When I walk between people, I have to

“See, in high school, I was always

bring my arms up and hold my chest back so

bones—what my body was able to show. A lot

my tits don’t brush up against any body. When

of people in my family were on the thicker

I walk into certain pathways I have to turn

side. Not a thickums like you,” Amelia cupped

sideways so I don’t get stuck. I have to make

a handful of Dee’s butt with her hand, giving a

sure my ass doesn’t brush up against anybody’s

firm squeeze as an added emphasis. “But they

desk when I walk in tight classrooms. I have

had some meat on their bones and I just wasn’t

to be careful of how fast I run because people

making the cut.”

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Amelia then let go of Dee, scooting

stomach, because otherwise I draw too much

away from her and laying on her back, one leg

attention, otherwise, I’m unladylike—thinking

propped up. She brought her hand up to her

about how my stomach moves and hangs and

stomach, beginning to trace the fine lines of

how people don’t want to see it. I just really

her rib cage before turning to look at Dee. “See,

wish...”

you like this, but I always hated it. Like, as I’m

thinking about it, gym class was the worst. If I

pulling Dee closer to herself and resting her

bent too far back, people would see my ribs. If I

head on top of Dee’s coarse hair. “You went

had a bikini on, my hips would pop out and I

“Oh my god,” Amelia groaned softly,

over to the well, didn’t you?”

would get the bikini bridge. A lot

Dee smiled sheepishly, turning

of girls are gungho for that, but

her face towards Amelia’s chest,

my grandma thought I was

almost as if she wanted to bury her

starving myself. When I sat

face and hide her shame. “I had to try

on friend’s laps, they’d be like,

it.”

where’s your ass, it’s so boney.”

broke out into laughter. “Oh no, oh

“Yeah,” Dee simply

Amelia let out a squeal before she

whispered, now closing the

no, honey. I love you—Look. So I told

space between them. She laid

you those stories about how the well

her head on Amelia’s chest,

in the garden granted my wishes as a

leg resting on her partner as she

kid, but that was literally coincidence.

returned the favor of gentle caressing,

It was chance, it was four times out of like,

fingers trailing from Amelia’s breast, over her

four hundred that I wished on it. My grandma’s

ribs and stomach before stopping at the hips

legend, I feel like she only told it because my

and traveling back upward. “I get the lesson

mom and dad were thinking of getting rid of

your trying to say there. Everyone feels self

it and since it was a part of her childhood, she

conscious. I just—I don’t need to be skinny.

just told those stories so we could get attached

I came to the terms with not being skinny,

and...”

I just—I just really wish that I was a little bit

smaller. You know, I don’t have to be perfect,

sighing audibly.

I just want a flat stomach. I just wanna put on

a pair of pants and not have to pull it over my

I wished something like that. Usually my

Amelia took in a deep breath before

“I remember when I did that—when 22

‘wishes’ were far and few, but I remember one

wanted to end up killing myself with a shit ton

time just wishing for one week straight. The

of sugar and other crap, I was just gonna have

first night I wished that I would be thick when

to live with it too.”

I woke up the next day. Didn’t happen. Then I

asked if I could just be a bit fuller. Nothing. I

to listen intently.

asked all these variations of the question, like,

asked if I could just have it for one day even if

somebody that would be okay with that. And I

I was like in somebody else’s body. Oh god, I

guess I—well, I did find that…you know…when I

even asked if I could win the lottery so I could

found you, you know?”

get like implants and stuff. But nada.”

ended her statement with a tinge of insecurity.

Dee shifted slightly, sighing

as she relaxed into the position.

Dee simply nodded in response, seeming

“So like, I just wished that I would find

Dee could feel Amelia’s shrug as she

Smiling softly, Dee simply reached up to

“Well, what did you expect?”

caress her lover’s cheek, an intense

warmth radiating on her fingers, letting

“I could ask you the

same thing, stupid.”

Dee know that Amelia was probably

“Fair enough,” Dee

blushing after saying such an

conceded.

embarrassing comment.

“This is going to sound so

“How sweet,” Dee whispered.

fucking cheesy, but, like, I kinda

“You’re really such a dork sometimes, you

feel like one of my wishes came true though.”

know?”

Dee cocked a curious brow, looking up at

“Yeah,” Amelia added, rubbing her neck

Amelia’s face in confusion. “That you could live

as a nervous laugh escaped her lips.

vicariously through a fat person?”

about the well actually.”

“Ack—NO, you idiot. Don’t call yourself

“But that story tells me something—

that.” Amelia reached down and patted Dee’s

cheek disapprovingly. “Anyway—well, like

confusion. “What about it?”

a few years later, when I was learning to

like myself more, I kinda just had a moment

legend? Yeah…well, she’s clearly racist.”

where I was like, a body is a body. It is what

it is and yeah, they can change, but like for some people, they have to live with it. Unless I 23

Amelia furrowed her brows in

“You know that well goddess from the

“Oh my god, Dee! Let it go!”

Flawless Harmony Playlist

By Bianca Blas “A Cappella” Daniel Caesar “Woods” Bon Iver “Because” from Across The Universe “Sanctuary” Alex Clare “Stockholm” Conner Youngblood “Lullaby” Gabriel Garzón- Montano “Moon River” Frank Ocean “Measurements” James Blake “Those Days” Nick Hakim, Onyx Collective “Not So Different” Willow ft. Jabs “Breathless” Gwilym Gold “Lines” The Hics “Warm Winds” SZA ft. Isaiah Rashad “Carmen” Jay Squared “Same Time Pt. 1” Big Sean, TWENTY88 “L” Jaden Smith “Rose Golden” Kid Cudi ft. Willow “Solar Sisters” Jesse Boykins III ft. Alex Isley & Bridget Kelly “Hello” Erykah Badu “Omens” James Chatburn “Electric” Alina Baraz ft. Khalid “Venezuela Trains” Ravyn Lenae “Ea$tside Story” Saba Abraha “Cure” Moonchild “Proud of Me” Mahalia, Little Simz “Blessings” Chance The Rapper “Swim” Towkio “I Say So” Chloe x Halle 24

SEASONS

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Director & Photographer Lissa Deonarain Makeup Artist Rija Rehan

Models Aliyah Browne (Winter), Lily Bagher (Spring), Lucie Pereira (Summer), Lia Kim (Fall)

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As each season changes, it fades into another. Some transition peacefully, others fight back and forth like tug-of-war for their place in the universe. However, they all must concede to the next, just as the one before conceded to them. They live in harmony, with purpose, a beautiful cycle of nature. As my last semester at Emerson nears its close, I hope I, too, can transition peacefully into my next season in life, knowing all will come around full circle.

Things will die. They will bloom and grow. They will be scorched by the heat then cool off in the chill breeze.

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I know I am not leaving Flawless Brown behind when I graduate, because we will meet again someday in some way. Thank you Flawless Brown for all you have given me and shown me. Our journey has been a rollercoaster, but being from the Midwest, I couldn’t imagine life without the four seasons cycling again through and through.

With all my love, Lissa Deonarain President of Flawless Brown

30

BLACK

HAIR

PIECE

BY SYDNEY LOGAN

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All my friends and I used to joke that by the time we got into our twenties, our arms would be like Serena’s because of how much tugging we did on our hair. In the days before relaxers and flat irons and hot combs, it was an uphill battle to comb out kinky hair and part it and get those little bobbles around the sections of hair. Hair oil seemed to seep into the pads of my fingers and stain all of my clothes. My neck permanently ached from being bent over backwards into the sink.

Finally, around fifth grade, I decided I was done letting my hair win. I begged my mom to let me hot comb my hair so it was less frizzy and kinky and curly. She happily complied, her fingers tired of protesting when she detangled my hair. But my hair quickly fought back against the scorching hot comb. It would sweat out in the first night and break my ponytail holders. It seemed to be laughing at me constantly.

And that was the problem, wasn’t it? I was fighting against my hair. I was trying to tame it, control it.

So I decided to cut all of it off. I was going to free my hair from the shackles I put it in and work with it, not against it. My hair is a part of me, kinks and curls and coils and all. It’s my job to take care of it, to love and appreciate my hair as a part of me.

In return, my hair gives me confidence and a connection to a special part of history.

It’s a partnership: a girl and her hair.

My mother then entered the ring by getting me a relaxer. For once, I had won this battle. Not a curl in sight, my hair was slicked back into a ponytail. It lay flat on my head, silent and defeated.

But my hair wasn’t tapping out quite yet. My hair wasn’t growing at its normal rate; it was stuck at shoulder length. It didn’t bother me until my hair began to fall out. My hair began to fight me as much as I had been fighting it. I had it cut down to just below my chin. My hair broke off at the sides. Bald spots started to form.

I knew I had to backtrack. I decided to grow out my relaxer, to give back to my hair. But I was still having fallout. My scalp was dry and my ends were splitting and my hair was still fighting against me.

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Swimming Hole

By Noella Deonarain

Back in the beginning of September, I was struggling with post-grad blues—no job lined up, no calls back, applying to positions that didn’t pay enough—just coasting through life, bitter about having gotten my degree at all. But day-to-day life had to continue because I didn’t want my life to end (or to end my life), and so I went on a road trip to Chattanooga, Tennessee with my friends.

I was nervous about this trip, going through Tennessee with my brown skin and a big, bleached afro. I told all my white friends just that: I am legitimately hesitant about going, will it be okay? I made a joke about the cops pulling us over while I was driving, maybe another joke about just getting out and ghost riding to Dolly Parton. My friend who was from there told me we’d be fine. There was more to my hesitation, but I didn’t express it entirely. I didn’t express that I thought I probably would be fine because I had them as a buffer—my white friends, though leftist and Jewish, still would not be the first targets. I didn’t express that if I were alone, I’d be much more susceptible to risk, and that they’d be safer without me if something were to happen.

Anyways, I agreed to go and we were off. From Philly to Chatt, probably twelve hours, driving split in half with my friend whose car we took. We stopped for snacks and toilet breaks at rest stops and each took turns controlling the aux cord. The weather was nice and it was an enjoyable ride.

There was all of this strange but very interesting Americana along the trip. We passed a Bass Pro Shop pyramid in Memphis­—this very weird, big, shiny ass pyramid right off the highway. We stopped at multiple Cracker Barrels, all basically the exact same, some with heavier white-patron-to-black-staff ratios than others. We stopped to use the restrooms at the Johnny Cash dedicated rest area in Dickson. I found this all slightly funny in its absurdity and strangeness to me. But it wasn’t so funny passing through Charlottesville, where only a month before, the Unite the Right rally had resulted in some white supremacist piece of shit driving into a crowd of counter-protesters, injuring many and killing one. They killed a white woman, Heather Heyer, whose whiteness was all but dismissed—they just saw her as a nigger-lover. I knew that white supremacy spread far wider than the South and in more corrosive ways. I mean, I’ve seen blatant and microaggressive racism more times in Pennsylvania than anywhere else with my own eyes, and I’d be lying to myself to think being there was any safer.

The closer to Chattanooga we got, the more beautiful the scenery became. Lush, mountainous, and the air smelled pure. Although this had been a place of black lynchings, I couldn’t smell bodies in the air right then, only the trees. It was dark out and it all felt peaceful. When we got to my friend’s brother’s place where we were staying, we were greeted at 2:00 a.m. with plenty of Southern hospitality.

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The next two days were full of going to recommended shops and restaurants, playing our favorite Canadian board game­, Crokinole, a desktop type of shuffleboard I guess; hanging out, cracking jokes, talking about video games and music and life. On the third day, we went to a swimming hole. There was an unmarked spot on the side of the highway where you could park your car and hop over the guardrails. Leaving our wallets and dry clothes in the car, we went over the guardrails and into the woods. We climbed over little hills and through openings in between rocks where water was trickling down, with tall leaves of bright green towering above to the sky.

We made our way to the spot. Sparkling water ran around the boulders that reached up in the same fashion as the trees. A small waterfall, cold as could be, sung out in splashes against the waters below it. There was a beautiful area of tan rock that overlooked the whole area, where one of my friends found a lovely little moth caterpillar. It looked like a fuzzy little yak with tiny orange horns. The warm air dried the cool water on my skin as I got out of the water to see it before it was released back into the wild, and then I got back in again, feeling at one with nature and with my body as the water rushed around me.

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All was beauty and peace until I decided I wanted to climb a big boulder, not putting my wet glasses on, but tucking them into my bikini top. One bad angle, and they went soaring down into the dark, pulled underneath that very big boulder. I did my best to feel under the boulder.

Then I asked everyone else for help, since I couldn’t really fit my arm underneath. But it was a lost cause after twenty minutes or so. The delicate, titanium, light gold trim frames that cost far too much money because they looked so damn good on my features, they fit so well, they felt air-light and I had to wear them constantly so I had thought “I want to make an investment.” And then they were gone so instantly, during this wonderful time I was having, in this place I had been so worried about travelling to but that had proved me wrong. I felt so stupid. I lost them by being a complete idiot on my own. And now, I needed to get a pair somewhere soon because I was expected to drive the next day. And depending on how long it took, we’d have to be there for some time longer. And now my stupidity was holding my friends back, and I couldn’t even look up at the sky or at the waterfall to find some sense of relief and focus. It was all blurry. Blurrier when the tears started to fall.

I just started crying like a big baby about losing a pair of glasses. Well, I was crying about how stupid I felt, but the crying itself felt dumb. “It’s okay, really.” We would have to go find a place for me to get new glasses and spend a few more days here. My friends weren’t mad at me, they actually felt bad for me and were ready to help. “For now, let’s go get something to eat.” The whole scene felt so dumb that I was crying but laughing at the same time. I had been worried about something much bigger not too long before­—my safety against whatever white supremacists were lurking around, ready to take me and my nigger-loving friends down just for being in their space. I was here, in my brown skin, being comforted by my white friends over losing a pair of glasses, in this place steeped in a history of plantations and black enslavement and all the rape and brutality that came with it. I feared this place because of its human history and that history’s passed down heirloom of white supremacy. But I was really out there just crying about my favorite pair of glasses that were now out of my grasp, going for a deep swim.

A street near the swimming hole entrance was lined with trailers and houses that looked like trailers, all proudly waving and displaying the Confederate flag. I hadn’t seen this on that one day without my glasses, but I noticed them on a separate trip we had made driving up in the same area. And seeing them, high and mighty, in high definition with my new updated prescription, I just...didn’t care. I was more interested in looking farther, to the cozy trees hugging the road, to the water in the river gently being pulled to another body of water, to the mountains glistening in the summer sun.

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V a l e r i e R e y n o s o

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My grandfather remembers everything, the puzzle-order of the streets to get to his house in Cuba, the country he fled when he was scarcely older than I am now / his memories of pirates and revolutionaries and the ordinary / there’s certain memories of origin that I never recognized, they were in my blood / jugo de parcha and words I only knew in Spanish until a year ago, el Morro in my backbone where my father proposed to my mother / I can’t dance, but I performed un merengue when I was pulled up after dinner, in between my grandfather’s brother cooing ballads in Spanish / el café con leche matches our skin and the Caribbean sings another song of paint peeling from the walls and washed up sand dollars and palm leaves falling into the cemetery where the ocean crept up and washed the marble onto the beach / I’ll never forget the image of my grandmother, who doesn’t remember the streets in Cuba anymore, taking a machete to a coconut in her patio the way I wish I could do to her memories and mine, and the island’s too / to break them open and know what she left behind, what my parents, when they moved from Puerto Rico, left behind and what I’ll leave behind / each time I leave the island and never return again, never the same as how I arrived but I’m not the same who came / I leave myself there, wondering, stranger and at home

- Cassandra Martinez

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Issel

Solano

Sanchez

Interview by Bianca Blas

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Her laugh fills the room and I can’t help but join in. We sit in the comfort of our suite’s living room. Issel’s body is pivoted toward me as I set myself up to listen to what she has to tell.

The light reflects off of the floating “2” and “0” balloons that were leftover from her 20th birthday. Her brown eyes flicker from my face to the fries laid on her lap.

“It’s okay if I record your voice right?

She looks at me like I’m dumb. “Yes...?”

I laugh and tell her I was just checking and she rolls her eyes and laughs too. *** So I guess we can start with the simple stuff. Why Emerson?

of color live in the hood, but at least from my circumstances, it’s just unrealistic to go into a profession that’s not stable. So because of that reason, I’m assuming that theater will continue to be very white for the rest of my life. But here at Emerson my experience has been… [pause, searching for words] It’s not a bad one. My first two shows at Emerson were Flawless shows, so obviously those were all women of color. And I have received a lot of good feedback based on that. The show that I’m in now, Antigone Project—although I do believe I got it because I’m talented and I was fit for the role—I also was probably one out of less than ten women of color to audition, and the role is for an African American woman. [pause] So because of that, someWell do you want the answer I give to people times I doubt my ability. Like there have been times where even in my rehearsal process right when I give tours, or the real reason? now, and I’m doing stuff, I’m like am I just here because I was the only other woman of color Both. who could have done this role?

[thinking] Okay, well, I tell people that I came here for the theater program because Emerson What kind of things are making you think that, has a really great theater program, which isn’t like is it things that people are doing to you or is necessarily a complete lie, but that isn’t the main it just your own thoughts in general? reason that I came here. I was awarded the Boston Arts Academy scholarship that pays my tu- No, it’s just my own thoughts in general, it’s ition in full, so I couldn’t afford to go anywhere not…I think it’s also just the way that this director directs, like he’s not really hands-on acting else. wise. He gives a lot of liberty for the actors to do what they want—which is really great! I’ve That’s so awesome, did you work hard for that? never done a show like that before, like all of Yeah, I was valedictorian in high school. I did a my directors in the past, either here at Emerlot of extracurriculars in high school too. That son or my directors in high school, have been very specific. They’ll do specific things to get to plus my talent is what I think got me in. the point where I need to get for this thing, and So I know that you have a passion for theater and then here—which I think is good, it’s very properformance, so what is it like being a woman of fessional—you’re supposed to come in with all that stuff ready. You’ve done all that work and color in theater in or out of Emerson? then what he does is that he finetunes it. So I [contemplating the question] Mm, so I don’t appreciate this experience, because I think it’s really know what that’s going to be like when going to get me ready for the real world.

I leave Emerson. I’m assuming that if it’s anything like Emerson, it’ll be very white—which Okay, interesting, so like, with theater, what’s theater already is by default because people of your ultimate goal? color don’t usually aspire to be artists because they want steady jobs, or they want to get out [picking up a fry, contemplating] My ultimate of the hood, et cetera. I’m not saying all people goal is to change the world [laughing, punching 39

the air with her fist]. I know, corny. It’s really broad.

employing a lot of Latinx people in roles that don’t usually see Latinx people in them, so as writers, as producers, as cameramen, and she’s So do you mean change the world of theater or just like opening up a path for them. This will just the world in general? hopefully create more jobs and things for Latinx people, which I think is really great.

I never really thought about changing the world of theater, but now that you say that, that’s inter- What about in terms of your career and where esting. [pause] But I’ve always wanted to change you want acting to go? the world in general. So the show that I did last semester with Flawless, Justice Cannot Mean I find inspiration in a lot of different ways. I’ve Just Us, that’s a lot of the work that I like to do. come to realize in my process, I’m just a very I like to create pieces that reflect the communi- visual person. So like in the show that I’m doing ty that I come from, and the community of the right now, one my pieces is set in World War people who are in the show, and then we put it I, so I did a lot of research on World War I. I on stage and present it to people who wouldn’t found a lot of information and different images, see those lives otherwise. I hope by watching watched a documentary. [pause] Kind of, sort of, other people’s lives and seeing their shows, not really. [laughing] It’s opened on a tab on my even if it’s just on stage, that you feel some sort laptop so...! But like a lot of what fuels my work of empathy because I feel like theater creates a is research. So even in my scene study class, for lot of empathy. Acting is a lot of stepping into one of my scenarios, I was at the White House, people’s shoes and becoming that person, and so like for homework what I did was look up the then I think watching theater is following that White House, and looked at the rooms, because person’s journey and if you do that with real I’ve never been, so I had no fucking clue. So I people’s lives then I feel like it’s really hard to just did a lot of research of what it looks like, not be empathetic. You’d have to be a serial kill- what the tour is and then I learned that there er. [laughing] So that would be my ultimate goal, are two different types of tours. There’s a public but I would love to do TV shows like Jane the tour, there’s a West Wing tour, blah blah blah.

Virgin. I would love to do dramas and comedies. So that just gives a lot of information to me and Like she’s [Gina Rodriguez] very versatile in it just makes my world, like the world I’m crethat show and I would love to do that. I love sit- ating, real, like it’s not fake, it’s not just in my coms so I would love to be on a sitcom one day. head, these are real things.

But I love theater, so I would love to be on stage all the time, but I have to be realistic because So are there any experiences that you can think there’s not a lot of money in theater. [shrugging] of that have had an effect on who you are today?

And I really do believe that a way that the world can change is through art, and my specific art is [smirking] Do you want me to tell you about my theater, so I would use that. college paper? I mean my college paper is legit, so...

With who you are and who you want to be, who do you draw inspiration from?

Okay, then yeah.

So I look up to Gina Rodriguez, she’s the love of my life, she is my actual mom, queen. It’s just a So as of right now, I identify as Afro-Latina, lot of the things that she is doing is what I want which isn’t something that has always been a to be doing, like I want to be on a show like Jane thing. Which if you know me, it can definitethe Virgin and then she made her own produc- ly seem like I have always identified this way, tion company which is called I Can and I Will. just because I’m so loud and proud about it. But What she’s doing with that company is she is I started my journey, like really discovering my 40

identity the summer of my sophomore year in high school, before junior year. I worked at this place called Project Hip-hop. A lot of the things we did, it was a theater and a dance group, so we would take dance and theater and make it into a show, and everyone there was Black. Not specifically because anyone was excluded, that’s just kind of how it was and a lot of the themes were about Black history. There was definitely an educational side to it. Over the summer we went on a tour, and on this tour we went to all these different states. They were southern states so like Virginia, North Carolina, South Carolina, Tennessee, Mississippi, D.C., and stuff like that. So we went to these places and we did a lot of museums, we performed our pieces at these places. Oh! We went to Georgia and just like that whole summer, I was with people who were Black and proud. It wasn’t like I denied the fact that I was Black, but it wasn’t like I knew I was Black and so my advisor, I guess you could call her—she was technically our boss but—she had said something, I don’t remember exactly what it was, but basically it was that you could be Latina and Black. And I was like “Oh…I guess you’re right.” So after that, that was when Black Lives Matter started to happen cause like, that summer when we were heading back to Boston, we found out about the shooting of Michael Brown.

We had this meeting earlier today and it was for mixed people, and I was sitting there and like, I never realized that I am technically mixed race.

But Latinx is not a race, it’s an ethnicity, which I think has been my problem my whole life. My whole life, I have just identified as Dominican, and Dominican means Latino. So the fact that people wanted to put me in a box of white or Black, I always felt like I was neither, I just saw myself as Dominican. Which I don’t think is a problem, like I am still very proud of my culture and I wouldn’t be who I am today if I wasn’t Dominican. I just learned that I can be Dominican and still be proud of being Black. There are just a lot of Dominicans who don’t think they’re white but they don’t think they’re Black. Like they will deny the fact that they are Black more than they would deny that they are white.

I think that motivated me more to want to embrace it, because no one is looking at me in the street and thinking,”Oh yeah, she’s black or white.” When people look at me, they don’t think I’m Latina. I don’t have that problem, I’m literally the straight definition of what a Latina looks like, at least in my opinion. People would never mistake me as white, but I also think that people won’t look at me and think Black. I think we have very stereotypical ideas of what a white person should look like and what a Black person That also had a really big impact on my life and should look like. A lot of Latinos are in the midon how I identify. So then my junior year I just dle. Like I call myself Black, in case anyone was did a lot of searching, and I don’t know how I wondering. came to the conclusion, but it wasn’t like I have to explain myself to anyone, it was more that I So that’s an experience that has had an effect on know in my genes I have Black, African blood in who you are today, so are there any experiences me, and I’m not white. For the most part I can that you have that you regret? say that most of my culture is derived by, yes Spaniards, but also Africans, and by the way I [pause] I don’t even know what that means. look, [gesturing to herself and her thick, curly hair] and the composition of my family, is just Like, can you think of anything that you’ve what I identify most with, so I just started to call gone through or done where you say to yourmyself Afro-Latina. self, “Damn I wish I could go back in time and change that”?

What does it mean to be Afro-Latina?

I’m the kind of person that if I do something It’s the best thing that has ever happened to me. stupid, I’ll like dwell on it, for like twelve years.

It really is. I don’t know, it just...[trailing off] Like sometimes in the middle of the night I’ll try 41

to go to bed and think of an embarrassing moment [laughing] I don’t think there’s anything that I regret regret. Also, there are like things that I was like “Oh, I shouldn’t have said that,” but nothing monumental in my life.”

Cool, so this is a broader topic. What does Flawless Brown mean to you? [smiling] When I think of Flawless Brown I think of sisterhood, like all of my friends are in Flawless. I literally don’t think I would have survived my first year here at Emerson without Flawless. Like yes, I’m doing theater, but I feel like that’s just a bonus. And it also just feels like work sometimes. Like the best part of Flawless is that, when I can, I go into Sisterhood and just chill out and see my friends and talk to people.

My fondest memories of Flawless are like this one time we saw a movie. We were just hanging out, we were laughing, we were crying, we were shook, all together. The other times are when we would just rant and just talk about our days.

It’s just necessary. I’ve never felt like I have had sisterly bonds with people outside of my family because I have had so many instances where I had friends and then they either stabbed me in the back, or we just grew apart and like none of my friendships have lasted longer than what school is.

dating. [pause] I don’t recommend dating someone you don’t really know. [laughing] Because that’s what happened. So a lot of our beginning was about finding harmony. There were a lot of things that I didn’t know about Lucas that I had to adjust to because that’s the way that he is, and you don’t want to change a person. But also a part of finding harmony is that, you don’t want to be constantly fighting. Our second year was really rough. It was probably whatever the opposite of harmony was, that’s what that was.

There was just a lot of fighting and a lot of clashing and it’s because we were both growing up.

So we were finding ourselves, and also being with each other on top of that, there’s just a lot of disconnect. Now I feel like we are in harmony because we know each other really well, and we balance each other out really well, we just work with each other and I like, I usually know what he needs and he usually can tell what I need. Although all couples do fight, and so we have these really petty fights sometimes, but at the end of the day we get over it pretty quickly, especially compared to how it used to be. There just seems to be more of an I understand you, and I know what you need, and more of a balance. So I guess you could add balance to the list of words that I think of when I think of harmony. Yeah, balance.

To tie in the topic of this magazine, what does the word harmony mean to you? [thinking, pausing between words] When...I think...of the word harmony…I think of peace.

Yeah, I feel like peace is a good one. This is really cheesy, but like I picture a globe with the tiny people around the globe, and then a tiny rainbow around the globe. [laughing] How do you find harmony? Or have there been any times where you had to find a way to achieve harmony? And this can be in terms of your relationship, this can be in terms of school, anything.

Hmm…Okay, I can use my relationship as an example. Like when Lucas and I first started 42

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44

tension tension

BY JACKIE MENJIVAR

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Sometimes it’s falling asleep to the thundering rhythm of your heart And waking up to muted flakes of snow falling on your windowsill It’s the fruitless hours of wandering amongst the library shelves And then a purposeful push of pen to paper when the words make sense again Sometimes it’s the aching so strong you do not want to be touched, Do not want to be seen And then it’s that electric eagerness to kiss deeply, To absorb all attention It’s the first time you saw your father cry And the last time you called him just to say hello It’s openly sobbing in the middle of Chipotle And then laughing until your sides hurt And then it hurts In some moments, you carry your trauma with you On each shoulder Deep in your chest In the spaces between every rib And in others, you tuck it In your pockets Behind your ears Within the folds of your body A careful curator of secrets and memories A desire to reveal your rusted, clumsy machinery And still it’s there And not And this is how you live You will take the days spent lost in the clutter of your bed And the ones where your energy is so boundless you could fly You will break at the touch Or you will burn to the touch But still, you will live

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UNITY

Photographed by Bethany Owens Models: Rija, Brooke, Alex, Jamica

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48

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a guide to breaking apart and piecing yourself back together Fade away like the paint of your teenage bedroom walls. You’ve become so accustomed to the colour, but when you remove the posters, the paint pulls away where the tape once stuck and it reveals what’s underneath. You see what you used to be: bright, vibrant, shiny, fresh—the last remaining patch of your former self. So you put the poster back up and pretend you never saw, burying the painful reminder. You wish you could fall apart gracefully and quickly like dominoes falling row by row but the world has not granted you that privilege.

Let the harsh light expose you. You can only hide for so long. One day someone sees the curling corner of your poster and glossy paint underneath, shining under the sun’s rays. They rip it off your wall and you stare into it for what feels like forever. Although you don’t admit it, you are somewhat grateful because you know deep down you can’t continue like this any longer. Your colors are so faded that you’re evaporating into thin air, disappearing into non-existence. Now, there is no more hiding.

Confront your pain. Make a list of things that make you feel bad: what makes panic flood into your brain and crush your chest with its heavy waves; what sinks you deeper into that black hole; what ways you disintegrate when you are overwhelmed.

Observe. Take note. Rinse. Repeat.

STEP 4

STEP 3

STEP 2

STEP 1

by lissa deonarain

Remember who you were. Make a list of what you used to love, who you used to be: the little things you used to do every night sitting in your bed before going to sleep; the melodies you would hum from your childhood; the places you would drive in those endless summer nights; the things that made you feel alive. You’ve changed so much since those simple times, but once the essence of who you are is buried, you have to start somewhere to uncover who you really are.

STEP 5, 7, 9

Trip and stumble. Relapse and regret. Your bruised, battered body consumed by guilt and pleasure all at once. Sometimes you can’t tell when you’re laying in the dirt when you’ve become used to being there and calling its coldness home.

STEP 6, 8, 10

Forgive yourself. Be patient. Falling down is normal when learning to walk again.

Brush off the dirt and gravel. Healing does not happen overnight. Your bruises are still fresh and tender, pushing too hard will just bring more blood to pool under the surface of your skin. Work harder. Reassess your methods to recovery. Sit in the moment, reflect. You’ve come so far from that dull, faded paint and you are slowly refreshing the layers with a new color. It will not be the same shade as you used to be, but change is good. It’s the same bright, fresh vibrancy, but with a hint of something different, separating the past from the present. The new you is beautiful and strong, even with the drips and uneven brush strokes, your vibrant glossy fresh coat of paint is gleaming.

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color space

by vvn

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dĂŠcouverte

By Nada Alturki

In a spectacular garden, not unlike the one of Eden, a group of men, handsome and purposeful, stumbled upon a land of green. So beautiful, mere mortals could only dream of finding it. But these men were clever, tactful, and tenacious. They believed that if they dug hard enough through the surface, they would find some wonderful treasures.

returned home, and never came back.

The second man dug in gently, and the earth softened to his touch. He was sweet and spoke in a way that was so foreign, so sure. But the earth was young and shy. Unmarked. Fragile. Soon, the man who was so keen on what he wanted grew tired of digging. His eyes wandered to nearby dangling dainty daf The men kept digging for fodils and perfectly rounded plums. And so he drifted off, what seemed like weeks. following the gaze of his car Months. nal and craving eyes, doubt Years. fully ever to return.

But they came up empty...

The third had a softness in his eyes. He saw how beau One of the men, playtiful and precious the land ful but lukewarm, only dug for ten days. When the earth was. His generous heart told him to leave the ground as it refused to take to his shortlived persistence, he gave up, was for someone else to find.

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He knew his time was limited, for he had to leave soon. He would not rob the land of its beauty; he would not dry her out.

And so he laid there for a while, in her presence, until it was time for him to go.

The earth grew sad and brown, lonely as more time passed. No one found her.

But one day‌ the sky opened up in a fountain of rain-showers, water so crystal, it was glass. So pure, it was gold. And it rained.

Rained.

Rained.

orchids and olive branches, peonies and poppy, sweet greens and snapdragons, in an endless array of petals in shades of pink, purple, and blue; the fresh scent of freesia and lavender filled up the insides of rabbit holes, and between the leaves of the raspberry bushes. The lights of the warm night twinkled as the shimmering stars shone their light down for her: their congratulations.

She grew freely. She grew fiercely. She grew alone.

She is a garden, and she is beautiful.

It rained down on her.

And there she went. She was gracious, and grand. She was magnificently marvelous.

As she was nourished by the freshness of the sky’s offerings, the earth grew cordelias and chrysanthemums, 54

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