Guac Magazine - Origins by Guac Magazine

guac Issue 07 Origins Spring 2021

Beijing Shibajian

Marin County Saratoga

New York City Brooklyn

Cleveland

Letter from the Editor I am from Rowland Heights, a small area in the suburbs of LA County. An hour drive is long enough to remove me from the romantic ideas of a star-studded, beach-side life mentions of Los Angeles stirs, though that’s often where I tell people I am from for simplicity. Instead, my hometown appears quite plain to the untrained eye. For myself and the others who call it home, though, it is painted with memories made in plazas filled with the best Asian cuisine and on hikes that showed us a surprisingly grand view of our town. More than just the backdrop to some of my fondest memories, it has been the soil where my roots are planted and where I have been allowed to grow. But it’s not just hometowns that have a way of shaping us. Sometimes it’s a place hundreds of miles away from where we grew up that teaches us about ourselves. I found a new sense of confidence walking down Fifth Avenue in New York the first time I explored a city by myself. From trips to Taiwan and China, I came to understand the way in which their rich culture and history indirectly left a mark on who I am through my parents who called them home. In our Origins issue, you’ll get to read about these places and others from writers who have had the pleasure of knowing them deeply. See two different views of NYC, spend some time in the Bay Area, learn about Cleveland football, and soak in every detail of Beijing before taking in a breath of fresh air in the mountains of Taiwan. You’ve got a journey in store for you at the turn of a page. Just pick where you want to go first! I’m thankful for yet another issue put together by the talented Guac Magazine staff during what has been a difficult year for many reasons. I especially want to thank our seniors graduating this semester. Many of them have been part of this team much longer than I have; all of them have helped build Guac into what it is today. Zoe, Marertu, Dana, Chloe, and Maggie, thank you! I’m filled with gratitude for all you’ve done for us and with excitement as you enter into the next chapter of your lives. And to you, dear reader, thank you for spending some of your time with us today. I hope our issue can remind you of a place that has made you who you are. These are our origin stories. What’s yours?

Emily Jacobsson Editor-in-Chief

Table of Contents 04 The Dynamism of Beijing: Life in the Hutongs Jennifer Zhang

18 The Lesser Known Saratoga Ananya Krishnan

08 The Hidden Life of Shibajian Mountain Phoebe Lee

22 NYC: A Hodgepodge Lourdes Garcia

14 Beyond the Fog Zoe Hauser

33 MiraCle(veland) Kat Martin

28 Coney Island Summers Ashley Loke

The Dynamism of Beijing: Life in the Hutongs WORDS Jennifer Zhang PLACE Beijing, China

rowing up in three distinctly different cities, I remember my childhood as an indistinguishable blend of memories. I found myself caught up in the oddly disorienting weariness of scraping through local parks, street names, and backyards in search of a sense of unique belonging to define home. It was a directionless battle, as I couldn’t exactly pinpoint my attachment to these places that defined my childhood, our connection intangible and blurred. Unexpectedly, on a trip to Beijing, I found a sense of closure to end my uncertainty. With the typical boldness and dryness of the northern cities, the capital was prideful. Accompanied by a certain solemnity of its rich and heavy history, the grandeur of Beijing was most apparent in the Forbidden City. Hundreds of buildings in traditional Chinese architecture were surrounded by high walls and gates and separated into sections and court areas, lasting legacies of the Qing dynasty monarchy. Every wall was a uniform, painted red, saturated and full but with just enough thickness and weight to neutralize the brightness of the overtones. Stacked golden tiles cascaded down sloping roofs, rigid stone beasts perched delicately atop their upward-sweeping spines. Gazing down at the Forbidden City, each palace and courtyard formed a

labyrinth of their own, worlds existing within worlds. Walking through these worlds gave the impression of the distortion of space and time, the silent and imposing palaces serving as reconstructed glimpses of past eras in tranquility. At first, I thought that this was all that there was to Beijing. Power, strength, dignity. The tall flagpole in the middle of Tiananmen Square, the hectic metropolis with impressive infrastructure. However, the more I explored, the more I became aware of the other sides to the city. In Beihai Park, rows of willow trees thrived along the lake, long branches drooping above the water, forming dense clouds of vivid and energetic green. The supple branches swayed in the breeze, tinting the water a cool grassy hue, occasionally disturbed by sleek wooden motorboats gliding by. At the time of my visit, the willow flowers were in full bloom. Small willow catkins drifted through the air, their fuzzy white buds travelling away from the waters and above the chaotic streets, into the bustling alleyways and decorating rooftops and sidewalks. Momentarily, the city became theirs. It’s spring snow, the people would say. There was a certain gentleness in how the spring breeze snuck through the trees, the newly grown grass peeking out from the crevices of paved path

“ Instead of collision,

the incongruities of the city blend naturally, each completing a specific piece of the puzzle to engender a dynamism unique to Beijing.

ways, swallow-tailed kites wobbling to catch the next gust of wind. Beijing, with its unyielding vigor and modernity, was also soft at its core, exuding subdued tenderness that balanced its formidable exterior. Traversing the alleys of old Beijing, the Hutongs, I stumbled upon the most delightful discoveries. The stacked grey bricks of walled neighborhoods lined up against narrow alleyways, extending along the path and culminating at a charming little doorway to an open courtyard. The traditional tiled rooftops and wooden paint chipped window panes evoked subtle nostalgia in me as I beheld their quiet stillness, tufts of lichen spreading along the fractured surfaces. Though the architecture of the Hutongs resembled a muted echo of the past, the Hutongs themselves were lively, filled with restless energy. The alleys were almost never empty. The constant ringing of bike bells, the soft breeze of bicycles and tricycles swiftly passing by, the rattling of tires grazing through the gravel. Small shops sprouted adjacent the walkways: family-owned convenience stores lit by bare lightbulbs with racks of colourful treats and small buzzing freezers as children played behind the counters, breakfast stalls serving freshly steamed goods to customers on tiny wooden stools, stationery shops with miscellaneous trinkets of all sorts, ranging from mechanical pencils to bamboo dragonflies and bubble machines. I was lucky enough to even catch a shadow puppet performance, the folk tales of my childhood brought to life through the skillful manipulation of intricately designed figures

as I watched Sun Wukong battle the Skeleton Demon. From palaces to parks to streets and alleys, Beijing displayed itself in layers as I uncovered its different facets. The city was a jumbled nest of contradictions, both rough and mellow, boisterous and tranquil, seemingly stiff and rigid with its skyscrapers and gated towers but also warm and inviting with noisy vendors and crooked street lamps radiating cozy yellow halos. Instead of collision, the incongruities of the city blend naturally, each completing a specific piece of the puzzle to engender a dynamism unique to Beijing. These contradictions are what I think keep Beijing alive. As I gradually formed a personal and thorough representation of Beijing through my own perception, I realized for the first time that this was my process of forming connections with places. Rather than identifying specific objects or locations as a way of resonance, I establish relationships with places the same way I establish relationships with people, creating stronger interconnections as I become more aware of their nuances and subtleties, ultimately developing a lasting impression woven into my memories.

JENNIFER ZHANG is a freshman from Hong Kong studying Information Science and Comparative Literature. One of her favorite travel destinations is Bosnia and Herzegovina because of the interesting history and beautiful sunsets. After the pandemic is over, she hopes to visit museums around the world.

The Hidden Life of Shibajian Mountains WORDS Phoebe Lee PLACE Taiwan

ff the coast of China exists a small island. This island is famous for its boba milk tea, beef noodle soup, night markets, semiconductors, and other specialties, most of which are food. Little attention is paid to the island’s sceneries, but they are no less inferior than its cuisines. Mountain ranges cover over two-thirds of the island, yet they go unnoticed. Coastal areas are easily within an hour drive, perfect for watching the orange and pink hues of the setting sun. But because these sceneries are so easily accessible, they are often underappreciated and taken for granted. On this island stands a miniature mountain. To the locals, it is called Eighteen Peaks, or Shibajian Mountain. To those residing outside the city of Hsinchu, this mountain has no name. It harbors no distinctive traits. With a mere height of 150m, it hardly even qualifies as a mountain. Yet this miniature mountain is everything but small and simple. Hidden beneath the mundane paths and obscured by people’s lack of interest lies a world waiting to be discovered – a world full of life and mysteries.

Every weekend, I join my parents on a leisurely stroll on the mountain. The paths are wide and flat. Our pace is slow. There are trees, but they are simply trees; one is indistinguishable from the next. It is as I expected: boring. To repeat this week after week? Unimaginable. Yet my parents find joy in this weekly ritual. Perhaps this is one of those activities that comes with age. During our hikes, my parents pause at seemingly random places, having discovered one of nature’s masterpieces, one that I fail to notice. Sometimes, it is a hideous bug that stops them in their tracks. Other times, it is a spider hanging on an intricately woven web with water beads glistening off the silk. Upon hearing a series of chirps, they survey the canopy,

quickly identifying the bird. From mushrooms to insects to birds to trees, nothing escapes their eyes.

ringing overhead might belong to the white-rumped shama. I begin to see.

Everything escapes mine.

The hiking paths are always the same, yet nature is full of surprises. Striving to uncover them is what transforms these weekly hikes into a perpetually engaging activity. Nevertheless, there are still days when nothing reveals itself. The insects remain hidden and camouflaged. The birds rest high in the trees, just out of view. But because of these uneventful days, the moments when the unexpected presents itself are even more stimulating. A short hike could extend for hours as my parents and I become mesmerized by the wonders of nature. Following the same twisting and winding path week af

After weeks of watching them observe the hidden world around us, however, the trees begin to shine in a different light. They are no longer homogeneous. Tree barks vary in thickness and patterning. Leaves come in all shapes and colors. Movement that never turn my head now catches my eyes. The slight jostling of the leaves might belong to the agile warbling white-eye bird. Sounds that are normally filtered out now enter my ears. A rustling of the decaying leaves might be a Chinese skink slithering about. The beautiful tune

ter week, I witness the hatching and feeding of the besra sparrowhawk, the metamorphosis of the tailed jay butterfly, and the nesting of the warbling white-eye bird. The same miniature mountain, now a completely different world. All it takes is a shift in perception. The masterpieces of nature have been present from the onset, even before my first hike. I failed to appreciate them because I could not see them. But having shifted my perception, a formerly invisible world is now brought to my attention. Everywhere I turn, I strain my ears to pick up new, formerly unperceived sounds. Everywhere I walk, I make sure to look not only straight ahead, but also around me. Nature’s creations are hidden everywhere, waiting to be uncovered, and when they are, it is breathtaking. Although I am now an ocean away, I retain those skills and embed them into my system.

Walking through the streets of Boston, I can distinguish the calls of the blue jays from the red cardinals. I can recognize the chiseling of the downy woodpeckers, the sweet songs of the northern mockingbirds, and the chirps of the chickadees. The miniature mountain on a small island off the coast of China showed me a different world, one hidden away in plain sight. It taught me to appreciate those that are generally not appreciated. What I have learned on Shibajian Mountain does not end there, and it certainly does not end with nature.

PHOEBE LEE is a senior from Taiwan studying Human Biology, Health and Society. One of her favorite travel destinations is the mountains and coasts of Taiwan because there is still so much to see and appreciate. After the pandemic is over, she hopes to visit various national parks across the United States.

Beyond the Fog WORDS Zoe Hauser PLACE Marin County, CA

y home, Marin County, California, situated just north of San Francisco, starts off each day with a low rising fog and ends with stunning sunsets that radiate across its waters and mountaintops. Despite its endless supply of nature and adventures, it has never felt like the place where I am supposed to be from. I remember the first time I traveled to the East Coast. I became convinced that I was not meant to spend my adult life out West - something just did not seem to fit. The East Coast became the answer to my problems, my insecurities, and most importantly, my inability to connect with others. This past year has not changed my opinion entirely, but has forced me to reconsider myself and where I want to call home. I spent months pondering this question of home and came to the conclusion that taking a step back and losing a year of wonderful travel and adventure was a small price to pay for the clarity I gained about my origins and what makes a place home now helps me identify what I want in my life and who I am. Quarantine showed me that while the East Coast will always have my heart, being so close-minded to my home was actually more limiting and diminishing to myself than I initially realized. Home is less about the place and more about the people you are around, and the pandemic was one way of forcing me to analyze my home from a different perspective.

Marin County adapted to the pandemic life quite well, offering an abundance of outdoor dining, walks, hikes, and ocean views. Each week, my parents and I would adventure out for Dining Under the Lights. Our city started this event to increase restaurant capacity and allow for safe outdoor dining. Tables and chairs dotted the streets. Cars were nowhere to be found. Something as simple as sitting under the lights forced me to reevaluate my surroundings. The subtle twinkle of the lights above my head reminded me that while there was a world outside my bubble that I should explore, living in the moment of the simple act of outdoor dining was also a wonderful leisure activity given my current circumstances. I needed to analyze my surroundings to resituate myself and find, even if fleeting, brief moments of peace. It was in these moments that we would run into neighbors, family, and friends. Even from a distance, they showed me how welcoming and inviting Marin could be. My cold edge towards home began to lessen. With each walk and hike, I gained an appreciation for how accessible nature was my entire life and how I had taken it for granted. I was recently asked in an interview what my favorite pastime was, and I instantly responded with hiking. She inquired why, and I explained that hiking is an escape from the reality of Zoom, my headspace, and allows me to ponder how the different developments in nature relate to my life and the decisions I need to make. There’s a trail in the hills above my

where I went a couple of times per week with my dog to escape my reality. I went during sunrise, sunset, and the middle of the day, each offering me a different form of solace. Just before the sunset, the pink, purple, and blue hues filtered through the eucalyptus trees, and the branches swayed with the wind, all while the moon illuminated the path as I sprinted back to my car before sunset. I wandered these small, single file paths without a clear purpose in mind, but each time I found my way home. A little bit more of my origin story became attached to these trails behind Elizabeth Way’s open space as I peeled away the layers of me that were a facade and discovered who I was. I used to think of home as the people in Marin, but now home is also the place where I am from. I was forced to shed my protective barriers and find solace in who I am and where I am from.

ZOE HAUSER is a senior from Marin County, California studying History and French. One of her favorite travel destinations is Capri, Italy for its sparkling blue waters and lemon-scented way of life. After the pandemic, she hopes to explore New York City since she will be moving there post-graduation.

The Lesser Known Saratoga WORDS Ananya Krishnan PLACE Saratoga, California, USA

y family moved to Saratoga, a small town in the Bay Area at the foothills of the Santa Cruz Mountains, when I was three years old. Saratoga lies in between Cupertino and Los Gatos, or the Apple and Netflix headquarters respectively. It’s the intersection of nature and Silicon Valley which is reflected all over the town. Almost every adult Saratogan works in the tech industry and enjoys weekend hikes or drives along the Pacific Coast Highway. Highway 9 snakes through Downtown Saratoga, dangerously winding into the mountains. Driving into the hills is one of the most rewarding experiences. It’s a hard feat and requires your entire focus, so most teenagers, and their parents, are hesitant to do it for the first time. But when you get to the top, you can see all of Silicon Valley on one side and the ocean meeting the horizon on the other. No matter how many times you’ve done it, driving in the Santa Cruz Mountains never gets old. Residential streets branch off of the highway. Like a game, we enjoy finding the ones that lead to a beautiful view during the sunset. But more frequently we end up trying to make a three-point turn in narrow private driveways. Some winters, the sides of Skyline Boulevard, which runs along the top of the hills, is dusted with snow. We drive up the mountains with our

friends after school to have snowball fights while we can because, almost as quickly as it comes, the snow melts away. Skyline is also the best spot for sitting in your car and watching the sunset, so it’s pretty popular for first dates. Christmas tree farms show up every few miles and in the sweltering summer heat, the little trees make everyone nostalgic for the colder weather. Redwood trees are everywhere in Saratoga and most especially in the hills. These ancient, towering specimens can only be found in California, so they’ve become my favorite trees. As kids, most of our field trips take place in the mountains, and we’ve been observing Redwood forests for years. I’ve had my fair share of splinters and pinecone-collecting competitions. As a right of passage, most Bay Area kids have kissed a banana slug they found in the forest during summer camps and field trips! Springtime in Saratoga is serene. Cherry blossom trees can be found all across town, and after the barrenness of winter, everyone celebrates the arrival of spring. The farmer’s market at our community college opens up again, and some of my fondest memories are walking around, sampling fresh fruits with my mom after a soccer game on the college field. Our annual arts and music festival brings everyone together, and we welcome people from all over the South Bay Area.

with my mom after a soccer game on the college field. Our annual arts and music festival brings everyone together, and we welcome people from all over the South Bay Area. Saratoga is tiny compared to all the neighboring towns. There are three small elementary schools, one middle school, and one high school, so it’s a tightly knit community. Saratoga’s small town charm is just one of the things that make it home for me. Many of my friends work at the two Starbucks’s in town, so there’s always a friendly face when you pop in. Our bagel shop’s owners know

my order, which just warms my heart, and next door to them is the laundromat my dad’s gone to since 2005. Summer begins early in Saratoga, like most of California. By midApril, shorts and tank tops come out, and picnics and pool parties begin. Hot summer days are lazy, but the cooler summer nights make Downtown sparkle. Teenagers always complain that our downtown isn’t lively enough, but in the summer, you can find restaurants’ outdoor seating packed. Parks are dot-

ted with picnickers, and everyone drives with the windows down and music blasting. Outdoor spaces are preferred by Saratogans of all ages. While I’m chatting with my friends on a picnic blanket, parents and their children run around with their dogs. Toddlers fool around on play structures and seniors enjoy evening walks, waving and smiling at everyone they pass. Fall in Saratoga feels like home. I’ve trick-or-treated on a lot of the streets, and the annual Sacred Heart carnival is something I still look forward to. A lot of the trees are evergreen, but here and there beautiful orange and red leaves litter the streets and the hillside. Friday night football games bring everyone together, and remembering that feeling of community always makes me homesick. Saratoga has a few claims to fame. Kyle Shanahan, coach of the San Francisco 49ers went to my high school. As did Steven Spielberg for one year, and he described it as “the worst year of his life.” We’re actually quite proud we even had an impact on him. A few famous athletes based in or from the Bay Area reside in Saratoga, like Jimmy Garopolo, Kerry Walsh Jennings, and Patrick Marleau. Screen legends Olivia de Haviland and Joan Fontaine called our town home for eleven years and often described how much they loved it.

ing a familiar face, and everyone knows where you live. But that also makes Saratoga one of the safest towns in California. Kids go to the park alone when they’re still elementary schoolers. More Saratoga teenagers on average get their licenses when they turn 16. And burglaries and violent crimes rarely ever happen. If I had to describe my hometown in one word, I couldn’t. But, if I could use a few, I’d say Saratoga is flourishing suburbia influenced by both the natural world and the rapidly innovating. It’s not on any bucket lists and it isn’t particularly famous, but it’s home for me, and it always will be.

ANANYA KRISHNAN is a freshman from the Bay Area studying Environment & Sustainability, Business, and History. One of her favorite travel destinations is Salzburg, Austria because of its balance of historical sites and natural scenery. After the pandemic is over, she hopes to visit her twin brother studying in Edinburgh, Scotland, for the first time.

It sounds idyllic, but to many, it isn’t. The small town charm can be stifling for some. You can’t go to the grocery store without see-

NYC: A Hodgepodge WORDS Lourdes Garcia PLACE New York City

ew York City. The capital city of the world. The city featured in so many blockbuster films and shows that everybody thinks they know what makes the city move. They dream of it as a place of fantasies, a place of concepts, and a land of possibilities for the tourists and millions around the world looking at it through a screen. They are not wrong. New York City is is a combination of ideas, from the architect, buildings, and art that surrounds it, to the people that live here. Every time I travel back to NYC and exit my bus, it would be easy for me to join the massive crowd taking the escalator down to the subway, where I could hop onto the train and make my way home. However, I always choose to walk out of Port Authority and make my way east to Grand Central, where I can directly take the six train instead of having to transfer. It’s a short ten-minute walk and I do my best to savor it and play tourist, dreaming as if the lights of Times Square and the buildings that make up the New York City skyline are blinding to my eyes and the cacophony of sounds- cars honking, languages I can only try to identify, the screech and rumbling of the

underground subway- were not my lullaby. For a moment, I try to look at this concrete jungle with new eyes, as if it has not given me as much love as I have given it since birth. There’s dirt and grit between the hodgepodge architect that makes NYC. A distinctive smell always permeates the air- a mix of the smoke coming from the trains, to the stink of the Hudson River and trash that piles on the street. During the summer, sweat and humidity fill the trains as it clings to passengers; and in the winter, snow turns from pure white to a yellow and black slush. New Yorkers learn to walk fast and confidently, to weave amongst the tourists and assert that this is their home. We must. In a city of eight million people from every corner of the world, each with their own dreams and desires of calling the city their home, you have to be confident, or you will be turned invisible. But every New Yorker, including myself, will tell you there is no place like the city in the world and no better place to call home. New York City is busy. It is easy for anybody to feel small and insignificant amongst the

constant movement and cacophony of sounds from people and trains. I know how cruel the city can be because I felt like that once too, when I was thirteen and hopped onto the express five train by myself for the first time and was cursed out and crushed by the bodies struggling to get to work and school on time during the morning rush. But there’s beauty in that cruelty and chaos, and I learned that overtime when every day in the city became an adventure. The world is crammed into these five boroughs and there is still so much that I didn’t know. Like a child, curiosity grows, and the city turned into my playground in learning and experiencing new things. Here you can do that, just hop onto a train, and choose something new to do. There is so much freedom in New York City, to be who you are and to do what you want if you are brave enough to do it, and you learn how to remain calm and self-assured in the face of all the chaos. New York is home to people who just want to live and exist in their beauty, rather than face the judgement they would confront in other parts of the world. New York is a city that loves her people, that loves them for who they truly are and pushes you to be the best version of you. To push and showoff all those parts of yourself that would be scorned elsewhere. It’s learning the New York stride that tells the world that you’re here and confident, even if sometimes you aren’t. The love for her people is what New York City teaches you as you grow up here. She raises and nurtures you just as much as your family

does and it teaches you to see the world for as big as it is and partake in it, to love the people that grow and live alongside you. It’s going down to Chinatown on Lunar New Year, to see the lion dance and lanterns strung between buildings, and wish prosperity, wealth, and health for the community and all your friends that live there. It’s growing up knowing the no one will ever come close to owning Halloween like Drag Queens do, that love is celebrated best during Pride, that the best hiphop came out of the playgrounds and streets of the Southeast Bronx. New York City makes you see more of the world, understand that we are part of something bigger, greater. We understand early on that we’re all different, but there’s beauty in that because our core is the same- we all want to love, to laugh and smile and cry, to have a home. For those of us who open our hearts to city, she teaches that there is no place for hate here. Here in the city, I learned that it is okay to want the world around you to be quiet, and Central Park can be that haven. It encourages me to be healthy, and walk the Williamsburg Bridge with a view of the skyline that is just as beautiful as the Brooklyn Bridge’s, but with less tourists and more street art. This hodgepodge of a city is a combination of all the world interests, our reason to live. It is where art and music fill the streets and paint the walls, where

history is told in the brownstone townhouses, where money controls the world down in the Finance District. It told me to expand my knowledge in the world and share in the joy that all these interests bring. New York City is the city that will push you to be your best, to feel invincible when you recognize that you are a part of something bigger.

Lourdes Garcia is a sophomore from New York City studying History and Biological Sciences. One of her favorite travel destinations is Cuenca, Ecuador because it is an old city filled with energy and life. After the pandemic is over, she looks forward to hopping on any train and visiting new neighborhoods and restaurants in NYC with her twin.

Coney Island Summers

WORDS Ashley Loke PLACE Coney Island, NY

s there anything quite as blissful as an amble along the boardwalk? You noticed things: a man in green suspenders strumming lightly on his guitar while singing folk songs in a screechy falsetto, a woman in a yellow blouse, burgundy slacks, and sandals pushing a baby stroller, a gay couple from Los Angeles insisting on speaking terrible Italian to a vendor selling gelato, a couple of teenagers playing frisbee, police officers radioing in their patrol cars, and a flock of seagulls flying overhead. There was a strange glamor to the seagulls’ raucous, timeless cries as they soared amid the chords of golden sunlight, piercing straight into the waters. I closed my eyes as the opera of the ocean washed over me and threatened to pull me away like a treacherous riptide. The siren call of the sea was soothing, the pungent tang of the sea salt welcome.

The hot summer sun soon ushered in the inevitable afternoon torpor. I nodded away as the languor from the intense midafternoon heat settled upon us. The cumulus clouds conspicuous against the backdrop of a clear blue sky. The cast of a high afternoon sun over a rippling blanket of cerulean blue. The glitter of those distant summers. Silence was always whimsical and unobtrusive during these moments, but they all belonged to a lifetime ago. Those were the days when all I prayed for was for time to stop. My memories will forever be colored by those faraway Coney Island summers. Summer evenings were slow and drowsy, full of sleepy conversations and the scraping of heavy metal chairs against the wooden boardwalk, breaking the oppressive silence of the sweltering summer air. In the thick, muggy, and stultifying heat, everyone was a victim. The deep red of the setting sun bled into the evening sky and threw narrow shelves of shadows on the boardwalk. We watched fireworks on the Fourth of July, tracing brilliant arcs of light into the dark canvas of a night sky. This was my childhood. I was a chirpy, lively child in an enchanting world of books, boardwalks, and beaches. The ocean’s consistency was what I admired most. Its waves never stopped embracing the sand, no matter how many times that embrace was rejected. As I look back to those simpler times, I regret none of it, not the innocence, not the inexperience, not the utter lack of foresight of what the future would hold.

With the city in the midst of a global pandemic, Coney Island is now merely a shadow of its usual summer self. It was especially sobering to go back to the city last spring and see the impacts that the pandemic has had on my favorite urban beach resort. Gone were the throngs of eager tourists with their cameras, the amphitheater of indistinct chatter and aromatic fragrances, and the giddiness of a day spent wiggling my toes in the warm sand. Coney Island was eerily silent and seemingly devoid of life. The lurking shadows of empty carnival booths cloaked the boardwalk in darkness. Not so long ago, it was a cheerful location that offered miles of boardwalk, commanding seaside views, and various amusement park rides. Now, the normal summer fun was replaced with canceled concerts, shuttered storefronts, and virtual venues. Coney Island had been a fixture in my childhood, and I had secretly made it mine. I was filled with a sense of anxiety, dread, and uncertainty that I could not even begin to fathom. What will become of me? What will become of us? A poignant turmoil was welling within me, and it took every fiber of my being to shove them back. I understand that we are on borrowed time, that we always have been on borrowed time. The loan shark comes to collect his dues precisely when we are least prepared to pay and need to borrow more. These are unprecedented times. The pandemic

may have upended our lives and upended our plans, but it has also taught us some important lessons. We must learn to heal, move on, and recall the happy moments instead. Why do I reminisce so fondly about those distant summers on the Coney Island beach and boardwalk? It may be because I feel nostalgic of the past, or perhaps it is because I was able to focus solely on the present back then. In that case, perhaps we should focus less on what the future holds and more on the present. The world may never be the same again, and that is okay. I used to believe that nothing lasts forever, and the chaos and suffering created by this pandemic seemed to confirm my belief. All good things must come to an end, but the same can also be said for bad things. As we settle into our new reality, I sincerely hope that everyone can discover a piece of sympathetic seaside somewhere, anywhere, as long as it can offer a sense of confidence, peace, and security found nowhere else in this conscious life

ASHLEY LOKE is a junior from New York City studying biology and history. One of her favorite travel destinations is Malacca City in Malaysia because of its cuisine and rich history. After the pandemic is over, she hopes to go on a cross-country road trip across the United States.

MiraCle(veland) WORDS Kat Martin PLACE Cleveland, Ohio

ou can’t spell miracle without “Cle,” and you can’t visit Cleveland without hearing this saying at least fifty times. It is this immense pride, found in a city labeled as “the mistake by the lake,” that sets Cleveland apart from other cities. While Cleveland may not be as large or influential as bigger cities like New York or Los Angeles, the sense of community imbued in everyone living in this industrial city off of Lake Erie will always make Cleveland special. Being able to go to sporting events on weekends instilled a strong sense of camaraderie in me, while experiencing new musical acts, both local and well-known, kept me open minded. I am grateful to have been born and raised in this city because rooting for and having pride in the underdog makes our victories all the more special.

of community “ The sense derived from being

an industrial city will always make Cleveland Special.

As anyone from the Midwest knows, sports are a large part of our culture. Cleveland has three major sports teams: Cleveland Browns, Cleveland Cavaliers, and the to-berenamed Cleveland baseball team. My grandfather is from the Pawnee Nation Reservation in Oklahoma, so I was overjoyed to hear that the baseball team was changing their name. The cult-like nature surrounding Cleveland sports is by far one of my favorite aspects of the city. A prime example of this is one of my mom’s favorite memories of the city: the 10 cent beer night disaster. In 1974, Cleveland’s baseball team decided to sell beer for 10 cents, a decision that quickly devolved into drunk and rowdy fans storming the field, forcing the game to be postponed. Even today, people in Cleveland will wear T-shirts saying “bring back 10 cent beer night” as a nod to one of the most chaotic sporting events in history. Personally, my favorite memory with Cleveland sports is the 0-16 parade, a parade dedicated to commemorating the 2017 NFL season

where the Browns did not win a single game. Fans marched around the FirstEnergy Stadium, also known as the Factory of Sadness, in an effort to get the attention of owner Jimmy Haslam. To march in the parade, participants were asked to bring a small donation for the Greater Cleveland Food Bank, which ended up receiving over 68,000 meals from this event. This protest got the attention of Haslam and resulted in

the acquisition of quarterback Baker Mayfield and center J.C. Tretter, a former Cornell football player. The efforts of Tretter and Mayfield have paid off. This past season, the Browns went to the playoffs for the first time since 2003. The Cavaliers, also known as the Cavs, have had the opposite fate compared to the Browns. Throughout my time in high school, the

Cavs were constantly in the playoffs. Whenever there was a home playoff game, the city would openup the “Rally Alley” as an outside viewing pavilion with a large screen displaying the game. Going to these playoff games was the best way for my friends and Is to kick off summer break. In 2016, the Cavs came back from 1-3 to win the NBA Championship, breaking the “Cleveland Curse” of not winning a major league championship for 52 years. The parade celebrating this win drew over 1 million screaming fans, most of whom had never seen Cleveland win a championship. Despite not having the large budgets of major cities like New York or Los Angeles, Cleveland finally won. The entire city felt validated as their years of thankless loyalty had paid off. Home to the Rock n’ Roll Hall of Fame, Cleveland gets some of the best music acts in the country. When not at a sporting event, my friends and I can be found at one of the many eclectic Cleveland concert venues. RocketField Mortgage Arena is our biggest concert venue, and this is where I’ve gotten to see acts like Cage the Elephant and The Black Keys perform. There are many smaller, and in my opinion better, venues to catch indoor

concerts, like House of Blues and The Agora, which is rumored to be haunted. My favorite places to see indoor concerts are Mahall’s Lanes and The Grog Shop. Both venues cap at roughly 300 people, pre-pandemic, allowing concert-goers to experience artists in a more intimate setting. Mahall’s Lanes is both a concert venue and bowling alley, which makes it a unique and eccentric place to listen to artists. While big names such as Panic at the Disco and Elle King have performed at The Grog Shop, up-and-coming artists like Gus Dapperton, who I met after his set, are more common. If outdoor concerts are more your thing, then Blossom Music Center and Nautica Pavilion are for you. Blossom gets huge acts like Chance the Rapper, Wiz Khalifa, Florence and the Machine, and Kings of Leon on a pretty regular basis. What makes Blossom unique is that it is part of Cuyahoga Valley National Park, one of the only national parks in the Midwest. Nestled in the Valley, concert goers can simultaneously take in the music as well as the beautiful valley scenery while at Blossom. Aside from being able to experience a concert in a national park, Cleveland also has the

Nautica Concert Pavilion, which is located on the river banks of the Cuyahoga River. When I saw Hozier and Green Little Cars perform in 2016, lights were projected onto the river, dancing in sync with the tunes. Aside from concerts, Cleveland also has two prominent music festivals: Burning River Fest and Brite Winter Music Festival. Burning River Fest occurs in late June on Whiskey Island and was created to commemorate the 50th anniversary of the Cuyahoga River catching on fire, an event that helped create the Environmental Protection Agency. Proceeds from this festival go towards The Burning River Foundation, a non-profit dedicated to improving and maintaining the vitality of freshwater resources in Northeast Ohio. Although the festival was canceled last summer, its inaugural festival in 2019 had band Arlie as the headliner. Unlike Burning River, Brite Winter occurs in February on the West Bank of the Flats in downtown Cleveland. Brite Winter is free for all who want to come and enjoy local art, music, and food. Each year, Brite Winter brings in a headliner, which in the past included artists like Atlas Genius, COIN, Small-

pools, and most recently, Ra Ra Riot. Personally, my favorite concert memory was when The Killers performed for free during MLB All Star Week, which occurred in Cleveland in 2019. My best friend and I waited eight hours in line to see my favorite band since seventh grade perform live. We wound up being in the front row which made all the waiting worth it. This was the best concert I’ve been to since I was able to see my favorite band in the middle of downtown Cleveland, a city that I truly love. I will always be grateful for my upbringing in Cleveland and will continue to pester my friends to visit once the pandemic ends. While I’m not sure if I will live in Cleveland after graduation, I will always have warm memories of this city. No matter where I live, I will always be a Cleveland fan.

KAT MARTIN is a junior from Cleveland studying Industrial and Labor Relations. One of her favorite travel destinations is Sedona, Arizona because of its indigenous influences and emphasis on nature and spirituality. After the pandemic is over, she looks forward to attending in-person music and art festivals.

About

Guac

Guac is an award-winning travel publication run by an interdisciplinary group of students at Cornell University. We aim celebrate cultural diversity and inspire communities to view the world with an open mind. AUG 2017

NOV 2017

Let's start a travel magazine

Hidden Gems, Our First Issue

The headline news story was of President Trump's travel ban on predominantly Muslim nations. As international students, we wanted to value of diversity to be appreciated and known. This is why we started a travel magazine. To celebrate the beauty of the world and inspire people to go out and experience different cultures for themselves.

For our first issue, we wanted to truly show the different level of diversity the world has to offer. This is why we chose the theme Hidden Gems. Written by friends who traveled to various interesting places, this issue exposes some of the world’s best kept secrets that is often overlooked by travelers.

JAN 2018

MARCH 2018

NOW

40 Students, 14 Countries

Perkins Prize

More than a magazine

After a semester, we grew into a publication of 40 students from 14 countries, representing 5 different continents. This is only the start, we are only getting bigger and more diverse!

Only after 8 months, Guac Magazine was awarded an honorary mention for the James A. Perkins Prize for Interracial & Intercultural Peace & Harmony. We believe we are the youngest club at Cornell to have ever been awarded with this honor.

We are embarking on a new and exciting journey to expand our impact beyond delivering high quality print magazines. We are creating a growing community where diverse voices can be heard and barriers will be broken.

Find us on guacmag.com, Medium Guac Magazine, Facebook Guac Magazine, Instagram @guacmag All illustrations of Guac characters were created by Eric Lee

Directors

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Editors

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Julia Hans

Chloe Tsui

Grace Han

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Sara Choi

Edward Guo

Steph Tan

Josie Liu

Melody Zhou

Irene Wu

Ethan Shao

Grace Yang

Allegra Albanese

Research and Development

Social Media

Lourdes Garcia

Matthew Canabarro

Julia Pienkowska

Katie Lee

Annabelle Davy

Karen Zhao

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Zoe Hauser Staff Writers Creative Director

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Ploy Chirathivat

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Jennifer Zhang

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Josephene Ginting Kexin Luo

Huy Le

Shirley Ren Sophie Ruan