SPACES vol 2/ edition 1
SPACES vol 2/ edition1
CREDITS Directors: Ayize James Amanda Ortiz Editors: Jennings Mergenthal Omi Strait Social Media Team: Jennifer Eng Jessie Lu Gianella Rojas Photographers: Priya Baumann Juan Diaz Grace Lin Long Nguyen Pallavi Shoroff Graphic Designers: Grace Lin Tara Mercene Long Nguyen Kevin Shin Lakshmi Somala Mai Moua Thao Amanda Wong Pa Houa Xiong
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Writers (creative, poetry, non-fiction, etc): Rebecka Ibarra Lenny Prater Gianella Rojas Omi Strait Visual Artists: Tonantzin Cabrera Sophie Mark-Ng Anjali Moore Event Planners: Rebecka Ibarra Vivian Tran Videographers: Long Nguyen Chief Financial Officer: Ayushi Modi @spaces.mag spaces@macalester.edu facebook.com/MacalesterSpaces
GROWTH AS GROWTH AS
happiness rage sadness love
table of contents
4 Letter From the Directors 7
HAPPINESS
8 Priya Baumann
36 Sophie Mark-Ng 40 Kailleen Perez Garcia 41 Rebecka Ibarra 42 Anna Chu
12 Gabi Estrada
46 Alex Thomas
14 Isabel Conde
50 Jiayi Sun
15 Rebecka Ibarra 17
RAGE
55
LOVE
18 Jennings Mergenthal
56 Tonantzin Cabrera
20 Gianella Rojas
60 Norah Ntagungira
22 Jessie Lu
64 Grace Lin
23 Anjali Moore
68 Jennifer Arnold
26 Vivian Tran
70 Nicole Salazar
28 Rebecka Ibarra
72 Jennifer Eng
30
SADNESS
76 Gianella Rojas 77 Lanise Prater
31 Lanise Prater 32 Omi Strait
79 In Our Feels
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HAPPINESS. Welcome to SPACES Volume II, Edition I! As you may know, SPACES is a semesterly arts and culture magazine celebrating the creativity and ingenuity of students of color that’s too-often lost in academia. We’re so excited to share our Fall 2019 issue, where we asked our producers and the wider Macalester BIPOC community to think about the different ways that we grow. In this issue, we explored growth as happiness, rage, sadness, and love. And no lie, what came back to us was SO. DOPE. A couple things you’ll do in this issue: cry reading Lenny Prater’s heavy yet delicate poems entitled “Sensual Healing” and “You make my earfquake”, reminisce to la luz de las granadas, a nostalgic annotated painting by Tonantzin Cabrera, or absolutely destroy your problematic professors with Jennings Mergenthal’s “Course Evaluation for White Instructors”. This semester brought on a lot of new and exciting changes to SPACES, including new team members! We’re so happy to welcome Vivian, Grace, Tonantzin, Venkat, Kevin, Rebecka, Lenny, Anjali, Priya, and Amanda to the SPACES family! This semester also meant a change in our directors as SPACES co-founders, Swopnil Shrestha and Tori Gapuz, were abroad. We were so excited to step up and lead this semester’s issue, and we would learn what a huge responsibility co-directing is. RAGE. The feelings of excitement and gratitude were slowly consumed by the frustration that comes along with directing. SPACES is such a beautiful creation, and for this reason we immediately came up with ways to expand this publication and watch it grow. This semester we pushed for new ideas, not just from ourselves, but our entire production team. A website, a documentary series, collaborating with outside organizations; we wanted to accomplish it all in a span of four short months. One meeting per week quickly turned into four to five and we found ourselves exhausted. Here’s the thing about exhaustion, it often translates into miscommunication and overbooking; missed meetings and a general imbalance of work, life, and study; it often translates into anger at something you care so much about because the effort it takes to create it can slowly wear you down. This feeling, however, isn’t permanent. It is brief. It is brief and fades away when you are sitting in a room full of amazing people you’ve grown to appreciate as artists and people; when you see the hard work each member is putting in to make this publication a success; when you finally send the issue to print and say it was all worth it and always will be.
LETTER FROM THE DIRECTORS 4 / SPACES
SADNESS. There’s something to be said about endings. They suck. We spent every week marking our calendars with deadlines; counting down the days to photoshoots and printing and finally, our launch event. Each event was topped off with this immense sense of relief and exchanged looks of pure happiness and pride. How lucky we were to have such an incredible team, to have each other. But now we are here, all out of deadlines and at the end of our semester of co-directing. It is bitter-sweet to say the least.
LOVE. The pit we feel in our stomachs about leaving this issue behind reminds us how much we love the people that make this publication as beautiful and authentic and unapologetic as it is. We have love and gratitude for all of our outside-submission creators. Thank you all for your beautiful works of creative realness, you remind us that the diversity of Mac’s BIPOC community makes our collective voice resound throughout campus and beyond. Not gonna lie, we’re choking up thinking how much we love our production team. Through every meeting, every late night, every check-in, you all are some of the most talented, compassionate, funny, and creative (obv) people we’ve ever had the chance to be in community with. This issue is your work and you should be more than proud to share it out to our community. We love each and every one of you so much. It has been an honor to serve as co-directors. And as we sit down and think through all the chaos of this semester, we are left with wonderful memories all categorized within these four emotions. We have learned so much and although it is sad to let go, we know this is only the beginning for SPACES. With that, we can only be grateful for having played a role in it.
Love to you all, Amanda (Mandy) Ortiz and Ayize James Co-Directors
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happiness
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happiness
GROWTH AS
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rage
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Course Evaluation for White Instructors By Jennings Mergenthal In an effort to ensure that the experiences of students of color are acknowledged institutionally, I have generously provided this new instructor evaluation to the Center for Scholarship and Teaching.
No Yes
Does the instructorMake you feel safe and comfortable in the classroom? Expect you to speak on behalf of your entire (implicitly monolithic) group? Think that including the opinions of white women counts as diversity? Use in-group racialized terms that they should definitely not be using? Look directly at you while saying racial terms that they think apply to you? Assume that the class exists completely independent of racialized contexts and real world consequences? Compliment and affirm white students for doing the exact same things that you do? Assign texts with racial slurs and have white students in the class read them aloud? Expect you to produce content about your marginalized identities/intergenerational traumas for their course? Expect you to educate your white classmates?
Has the instructor called you the name of one of the other students of color in the class? Yes
No
What ‘other students of color’?
Have you been asked to come into the instructor’s office hours to “chat about your experience in the class?” Yes
No
Would you say the instructor view you as more of an Obstacle
Object of pity
What does the instructor think is the most important axis of oppression?
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Race
Gender
Sexuality
Socioeconomic Class
How does the instructor create distance from their whiteness? (Select all that apply) • Highlighting a different marginalized identity
• Aggressively pronouncing non-English words
• Strategic deployment of clothing/jewelry made • Talk extensively about their travels by nonwhite people • They don’t, but they get too into the ‘as a • Repeatedly bring up a non-white family white person’ thing member (especially spouse or child) Which best describes your relationship with other students of color in the class, (if they exist) • Solidarity
• You pretend you don’t know each other
• Adversarial
• You are only friends because you have this class together
Does your instructor consider personal experiences/histories: • A liability
• Irrelevant to the class,
• A way to tokenize you
• Irrelevant to the class BUT they keep bringing up how important they think personal experience is
You are on the phone with a family member. At what point does this instructor come up? • First thing • In with all the other things that white people do that aggravate you
• It doesn’t, my family has made great sacrifices to allow me to be here and I’m not going to complain about it to them • You think my family calls me?
You make an insightful point in class. A white student then repeats your point, but makes it less good. What happens?
Is it assumed that everyone can, with the same ease, assume an arbitrarily assigned position, even if it means arguing against the validity of their own existence?
Is there another student of color you can talk to about your experiences in this class? What about a chill white person?
Does your overall classroom experience make you feel• Angry
• Resigned
• Tokenized
• Like you want to die
Your feedback will be anonymized for your protection before being sent to your instructor, but let’s be honest, they’ll know it’s you VOL II ED I / 19
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You know? know? You
Jessie Lu
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You look at me I wish I knew who’s looking back, and I wish my eyes were dreaming Always waiting to be seen, hating to be seen My God knows I need fulfillment But don’t we know? That they don’t? No, they’re so happily distant from the truth of themselves So, I give you what you want from me Because it’s what I want for me And then they take away just what we made (what we made for free!) And sell it right back to me, they sell it and I take it What’s left for me? We know, don’t we? Shit, don’t we know? That their burden is always ours to bear? (It’s mine, it’s mine) Think those pathetic words they pulled from your blood (I would do it if it didn’t hurt) What power, what light have they stolen? What if I asked you to look at me? And you look at me, yes, you know me Head down, eyes blink to clear rogue stars Looking for that ungraspable kernel in me, out there Just waiting to be seen, hating to be seen And I dream And I dream That the hills would know how to breathe
ANJALI MOORE For me, the summer of 2019 was a summer of intense change and growth. One way that this manifested was during my committed involvement to a movement against the police and their blatant racism (as an entire institution) that erupted in Phoenix during June. I created this piece as a way to document some of what happened and my experiences within the community but also to channel my rage, disillusionment, and memories into a creative and cathartic project. I would consider these pieces not only just a beginning of this process but also unfinished, in themselves, which also corresponds with the fact that the struggle against fighting racist institutions like the police and ICE are also unfinished and never-ending.
After video of Phoenix PD harassing the Ames family was released and went viral, it served as the catalyst for a stream of increasingly intense protests and direct actions, starting with a packed and emotional community meeting, followed by the protest of a heated city council police budget meeting the next day, a long series of forums and protests, and later in July the escalation of the Phoenix Lights for Liberty Vigil which resulted in an impromptu occupation of the light rail tracks outside the Phoenix ICE office, 16 arrests, and a frenzy of police violence and chaos. I was among those who sat down on the light rail tracks for hours and I was almost arrested. This last event epitomized the phrase “growth as rage� because it was deeply infuriating, one of the most terrifying experiences of my life, and incited remarkable growth in myself, in terms of my identity, politics, and worldview.
The first three pieces are arranged in conjunction with each other and chart the progression of events chronologically. I used relevant clippings from the Arizona Republic newspaper as well as other ephemera that I saved from the events. I also used all of my own photography and source material to compose each piece. Consequently, they exhibit a focus on the way that the media packages radicalism and the stark contrast between the lived experience of these events with the images that are projected of them. The last piece is a composite of visual imagery and auditory messages that attempts to capture the turmoil of the July protest on the light rail tracks. The use of color and movement is deliberate in that it not only recalls the flood of the flashing police lights but also the colors of the United States flag as an intentional critique of American ideals. VOL II ED I / 23
“Burning”
“Arrest”
“Under Fire”
“Vigil”
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In a cloudy haze and eager steps I ran to the next chapter of my life. With misconstructed thoughts and not sick enough to be considered “sick” - I wandered this new world aimlessly. My own personal hell never subsided yet the lack of empathy was an unfortunate surprise and a harsh lesson in this new world. A festering wound that was never treated, covered by a blanket in lieu of reputation’s salvation of an institution. The closeted shame of my own disappearance not once, but twice unrecognized. The longer I stayed, the more my existence was eroded away. My gradual fade from existing was ignored, each time a reset occurred, I disappeared twice as fast. Days passed from “adult” to “adult” - those who knew more than I. An emotionless facade existed to reap benefits from those who had nothing. The first time I was covered in the burnt tangerine glaze was unsurprising. The case of safety was made and I lost my freedom for four days, locked in a place with others just as “crazy”. My return was unnoticed and the transition just as rocky, the cycle reset. Who could have guessed? Nothing had changed. Three and a half weeks later I was back in the familiar burnt tangerine glaze, this time for trying to take my own life away. Another week passed as I was locked away. During this day, I met another from the same institution who joined the new club I deemed as, “Ending the Life: Macalester November 2018 Edition”. Within days of my return I was back seeing more “adults”. Someone new appeared and I was “asked” to leave effective immediately. GO HOME was shoved down my throat, with no choice but to follow what “adults” told me that it was the best thing to do.
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Six days to say goodbye to the small community I barely knew, six days to return a failure, a disappointment, and a disgrace. The months back in the environment I had tried to escape, I returned as a fool with nothing to live for. Random appointments with new “adults” who knew what was best for me, more people I paid to give a damn. This time no one could stop my isolation. Months flew by encased in darkness, left alone with an unstable mind and an empty heart. The desire for existence was a constant question with an answer I couldn’t commit to. The reality of life is cruel and unforgiving, it has no interest if you’re dead or alive. You kneel and bow and accept what is handed to you. If you can take it, you last another day, otherwise goodbye. I’ve returned to the institution this fall that I deemed as my home during my first semester. Angry, uncomfortable, and displaced. Unsure if I should even be here. This is the place of false promises. This is the place who threw pills to treat an open wound that needed to be bandaged. This is the place that exist to make a profit before caring about the lives that are obligated to live here. This is the place that recognizes the issue of mental illness yet doesn’t makes an attempt to address it. Until you’re six feet under, suicide attempts don’t matter. As soon as someone succeeds, it’s covered up to save an unknown reputation. This is a place that taught me at 18, that no one will ever advocate for you beyond yourself even with money.
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RAGE
GROWTH AS
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sadness
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First
I want you to know that I’m happy and I’m learning and enjoying s about other people, about how to be the type of person I aspire to be. — Tutu certainly does. He’s very kind, he treats me really well, he’s goof meet each other. I think he would really admire you, but I think that pre people that I care about. Kai has grown up a lot and has mellowed out. probably be irritating to you, I think at least you would appreciate how
I wish I could share all the new things in my life with you. I’ve had to ma contribute to whether I’m the type of person you hoped I would be. I’ve mentioning this because you are the person who I associate with princi in our speeches at your funeral how principled you were, which speaks
It’s been almost three years since you passed away, and the grief has g more afraid of losing your memory. I got a tattoo of a naupaka on each appreciate), but tattoos can’t contain all of the lessons you taught me, especially your traditions: ice cream after dinner, feeding the koi in the quirks. I think your legacy is what I try to remember the most though. F spect.
And a good sense of humor!
I still think of you whenever we pass through the mountains or go to th your ashes, but I want to. This past summer Kai, Mom, and I went to a b you. I’m not Buddhist or Christian, so there are no official rituals (even t This is painful for me because it feels like we’re not doing enough to re going to ceremonies or praying, but by keeping you in my heart and co ditionally, Uncle Springer played an excerpt from “Kimi to Itsumademo” reminds me so much of you for some reason.
When you passed away, I remember thinking that now I could understa thought of never seeing you again because that thought was so painfu you around though, checking in. It seems like every time I go back to H from Japanese superstition, and you’ll perch on the shoji’s netting and which seems fitting haha. I hope you continue to show up whenever I g
It feels like we’re coming full circle with this letter, as you died my first y love you, and I’ll continue to remember you and what you taught me. I’l and
I hope to see you there.
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njoying school. I’ve learned so much during college, about the world, re to be. I’m dating someone right now and I think you would like him he’s goofy like you and he makes me laugh all the time. I wish you could that pretty much anyone would. It’s so hard not to have you know the wed out. He’s getting to be very smart, and while his energy would still ate how kind he is.
ad to make a lot of hard decisions during college, decisions that I think d be. I’ve tried to stick to my principles and be respectful, and I’m only ith principle and respect the most. I think Uncle Jiro and I both mentioned h speaks to
the legacy you left for us.
ief has gotten easier to deal with, but I think I’m becoming more and on each wrist to remember you by (which, ironically, I doubt you would ght me, or the jokes you made. I try to remember you at your best and oi in the morning, doing crosswords to keep your mind sharp, your goofy hough. For me, it’s still the same as when you passed: principle and re-
go to the beach. I haven’t been back to the places where we scattered ent to a bon dance and Kai was crying on the way back because he missed s (even though we go to obon) to do in order to keep your memory alive. ugh to remember you. So I try to remember and honor you not through rt and conducting myself in a way that I think you would approve of. Admademo” at your funeral, and so sometimes when I miss you, I turn it on. It
understand why people believe in life after death. I would panic when I o painful. So I have to believe that the afterlife is a possibility. ack to Hawaii we see you, returning as one of those giant grey moths ing and watch us. Last time I was in Hilo your cat Nubsy tried to eat you, never I go back.
Ive noticed
my first year here, and now I’m writing to you in my last. I miss you and I ht me. I’ll be heading to Hilo in a couple weeks for Uncle Jiro’s wedding,
-Omichan
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Gong Gong Gong -See You Soon Sophie Sophie Mark-Ng Mark-Ng
My care for for the the last last Mygrandfather grandfather--Gong GongGong Gong -- has has been been in in hospice hospice care five as his his health health fivemonths. months.Being Beingaway awayfrom fromhome home has has been been really really difficult difficult as has shocked to to see see hasdeteriorated. deteriorated.When WhenI Ivisited visited home home last last spring, spring, II was was shocked the to be be aa joyful joyful thedifference differenceininhis hisappearance. appearance. II had had always always known known him him to and was really really andlighthearted lightheartedperson personand andto to no no longer longer see see that as clearly was jarring. grandfather II jarring.ItItwas wasdifficult difficultfor forme meto to connect connect the the image image of the grandfather had hadknown knowngrowing growingup, up,and andthe the same same person person in front of me. Still, at my my Still,I Igot gotglimpses. glimpses.This Thissummer summer II spent spent my 20th birthday at grandparents’ sit next next to to grandparents’house. house.After Afterdinner, dinner, we we brought brought Gong Gong to sit meas aswe weput putthe thecandles candleson onthe the cake. cake. When When my my family started singing me singing mehappy happybirthday, birthday,I Iheard heardhim him softly softly join join in, in, but but so quiet only I could me could hear.I Ifelt feltmyself myselftearing tearingup, up,but but II couldn’t couldn’t cry cry with the cake in front hear. front of of meand andmy myfamily familyall allaround aroundme. me. You You know know when when something happens, me happens, andit’s it’shappened happenedso somany manytimes times before, before, but but it it feels like this time and time is is the the lasttime timeit’s it’sgoing goingto tohappen? happen? That’s That’s what what II felt felt then, and what II feel last feel againevery everytime timeI Ileave leavesaying saying “see “see you you soon” soon” not not knowing knowing when again when that that mightbe. be. might Mygrandfather grandfathervisits visitsme mein in my my dreams dreams though. though. Sometimes Sometimes II help My help himoff offthe thecouch couchand andhe hejumps jumps up up and and starts starts dancing dancing and and laughing. him laughing. Sometimeshe hewaits waitsfor forme meto tocome come pick pick him him up up in in my my car Sometimes car as as II drive drive aroundand andaround aroundthe theblock. block.My My art art is is the the merging merging of of my around my dreams dreams and and reality.ItIthas hasbeen beenmy myway wayof ofprocessing processing aa death death that that has has not reality. not yet yet haphappened,but butI Iam ampreemptively preemptivelyforced forced to to confront. confront. It It has has allowed pened, allowed me me to to reflecton onmy myrelationship relationshipwith with my my grandfather grandfather and and honor honor what reflect what he he has has given me and how he has influenced who I am today. given me and how he has influenced who I am today. 36 / SPACES
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A NF aNl s eA
She couldn’t get Joy out of her head. She gazed at her cell phone, at the last text message Joy had sent her weeks ago. Joy had left her with a simple farewell, no bitter threats, no angry ultimatums. She said: I’m here for you. Tears welled in her eyes as she scanned the words. She was past the point of reading the words, they were ingrained in her memory. She couldn’t go to sleep, let alone close her eyes, without seeing Joy’s last words. “Avery, this is a meeting, you shouldn’t be looking at your phone.” “Your voice is like a goddamn headache,” Avery scathed, “but you still choose to talk.” She gazed up Vi. Vi was a firm but fair leader, someone who guided with fierce compassion and strict rules. She didn’t like people being distracted when they were clearly supposed to be doing something else. Avery admired her la luz de las granadas and usually followed her word. Vi crossed her arms, “Avery, is there something you’d like to talk about or would you rather leave?” Avery stood up and left. She couldn’t stray far, in thirty-minutes she had to help teach a class. Not that she was much help, the other youth-leaders used her as an extra set of hands because teaching was out of the question for Avery. Someone with her ideas and beliefs couldn’t possibly be trusted around impressionable children and teenagers. She wandered up into the church. Religious people were unbearable, but the physical church itself had a way of calming her. She sat in one of the pews and gazed at the altar, caught between silent prayer and pathetic begging. Her throat tightened. She didn’t want to think about Joy, and she didn’t want to think about the Vi’s “you-really-disappointed me today” face, and she really didn’t want to think about her moral compass spinning out of control. “Hey—” Jason’s commanding voice called to her. “I need to talk to you, Avery.” She and Jason were the same age, but he acted like he was older than her. They were at each other’s throats every time there was a discussion because Jason’s tone embodied the thought “I’m right, she’s wrong and I need to man-splain everything to her so she’ll be a good Catholic”. Just hearing Jason’s voice made Avery want to commit every sin in the bible. “What?” Avery barked. “Hey, I haven’t said anything yet.” 42 /“Talk. You have a minute.” SPACES Jason frowned, “That’s not fair—“
A G Co dH U
“—55, 54, 53—“ He scrambled to say he needed her help in class today while he shoved a handout at her. She winced at the title: Controversial Issue #3: LGBT+ Marriage. “Let’s go,” Jason commanded. “Class starts soon.” Avery bit her lip, stood up, and followed. She didn’t want to help him, but she had to make an effort. In class, he wrote MARRIAGE on the whiteboard, and then started a bulleted list: • between a man and woman • both parties are free and consenting • represents the covenant between God and his people • permanent, faithful, fruitful • FRUITFUL = open to having children “We live in an age where gay marriage is legalized and LGBT+ people are becoming more prominent in society,” Jason said. “But just because it’s mainstream, doesn’t mean it’s what the church believes or teaches. Marriage is a sacred sacrament—” Avery’s head began to spin. “That’s not fair,” one girl spoke up. “Aren’t we supposed to love and accept everyone?” “Yes, of course,” Jason nodded. “We, as Catholics, should never judge someone based on their sexuality. People are more than their sexual orientation. We don’t condemn gay people because they’re gay. We condemn their acts. Does anybody know why?” Avery held her breath. A boy raised his hand, “Because they can’t have kids?” “Yes, and a marriage is supposed to be fruitful, a married couple are supposed to be open to having kids.” “So we can’t support gay marriage just because they can’t have kids?” the girl asked. “One of the reasons, yes,” Jason began. Avery remembered Joy slinging her arm around her shoulder and leaning in close. Joy’s lips grazed Avery’s ear as she whispered, “Can I kiss you?” Avery couldn’t tell if she was more taken aback by the fact that a girl was hitting on her or that Joy had bothered asking before acting. She furrowed her eyebrows and said, “No.” Despite the rejection, Joy smiled, her eyes sparkling like sunlight on freshly fallen snow. VOL II ED I / 43
A week later, Avery remembered asking to be kissed in the dead of night. No party. No crowd. No company. They were in Joy’s bedroom after a long night of herding their drunk friends, and Joy invited Avery to stay the night because it was late and they were stuck in an endless loop of walking each other home. Joy pushed Avery down, her black hair cascaded like a waterfall around Avery, and gave her a kiss that left her wanting more. “Okay, but—” the girl argued. Jason cut her off, “This is what we believe as Catholics. Write these four points down first, it’ll be on your end-of-year test— then we can talk.” Avery left the room. Her breath caught in her throat. She tried to imagine her future and saw nothing at all. Someone touched her shoulder. She jerked away. Vi put her hand up, “What are you doing— Are you okay?” “What?” she stuttered. “Are you okay, Avery?” “I’m fine,” she snapped. “Really? Because it doesn’t look like it,” Vi sassed. Avery scowled, “Don’t tell me how I feel. You don’t know shit—” “Hey, you asked me to be your mentor, I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me,” Vi said. “I mean it, Avery, what is going on with you?” She stared at Vi, her vision blurring and her face burning with each passing second. “Why am I crying?” she exclaimed at the world, but Vi took it as a cry for help. “Hey,” Vi grabbed her arm, her voice softening. “Let’s talk—” “I don’t want to—” Avery fretted, shaking her head. Vi wrapped her arm around Avery and led her away like a lost puppy. Vi settled her into the meeting room and told her to wait. The world was dead to her. All Avery could do was cry and spiral and wish the tears would stop. Vi returned with water and questions, “Do you want me to get someone else? Maybe your sister?” Avery shook her head. “Do you want to talk—“ Avery shook her head even more, biting her lip to keep a sob down. “Please?” Vi asked. “It doesn’t matter—“ “Of course it matters,” Vi insisted. “I’m asking because it matters to me. You’re crying because it matters to you..” Avery’s voice lost all it’s anger and became small, matching her hunched stature, “You’re going to hate me.” “I can’t hate you,” Vi said, then smiled a little, “Even after you called my voice a headache, which was very mean.” “I’m sorry.” “What is this really about, Avery?” Avery mumbled, “I don’t belong here.” “This again?” Vi asked. “Why? Because you don’t agree with the church’s teachings? Because it’s too difficult to be a youth leader with your belief system? I know you might bewanting someone to say fuck the church with you right now, but I don’t believe that’s the right answer either. I think it’s a struggle, yes, but—” 44 / SPACES
“I want to get married— and I want to be able to love someone while I’m on this earth,” Avery babbled. “What does that have to do with this?” “It matters because I like someone—” Avery murmured. She closed her eyes. The words that had been stuck in her throat for the past three months finally found its way out. Avery liked hiding behind a fake smile and a practiced “I’m fine”, but the last few weeks had been a nightmare. She fessed up, “And the church tells me I’m going to go to hell for liking her.” The truth hung in heavy silence, but Avery felt her muscles and mind all decompress at her exclamation. “I’m just tired of feeling guilty for who I am and what I believe in,” she whispered. Vi squeezed her hands, “I still love you.” Avery had spent the last four months unraveling a part of herself she hadn’t wanted to think about. But one kiss from Joy, and all the emotions she thought she could ignore flooded her senses. Being with Joy was easy. In local coffee and boba shops, Avery and Joy would talk and laugh and listen to each other like best friends. Joy stole kisses from Avery in hidden hallways. Avery snuck surreptitious glances at Joy during class, at club meetings, and while they were hanging out with friends. In Joy’s apartment bedroom, they would kiss until their lips felt raw. When they started, Joy said they didn’t have to be anything at all. Then Joy confessed, “I know you’re not ready to be out yet— but I like you a lot, and I don’t want to sneak around anymore.” Avery remembered her defeated apology, trying to explain to Joy why she wasn’t ready to risk everything yet. She remembered how much it stung when Joy didn’t put up a fight, when Joy let her go. Joy left her with love and patience— and that hurt Avery even more. Avery murmured, “I just don’t want to feel this way anymore.” She thought about her parents and the church community. She thought about Jason’s lesson. She imagined her future. She didn’t know how she could be religious without sacrificing her love, or be in love without sacrificing her religion. She didn’t know if she was strong enough to leave behind everything she knew like her family and her community. “I see two options,” Avery mused. “Either I grow up and start believing all the church’s teachings for myself, or I leave and be me without having to adjust myself to fit the church’s teachings.” The choice hung in the air. Vi said quietly, “I really have no idea what you’re going through, and I wish I could help you. But, no matter whether you stay or leave, Avery, I’ll always love you and support you. Also, can I say something?” Avery nodded. Vi said quietly, “I know we always teach about God and church teachings, but we are all people first. We all have our own beliefs— and one day, I hope you do get to marry the girl you love without anybody getting in your way. That won’t always be the case, but there are people on your side, more than you know. I’m here. You don’t have to do this alone.” Avery leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes. She let herself cry, and Vi stayed by her side. VOL II ED I / 45
Discomfort of Home
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Alex Thomas
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VOL II ED I / 49
My favourite book when I was fifteen years old was The Outsider, written by Al-
bert Camus. I read it so many times that its quotes were all over my physics textbook. Even today, I can still recite the last paragraph of its Chinese version. When I made the biggest decisions in my life so far, I told myself to go find Camus. He has the answer. Camus always has the answer.
The main character in The Outsider, Meursault, is an indifferent man who doesn’t
care about anything, not even his mother’s death. In the end, Meursault is executed for the apathy he displays in his own trial. Despite my love for this book and to Camus, the apathetic trait on the character didn’t make much sense to me.
Then I came to America, with my young soul, my brave heart, and my blind con-
fidence that hundreds of American TV series and movies I watched were good enough for me to live a decent life here. I’m independent, strong, and determined. As long as I set my mind to something, I keep going, never
look back. This quality helped me
go though the first eighteen years of my life, they sure would give me a better fitting-in phase than most people did in this new country. At least I would never cry myself to sleep because of missing my family and friends--like
I said, never look back.
I’m more vulnerable than I imagined. The last time I felt nostalgic was 2:00 in the
morning. Lisson called and told me about this boy he had a crush on. “Isn’t that great?” he asked with excitement. His voice is different from seven years ago, when I first met him in middle school, when I told him Lisson was the direct translation of his Chinese name, when he still dated girls. It sounds lower and deeper now. Lisson didn’t have a lot to say about his relationship when we hung out everyday. But now we need something sticky enough to glue the connection across continents. People change. The fact that we are still best friends doesn’t slow down the rate of changing. We both know it.
I closed my eyes. His flushed face and glimmering eyes appeared in front of me. I
could also see Wuhan in its late afternoon, locals in open-air market cycling around and calling out their wares. Two girls walking near him left their carefree laughter behind. Lisson got on a bus. The voice of the lady who announced stations sounded nothing like the broadcasting on the bus here. When I told him about that, he chuckled, “Of
course silly. Your lady speaks another language.”
Right. I almost forgot. Market traders, the girls, my old friend, they speak another
language. My language. It’s been a year since I came to America and I still can’t get rid of the unreal dizziness when I ask myself, “how did you end up here?” I’ve always wanted to travel back in time, find that fifteen-year-old girl, and ask her why.Why
abroad? Why America?
study
What about the wish you made to major in Chinese lit-
erature? I know you whispered it to gods in sensoji temple when you traveled to Japan. 50 / SPACES
You also wished health of your family. What if you told your big plan
about Chinese literature to your family? What if you insisted on staying in China? The strong girl disappeared facing my first-year roommate. She
doesn’t speak my language, nor does she respect it. At first everything went well, she was kind, we were not best friends but
I i a y i
fine by me. When did things turn ugly? I can’t be sure. Maybe it’s that time when I was surprised that D.C. stood for the District of Columbia; maybe it’s that time when I laughed too loudly calling my friends; maybe it’s so many times when I asked stupid questions like “what is double space?”,
T h e
“what’s the difference between credit card and debit card?”, “do you know
how to use Google calendar?” She acted like I was an alien who just landed on her motherland, preparing to steal jobs from her. She always asked me back, “Isn’t
it common sense? How could you not know
that?” The nicest thing I heard was “I don’t have time for all of your
questions.” When she complained to her mother on the phone about how narrow our room was that one of the tables simply didn’t fit, I felt like she was talking about me.
Things piled up… the turning point of the explosion here. We had a
big fight, big enough that the RHD knocked our door with a campus security and said he wanted to make sure everyone in this room was safe. It’s speaking my second language is this special feeling, the feeling that another personality borrowed my body. This version of me cannot be more vulnerable or careful.What if I say something offensive due to cultural difference? What if the way I speak English is rude in oter people’s eyes? It’s interesting how I found myself tremble, but tried hard to explain to my roommate, the girl who could get hurt because of my ignorance of her culture, her country, her language, and the way she was brought up,
the girl who chose to hurt me.
It used up my last effort to say,
S u n
the first time I ever had a fight in English, ever. You see, one thing about
“This is just a misunderstanding… If you spoke another language, you’ll see what I mean.” She raised her voice and screamed at me, “If
O u t s i d e r
I spoke Chinese I might be your best friend. Well I’m sorry I’m just your stupid American roommate, but that’s not my fault! That’s how I was brought up!”
VOL II ED I / 51
But. Is it my fault?
All I perceived was her mouth opening and closing without a sound. The only
thing I could hear was the resonance of my voice asking myself,
“Is it my fault?”
It was harder than ever to unload my defense and hand my true self to others,
without any reservation. Since then I never stopped self-suspecting. I listed pros and cons, trying to find reasons why I am here. Seeking for meanings is an exhausting job, and I’m not good at it. It’s hard to objectively experience when observing, so I don’t feel like participating in my own life anymore. I didn’t understand the outsider but now I am him. Meursault and I, we are the outsiders. We are derailed trains. Meursault’s railway is the legal system in France which executed him. This
guage, this culture is my railway.
country, this lan-
Then there stands my roommate--does
she have a railway, too?
Lisson and I talked and talked until I was so drowsy that did not have the
strength to speak a single word. I told him everything. Everything I’ve been trying to hide and bury. The roommate. The nocturnal monster living in my body. The darkest version of me. I said all that in an casual voice, trying to sound like I was telling somebody else’s story. It’s a self-defense mechanism. I
cannot allow myself to ex-
pose a hint of vulnerability recalling such memories, despite that I am vulnerable, no matter what language I speak. Two personalities are both me. I’m still not sure what turned me into an open book the other night. Maybe I was too tired of coping with finals. Maybe I had been holding up by myself for too long.
“照顾好自己。”(Promise me you take a good care of your-
self.)
Lisson remained silent for a while before he said that. Then his voice swimmed
across the Yangtze River, climbed over the Rocky Mountains, crossed thirteen time zones and six thousand miles, gently landed on my pillow.
“你知道我没问题的。” (You know I can handle this.)
The night in Minnesota was as thick as a bottle of spilled black ink. The ink left a
permanent stain on me. Lying in the darkest night before dawn, I fought back my tears.
枕冷衾寒。
52 / SPACES
他 走 了 以 后 ，我 也 就 静 下 来 了 。 我 精 疲 力 尽 ， Once he’d gone, I felt calm again. But all this excitement had exhausted me and I 扑 倒 在 床 上 。我 认 为 我 是 睡 着 了 ， 因 为 醒 来 时 dropped heavily on to my sleeping plank. I must have had a longish sleep, for, when I 我 发 现 满 天 星 光 洒 落 在 我 脸 上 。田 野 上 万 籁 作 响 , woke, the stars were shining down on my face. Sounds of the countryside came faintly 直 传 到 我 的 耳 际 。夜 的 气 味 ，土 地 的 气 味，海 水 的 气 味 ， 使 我 两 鬓 生 凉。 in, and the cool night air, veined with smells’ of earth and salt, fanned my cheeks. 这 夏 夜 奇 妙 的 安 静 像 潮 水 一 样 浸 透 了 我 的 全 身。 The marvelous peace of the sleepbound summer night flooded through me like a tide. 这 时 ， 黑 夜 将 尽 ，汽 笛 鸣 叫 起 来 了 ,
Then, just on the edge of daybreak, I heard a steamer’s siren. 他 宣 告 着 世 人 将 开 始 新 的 行 程 ，他 们 要 去 的 天 地 从 此 与 我永远无关痛 痒。 People were starting on a voyage to a world which
had ceased to concern me forever. <完> <The End.>
VOL II ED I / 53
GROWTH AS
SADNESS
54 / SPACES
love
VOL II ED I / 55
Tonantzin Cabrera “la luz de las granadas” La Luz de las Granadas Afuera de la casa de mi abuelita Chole, se encuentra un árbol de granadas. Es lo que representa mi connexión a ella. Nunca la conocí, pero se que mi familia la reflejan todos los dias con el amor que comparten con el mundo. La luz de las granadas refleja el amor que mi abuela repartio entre nuestra familia. La luz me encontro este verano cuando visite a mi familia en Ixtapaluca. Una luz que me seguira cuidando. Una luz que nor sequira guillando. Una luz pura llena de felicidad y amor.
The Light from the Pomegranates Outside of my abuelita Chole’s house you’ll find a pomegranate tree. It represents my connection to her. I never met my abuelita, but I know my family reflects her every day through the love they share with the world. The light from the Pomegranates reflects the love my abuelita grew within our family. The light found me this summer when I visited my family in Ixtapaluca. A light that will continue to care for me. A light that will continue guiding us. A pure light full of happiness and love.
56 / SPACES
VOL II ED I / 57
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VOL II ED I / 59
Norah Ntagungira
60 / SPACES
VOL II ED I / 61
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VOL II ED I / 67
Growth as [Platonic] Love
WonHyuk and I became friends my first year when I was a teaching fellow in California and have nurtured our friendship through writing and emailing letters. This is pretty significant considering we rarely message each other on social media platforms and have not called, visited, or video chatted with each other since the summer of 2016. Writing my letters to WonHyuk is my of escaping the stresses of Macalester and serves as a time of self-reflection. And so, over the years, he and I have written nearly on every topic: family, dreams, love, regrets, hopes, aspirations, memories, current emotions, and the day to day mundane things, and I consider him as one of my closest friends whom I love dearly.
en ve nd ant on ed, he is nd er ry es, he as
Love can be multidimensional and expressed through a limitless number of ways. Platonic love between friends can be just as valid as romantic love. You don't necessarily need to stay up late talking to friends, telling each other's deepest insights to form a strong bond/love with them.
Writing letters has always been my way of capturing emotions and thoughts just as a photograph captures a moment in time. While my letters aren't love letters, they themselves were written from a place of love.
Patron Saint of Broken Hearts Nicole Salazar
I dressed in white and rested in a lace shrine I made for myself. I asked audience members to select sewn hearts and eggs in buckets full of red dye to place inside the shrine. This would be the only interaction they would have with me as I isolated myself from the audience. However, as the performance progressed, the audience started to throw the objects, culminating to two audience members soaking me in red dye. The end of the performance was marked by me breaking through the lace, forcing the audience to acknowledge my stained presence and confronting them. For a long time, I have have battled with my feelings regarding the Catholicism that seems to be embedded in my Latinx identity. 70 / SPACES
M fr a th c
My discomfort stems not only from the history of Catholicism (as a tool for colonization), but also the ways it translates into my culture (homophobia specifically).
I slowly tried to come to terms with, rationalize, deconstruct, and understand my own identity as I became more aware of my presence of my own Latinidad and sexual orientation. My piece emphasizes the progress of my reclamation, the transformation I went through to confront my own identity and the outcome. I create my own patron saint, one of sympathy and love.
VOL II ED I / 71
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love
GROWTH AS
78 / SPACES
in our
feels
VOL II ED I / 79
Priya Baumann (she/her) International Studies & Media and Cultural Studies, 2022
Jennings Mergenthal (they/them) Biology & History, 2021
Rebecka Ibarra (she/her) Art History/Psychology, 2022
Tara Mercene (she/her) Media & Cultural Studies, 2022
80 / SPACES
Amanda Ortiz (she/her) Political Science and International Studies, 2021
Ayize James (he/him) Environmental Studies, 2022
Samara Kurien (she/her) Psychology, 2022
Pallavi Shoroff (she/her) Environmental Studies, 2022
VOL II ED I / 81
Sophie Mark-Ng (she/her) American Studies, 2021
Grace Lin ( she/her) Computer Science, 2023
Omi Strait (she/her) American Studies, 2020
Gianella Rojas (she/her) Educational Studies and English, 2021
82 / SPACES
Kevin Shin (he/him) Mathematics, Computer Science, Philosophy, 2020
Pa Houa Xiong (she/her) Media & Cultural Studies, 2022
Jessie Lu (she/her) Economics, 2021
Anjali Moore (she/her) Media & Cultural Studies, 2022
VOL II ED I / 83
Lakshmi Somala (he/him) Economics, 2020
Tonantzin Cabrera (she/her) Sociology, 2022
Jennifer Eng (she/her) Economics, 2020
Mai Moua Thao (she/her) Psychology. 2022
84 / SPACES
Long Nguyen (he/him) Studio Art and Media & Cultural Studies, 2021
Vivian Tran (she/her) International Studies, 2022
Not Featured: Juan Diaz (he/him) Political Science, 2022 Amanda Wong (she/her) Computer Science, 2023 Ayushi Modi (she/her) Economics, 2021
Thanks to our photographers: Long Nguyen, Pallavi Shoroff, Grace Lin, Juan Diaz, and Priya Baumann Lenny Prater Undeclared. 2022
VOL II ED I / 85
FOR PEOPLE OF COLOR BY PEOPLE OF COLOR