Spring Zine

I can’t stop thinking about Gaza.

I wake up and stretch as far as I can go. I get ready for another day. (how many days until this ungodly occupation is over?)

I can’t stop thinking about all the people getting up in the morning, if they even slept, bracing to survive another day in an apartheid state.

I drink some water before I leave my house. (is water, not a human right?)

I can't stop thinking about how awful it is to be thirsty and not have access to water. I can't stop thinking about the siege of Gaza’s water and how the average Gazan is living on 3 litres of water when the UN’s emergency standard is 15 litres.

I stop for lunch on my way to class. I sip my coffee and take the first bite of my turkey and Swiss sandwich; I am hungrier than I thought. (does He uphold the cause of the cause of the oppressed and give food to the hungry? (Psalms 146:7))

I can't stop thinking about how aid trucks and aid workers are terrified of aiding people who need it so much.

I can’t stop thinking about the aid stuck in the borders while Gaza is starving.

I enter the university building, scan my student identification, and attend my Ethics class. (nothing can be ethical about genocide.)

I can't stop thinking about the TWELVE universities and NINETY-FOUR professors that the IDF has wiped out within the past six months.

I can't stop thinking about all the young minds excited to learn that must pause their education for reasons unbeknownst to anyone.

As the lesson begins, my mind drifts away to what comes after class; Will I go for a jog? Will I read a good book? Will I be asked to babysit? (how trivial can I be at a time like this?)

I can’t stop thinking about how restricted Palestinians are in their homeland and the ELEVEN degrading checkpoints spread across a land once known as holy.

I can't stop thinking about the long-standing blockades preventing Gazans from importing essential goods ranging from canned goods to books.

I can’t stop thinking about the Gazan children.

As I walked home, I got a call from my sister. She tells me the latest about what’s going on back home, and we reminisce and giggle. She hands the phone to my grandma, who fills me with compliments and asks God to bless me.

(why is the West acting like everything is okay?)

I can’t stop thinking about all the family lines that have been erased over the past 76 years. I can’t stop thinking about the inconsolable grief of so many parents, siblings, children, cousins, friends, lovers.

I can’t stop thinking about the resilience and steadfastness of the Palestinian people.

I’m aware this genocide did not start on October 7th, But ever since that fateful day

I can’t stop thinking.

I had the strangest dream I had a man I used as a horse.

One night we were leaving a party, I was drunk, holding onto his shoulders, but I didn't have the whip with me. The horse-man walked but didn't run, so I bit him hard on the neck to make him move faster; he didn't complain or resist.

When I got home, I asked my nanny, or this dream’s version of her, why we had a horse-man; she told me that he was poor and his family had been ofering him since he was three. She said he wasn't any good for a slave, and being an animal suited him. A savage that can’t be tamed. She lamented that he was so small but still bought him when he turned 18. She had never considered him a human and didn’t even know if he could talk.

That night, I caressed his back.

miss the person I thought you

When we first met, I didn't like you, not really. But I saw you - so organized and neat while I’ve built a reputation for being messy. I didn’t like you, yet I was jealous of all the people who were close to you.

Then I met you. I really met you. I thought you were the best friend I’d been missing all along. Clever, caring, cool, calm and collected. I saw a piece of myself reflected into the light in your eyes. I wanted to get to know you better.

I wanted to tell you about every single situation I encountered, and I couldn’t wait until I saw you next. You were always so full of insight but always composed. Based on how we talked, I thought you felt the same

It’s been four years since I’ve last seen you. I still miss you.

Lately, I’ve seen more people talk about friend breakups.

My life has changed so much that I sometimes don’t recognize myself. But everything I ever thought about you remains true: the good, the bad and the neutral.

I moved to a different country and started a different program and a new job, and I still can’t escape the sporadic thoughts of you. My mind echoes back all the pain this caused, but my heart still aches for you.

I’d love to reach out… but I don’t think the slim chance of you

I’m sure you’re doing great; keep it up.

There are times when you’ll love being an adult. You will love driving, making money, and finally being in control of your own life.

But every other day, you’ll miss your youth. The summers getting sunburnt under the unforgiving sun, listening to the wind chimes on your grandmother’s porch, the feeling of falling down so hard but getting right back up because the ground wasn’t that far away.

The afternoons spent lying in the grass with a bookmark tucked between your crossed legs and whatever book you’d borrowed from the library. You’ll miss the naïvety and lack of urgency and yearn to return to those days you’d spent yearning to grow up.

In this world, not everything is black and white.

I, for one, seem to need a reminder of this inescapable truth every now and then.

You can try to be more body-positive while struggling with your selfimage.

You can love your birthgivers and be aware that they tried the best they could while being hurt by the choices they made.

You can be grateful for what you have while mourning your losses. You can feel your emotions and not have to believe them.

You can love someone so much while keeping your distance for your sake.

You can try to heal and still find yourself grieving for what you’ve had to endure.

ECHOLALIA - YVES TUMOR

The Stupidest Question

The conversation turned political after I admitted I considered myself a feminist.

“How much of a feminist?”

After the brief introduction to feminism and why anyone would consider themselves to be one, he followed with some severe mansplaining about how the wage gap is based solely on statistics and the career each gender pursues,

and how companies undertake risk by hiring women because they could get pregnant at any moment,

and how women shouldn’t have even joined the workforce and only contributed to inflation and fewer job opportunities for men.

Since I clearly wasn’t getting my point across, I said

“Wouldn’t it suck if you were a woman in North America, aware that 1 in 4 women in North America will be sexually assaulted in her life?”

To which he replied,

“Don’t you think women should hold some responsibility if that happens?”

she strongly resembled the moon. ella se parecía mucho a la luna.

but oh, how long she yearned to be the sun. pero, cuántas veces ha añorado ser el sol.

To be perfectly frank, Sometimes I wish you’d come back But deep within my soul, I know everything Is exactly as it’s meant to be.

Eventually, everything connects.

ámame y átame y dególlame búscame y penétrame y devórame

yo te siento por dentro mira que reviento por dentro

DESCUBRE

Life is full of moments of pure lostness. In those moments, when you feel like you’ve regressed; when you think everything you’ve built collapsed so suddenly. That peak of being lost is when growth occurs. When you can acknowledge you don’t have it all figured out; and there’s so much left to learn. At some point, that lostness leaves, and your flow returns, and you realize there was no relapse, and you’ve leapt further than you ever imagined.

Hasta la Piel - Carla Morrison

from my book of sketches

Thanks for reading the zine I made to cope with my impending graduation, life situations, the state of the world, and pretty much everything else about being alive. <3