The Dreamer's Issue by ORANGE Magazine

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the dreamerâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s issue

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masthead Editors-in-Chief Maya Dandashi Lydia Wagner Creative Director Meredith Cambis Managing Edtiors Rachitha Jadala Molly Schrader Staff Writers Ariana Pleasure Shaina Jaramillo Dina Barrish Ty Marsh Chase Seabourn Bailey Cho Cat Cardenas Emma Bittner Bella Chamoun-Ko Mackenzie Pratt Samantha Chavez Julia Oppenheim Copy Editors Mackenzie Dyer

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Miles Eackles Lauren Castro Hannah Rossi Head Photographer Kelly Kim Photographers Maria Sureda Joy Zhou Head Videographer Sara Trevino Videographers Sloane Wick Riley Church Design Editor Anna Sing Designers Isabel Canales Vildan Karaca Sanjana Reddy Joanne Tsao Social Team Amy Perez Isabela Hurley Vega Shah Abby Drake

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Contents 12. A Mediumâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Take on Dreams Ariana Pleasure 14. The Seventh Sense Bailley Cho 16. Time Is Relative Cat Cardenas 17. When the Psyche Takes Control Molly Schrader 18. New Refuge Abby Drake 20. How the Film Industry Created the Manic Pixie Dream Girl Hannah Rossi 22. Navigating Through the Fog Emma Bittner 24. The Corruption of Naivete

28. Psychic Coincidence Julia Oppenheim 29. Into Wonderland Sanjana Reddy 6

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30. A Utopian World Samantha Chavez 31. Transformative Dreamer Sloane Wick 32. Tech Sur-Reality Kelly Kim & Others 38. Confliction of Monologue Joy Zhou & Lydia Wagner 39. Ideal Imposter Ty Marsh 40. Uninvited Guests Chase Seabourn 42. DIALOGUE BTWN FRIENDS Dina Barrish 46. I Didn’t Do It (Relapse) Bella Chamoun-Ko 48. After the American Dream Shaina Jaramillo 50. The Coffee Shop Mackenzie Pratt 51. Where I Sleep Riley Church 52. Reading Into The Future Maya Dandashi 54. Altered States Lydia Wagner 7

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A LETTER FROM THE EDITORS

The issue is a microcosm of our reality today. In creating a space for reflection on the confusions and fantasies in life, we wanted to enter the audience’s subconscious by unearthing our own.

At a time when abnormality became normal, we were struck with the opportunity to serve as ORANGE’s new Editors-in-Chief for the Fall 2020 semester. We knew the circumstances were unlike any other, but had a hopeful vision for ORANGE despite the obstacles. Honestly, we were hesitant. We didn’t know if we could do a good job. But we leaned into the unknown, leaned on each other, and embraced a new community that would eventually lead us to the creation of this zine. We’ve depended on dreams more than ever before - for clarity, for intuition, for an escape or a solution, for hope, for a light at the end of the tunnel. Whether these dreams are during sleep, waking life, or they manifest as aspirations or wishes - they are necessary. So we created the Dreamer’s Issue, in an effort to continue ORANGE’s tradition, but we strayed from solely journalism to focus on artistic content. The theme was a product of the feeling that reality is too hazy. While brainstorming, it was difficult to put a start and end to thoughts. All we could talk about was how detached we sometimes felt from the current moment - like life was surreal, and dreams were deflated or deferred. We wanted to explore these collective sentiments of detachment, and we wanted to know what that meant to our staff, and to you.

To our staff, this semester and zine would not have been possible without you. You are sweet, inventive and resilient. From writers to editors, the creative team to our social team, you remained consistent and transparent through tough circumstances. We simply requested that everyone be as honest as possible in the Dreamer’s Issue. And we were astonished by how well you performed and pushed us to be honest ourselves. This issue is filled with your spirit, your hope and your reflections. We also want to express our deepest gratitude to the leaders before us, Jacqui, Kennedy, and Maya, without whom we never would have been able to envision ourselves as leaders of this magazine...our mentors and our friends, this issue is also for you. To you, reader, use this as an affirmation that you are not alone. Your dreams matter. We believe strongly in YOU and your ability to imagine, to create and to transcend boundaries. There is art, emotion, and reasoning behind your thoughts. To demonstrate that, we put together this shared stream of consciousness, and there is no real beginning or end. Sincerely,

CO-EDITOR-IN-CHIEF

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When we close our eyes and fall into deep sleep - even a petty nap, our minds wander and continue to venture on when our bodies are at rest. While some dreams elicit beautiful images and scenarios, some scare us back to reality. There is much to make of the tales behind our eyelids, and the copious unanswered questions they bring. I chatted with Lana Johnson, (more readily known as ‘Lana the Medium,’) to explore her analysis of dreams and their substance. Johnson is an experienced medium, or psychic, based in Dallas, Texas. Her services include mediumship, trance healing, and tarot card readings to clients near and far.

Q: As a medium and a hypnotist, what do you make of dreams? A: I believe in reincarnation... recurring dreams are a past life. Not always, though. There are dreams that are prophetic. They give you an idea of what’s going to happen. Then when it happens, you’re like, ‘deja vu,’ right? They give you warnings and sometimes they’re just trying to reason out what’s going on in your life... I feel like the soul is constantly communicating, and when we are relaxed and still, we get more of that communication, and that’s why we’re having more dreams and vivid dreams...Our mind is slowing down. We’re going into different realms of sleep. Sometimes, people are advanced, and they can actually leave. The soul can actually leave during that time, and they can travel, and they’ll have more vivid dreams of travel and space and know things that they probably should not have known.

Q: When your soul leaves your body during a dream, what else do you think connects to the vividness of the experience? When you’re in a dream and swear it’s real, what does that mean? A: When we have those dreams, and they seem so real, you have to think about the theme of the dream. Was that the soul giving you a

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heads up about something? Or were you trying to work out a purpose? Sometimes when we’re working out purposes, things are going on in our lives, and we can’t really deal with it because it’s too chaotic. Our soul will give us a similar issue to deal with that’s not directly related, so we can somehow in our minds formulate how to deal with that... but a lot of people don’t remember their dreams because they go into such deep realms of sleep. If you want to remember them, you have to make that conscious effort. I feel like it’s important for everyone to have their own dream book, to wake up at night, and write their own dreams down and how they feel about that dream, and just see what happens in their life afterward.

Q: Do you think that all dreams mean something or can we have dreams for no reason? A: I think we can have [some] dreams for no reason. They do have a reason, but we may never know the reason because I believe that our dreams are only ways for our souls to communicate with us.

Q: How would you encourage people to deal with dreams that expose their fears? A: Well, our souls give us a heads up sometimes, more than we know. If you think, ‘Oh, that was probably just my fear,’ it was on some level, but it could also be prophetic... sometimes this could also be us processing our past. Everything that happens to you throughout the day - you have to process that. When [souls] communicate, they give us so much information that our conscious mind cannot tolerate it or handle it, so it comes in forms for the subconscious to deal with.

Johnson’s work as a medium and hypnotist allows her to experience her own dreams and help people with theirs, in both spiritual and realistic ways. She acknowledged there is a lot of information surrounding dreams but ultimately, we are the deciding factors in what our dreams mean to us. We have the power to choose what we make of them, or what may become of them.

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The Seven 12/16/3042 [THE TUNNEL]

Words by B Design by Jo

I close my eyes and life begins. What seemed impossible a century ago is now a reality, even though many tried to stop it. The music slowly clouds my mind. The rumbling of the crowd creeps in. My hands subtly shake.

[THE TUNNEL- SLOW RETREAT FROM DREAM STATE]

This stage is the most anxiety-ridden – the stage between

I feel the cool metal armrest again.

reality and what needs to be reality. I know it is all tempo-

The music fades away.

rary, but for a brief moment, I am transported to another

There is no longer a crowd.

universe. One where I am in full control and everything is

“Welcome back,” the nurse says.

perfect. I can be whoever. I can do whatever. This possibility brought me here in the first place. Three-minutes in, my surroundings disappear. The sterile, metal room I am sitting in no longer exists. Breathe-in. Breathe-out. Relax your mind. Things are about to get better.

[DREAM STATE INDUCED] I awaken. Today is the day of the show. 200,000 people in the crowd, waiting for me. I thought I would feel nervous, but I only feel excitement. This is what I always thought my life would turn out to be – touring the country, performing in front of thousands, living my dream. The clouds melt into a myriad of pink, orange, and yellow – a stark contrast from the grey I’m used to in the real world. The audience chants the lyrics to my record, and I can see the sparkle in their eyes. The uncontrollable electricity in the atmosphere means I never want this to end.

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nth Sense

Bailey Cho oanne Tsao

12/30/3042 [REALITY] My friend told me she rewatches dreams to boost her creativity. When she has a major assignment coming up, she visits Doc to better understand herself. Her dreams reflect what is on her mind. That makes sense, for her. She works

12/24/3042 [REALITY] Doc told me to be careful. He said some patients develop an obsession. They don’t want to leave. They no longer need reality when they can simply rewatch their dreams. I disregard his warning, as I am not desperate like the others. My life is reserved. I’ll admit I’m not joyful all the time, but I have found peace with myself. In the real world I am just normal. I visit Doc because he helps me escape this. When I’m down or I don’t feel anything, rewatching my dreams gives me a rush; it is a vivid motion-picture of my wannabe life.

at the agency, and she has freedom in her work. She enjoys what she does. I, on the other hand, am stuck. The office is just another job. I don’t feel satisfaction in what I do, and it seems like I am reliving the same day over and over. My coworkers don’t seem to feel this way; they are content with their tasks and don’t mind the repetition – that scares me. I catch myself wondering – why can’t my life be like my dream? Stop reminiscing and move forward. Stop reminiscing and move forward. Stop reminiscing and move forward. If only it were that easy… 03/10/3043 [REALITY] Another appointment. My life has gotten even duller than before, and it doesn’t feel real. I have started seeing Doc more frequently. This is the only way I can cope. I keep requesting to view the same dream because I wish it were real – the spotlight beaming on me, the adrenaline right before the show, the crowd chanting my name. Perhaps I have held myself back. It’s been almost a decade since my first visit to Doc. This place has consumed me, but this isn’t reality. It’s only a dream. I keep experiencing something that doesn’t exist, and what once was my escape now keeps me imprisoned. No more visits. I need to make a change before it’s too late.

Words by Cat Cardenas Design by Vildan Karaca I look down and see the spitting image of who I once was A girl with eyes full of promise An innocent mind And a heart full of hope She does not know the world we live in The danger, violence, strife The war, disease, and famine She only knows that she likes her light-up sneakers And her favorite food is chocolate fudge

I visit her from time to time Only in my dreams To feel the blissful ignorance that she feels And to urge her to stay that way For as long as she possibly can

She serves as a reminder Of the joys of life Amongst the tragedy She radiates light

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When the Psyche Takes Control Words by Molly Schrader Design by Vildan Karaca I can hardly remember the first time I stepped into a meta-

floor. The Earth remained standing still, yet emanating vi-

physical store since so much of my childhood is littered with

brations from beneath suggested otherwise.

memories of strolling along Lincoln Road in Miami to the 9th Chakra, where I was gifted a dark purple agate stone for

Some call it magic, but the best way to make sense of the

wishmaking. Similarly dark purple, with golden moons and

unfamiliar vertigo and mysticism is to think in terms of side

stars, was the cloth draped across the tiny side table that

effects. Upon entering the fringes of the city, any one of

held my mother’s future. I mainly listened in on her tarot

Sedona’s four energy vortexes (Airport Mesa, Cathedral

readings, but never received one myself, fearful of what I

Rock, Bell Rock and Boynton Canyon) start to act as spir-

might be told. However, years later when I traveled alone to

itual catalysts. Your metaphysical destination is unknown.

Germany, I took a local train from Frankfurt to Nuremberg where I had a surreal encounter with a spiritual guide who

Rooted in Native American oral narrative, people trav-

told me he hypnotized someone and unlocked their past self.

el to Sedona en masse in search of mediums, wellness conventions, energy vortex tours, tarot readings, hypno-

Are we all ‘old souls’ with personal histories undiscovered?

sis and other paths to self-discovery. Sometimes, we feel

Why seek abstract ideas like dreams, chakras and astrology

connected to memories we never had and time periods

just for the chance of comprehending inexplicable fragments

we never experienced. Our souls are elevated versions of

of our personalities? Of course, it all depends on what you

consciousness, existing on another plane than the one we

believe, but only the curious come close to unearthing the

currently live within.

inner peace we pursue in our human condition. The concept of personal metamorphosis can be jarring, Zipping through the enormous red cathedral rocks of Sedo-

even worth avoiding for some, but self-actualization is en-

na, Arizona, as the sky turns from a safe and assuring blue to

ticing, too. The human psyche has been highly commer-

a hazy purple-pink dreamscape, I found myself drifting into

cialized. We seek comfort in salt lamps, aura photography

a trance-like state. Eyes wide open and focused on the road,

and essential oil diffusers. Many become skeptical. Spiri-

it was hard to deny the impending tunnel vision creeping up

tuality is closely related to religion and existentialism, so it

like a looming shadow. In an effort to catch my breath, and

is often questioned, debunked or cast aside. However, the

as my feet finally connected with the ground, (after hours of

unknown is an inclination that should be inherently tempt-

mindless driving,) equilibrium suddenly became less natu-

ing.

ral. A tingling sensation plummeted down my spine to the Think back. To a time you found yourself inside of a memory that you are unsure even exists, reminiscing on a stranger who had an impact for an indistinct reason, or reliving a dream that left you on pause for days. Think of that unvisited place that somehow gave you deja vu. Now, dive deeper into the psychic reasons this occured. What have you discovered here?

NEW RE

ART BY AB

EFUGE

BBY DRAKE

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How the Film Industry Created the Words by Hannah Rossi Design by Isabel Canales It’s a story we’re all familiar with.

The character is notably quirky or offbeat, fulfilling the ultimate misogynistic cliche of being “not like other girls” in the

Boy meets girl. He is a sad, (and frankly average,) guy lost

protagonist’s life. To him, she encompasses all of the color

in his search for life’s meaning. She is zany and outgoing

and magic that Oz brought Dorothy - she is a dream that

with an unnatural color in her hair. He develops an almost

transports him out of the grayscale of his own existence.

obsessive love for her and she “heals” him only to promptly disappear. The expiration of her plotline is dated to the res-

As such, he romanticizes and places her on a pedestal as

olution of his emotional turmoil.

existing separately from the real world, reducing her down to the traits that make her different and never exploring who

And although this girl is always more central to the plot of

she is as a complex individual. Upon this pedestal, the girl is

the story, she will never be considered the protagonist. She

just a character, one lacking flaws or humanity.

is the dream girl one of Hollywood’s favorite picks in deciding which archetype to pull from a bank of overused sup-

In the eyes of our protagonist, this dream feels miraculous:

porting characters.

she arrives to save him right as he is struggling most to overcome depression or disillusionment with life. Thus, although

Not a new phenomenon, film critic Nathan Rabin first identi-

written as a love interest, the dream girl’s role typically be-

fied the recurring “manic pixie dream girl” trope in his 2007

comes more akin to acting as a living Prozac prescription for

review of “Elizabethtown,” calling the film one which “exists

her partner, slowly releasing him into a joie de vivre through

solely in the fevered imaginations of sensitive writer-direc-

her little eccentricities and profound epithets.

tors to teach broodingly soulful young men to embrace life and its infinite mysteries and adventures.”

Her character has a savior complex: riding in on a metaphorical white horse, she rescues her man like a knight would

But this dream girl is entirely one-dimensional. The narrative

his damsel by defending him not from physical demons, but

ignores her background and denies her goals or personal de-

emotional ones.

velopment, which is all demonstrative of the fact that she is written solely in relation to her male counterpart.

Both the girl and the fabled “knight in shining armor” represent the same toxic narrative played out time and time again, teaching us that men must always step into the role of physical protector and that women must always nurture the emotional health of their partners. Not to mention the extreme hegemonic gender binary in all of this, but in the case

the dreamer’s issue of this particular trope, we see films’ “male gaze” fails us all by perpetuating the idea that men should seek these types of “fulfilling” relationships instead of treatment for serious mental health issues. This failure is a dangerous one. Film holds power to influence our thinking. The film universe in itself is a dream realm, a space in which fantasy collides with reality. Writing female love interests who exist solely to complete struggling male protagonists, reinforces this narrative in our collective subconscious, and perhaps in our own fantasies. As a solution to the quandary presented by the ‘manic pixie dream girl,’ writers have attempted to limit its prevalence through works that turn the trope on its head. In “500 Days of Summer,” the main character Tom finds a love interest, Summer, who is the quintessential dream girl; however, it is Tom’s romanticization of her that leads to the dissolution of their relationship. Works like this yank the dream girl down from her cloudy pedestal, reminding audiences that idealizing a partner and expecting emotional fulfillment through one person alone is unrealistic and ultimately harmful. Women will never be the dreams that films depict: they are complex individuals with dreams of their own. Anyone entering a relationship with a woman should not do so with the expectation they will assume emotional responsibility. This is a product of toxic masculinity. We must erase the dream girl! She never existed. And anyone expecting a partner to complete their life - no matter their gender - should first contemplate their own state of being, and maybe attend therapy.

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Navigating Th Waking up is a dull kind of pain. I beg to feel something, anything at this point. I begin with the blare of stacked alarms, inducing panic in my body which aches with nausea and anxiety. The hopelessness of another day winning over hysteria. Wrestling with the idea of pulling myself out of bed and into the shower, I think of the warm water dripping down my body and it feels taxing: thus, my greasy hair lives on.

My day-to-day is insufferable. I feel like Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m a whirlpool. Small talk is suffocating. The dayâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s events blur together as if Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m doing constant pirouettes without spotting. Lacking the discipline to ground myself, I get lost in the fog that surrounds me. I have difficulty focusing on one thing, nevertheless the insignificant task of socializing. A small string tugs at my core, whispering for me to be kind to myself and offer the peace of self-care, but I never make it that far.

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hrough the Fog Words by Emma Bittner Design by Vildan Karaca The sun fades into the horizon and so does my daily façade. I think of repeating this frustrating cycle over Like an early morning fog, depression and all-consuming

again tomorrow. Tears rolling down my face, I beg

anxiety appear out of nowhere. The dew lightly dresses the

for the pipedream of time freezing and giving me a

grass and the fog rolls in from the east amid a skyline so

moment to breathe.

clouded that you can barely see the car in front of you. Proceeding with caution and smothered in the gloom, it grounds

Another day will start soon. The sun will rise, and I

you in complacency.

will try to be kind to myself, although I know trying is demanding.

I’m halfway through the day, I’m not sure how I made it here - it’s a blur, but we’re here.

The weight of the day is heavy.

The pit of my stomach reminds me to be kind to myself, even

Though my eyes are open looking at the popcorn ceil-

if that kindness is just putting down a handful of crackers.

ing above me, I can’t focus on it. The fog of anxiety

Nourishing my body is essential but unexciting: something

and uncertainty is thick around me and my mind rac-

simple, beige and probably carb-loaded is an effortless an-

es.

swer.

Falling into rest is something I would kill for, but my body can’t find it; I pretend to count sheep like when

The fog is debilitating, making each step taken throughout

I was young and couldn’t fall asleep because of the

my day harder and harder.

monsters under the bed.

When things get hard, it’s like someone presses fast forward on my life. I’m an outsider watching the day go by. At the

Now I’m 21 and the monsters are in bed with me.

end, I am left to assemble pieces into a picture of a day I don’t remember.

On top of me, dragging me down. Waking up is a nightmare I can never escape.

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THE CORRUPTION OF NAIVETE Photos and Words by Design by Meredith Cambis Even from across the ocean, we learned through American

I come from Spain. In that environment, everyone chooses

movies, television shows and works of literature that suc-

a career solely based on their passions. I was astonished

cess can be achieved through the actualization of dreams.

to see the increasing number of people who choose to

This idea has shaped generations, who believe that no mat-

leave their devotions behind for the promise of happiness

ter your background, you can be successful. But beware -

hidden in the capitalist American dream. I was startled to

this success will determine your happiness.

see those that aspired to be writers, artists, or to work for non-profit causes, who shifter their careers to engineering

Growing up with these assumptions, you convince yourself

or business. They abandoned their youthful, hopeful aspi-

that dreams will ultimately be sacrificed for profitable ca-

rations for the ignorant, corrupt bliss of wealth.

reers. It is not until this moment, you realize the extent to which capitalism is intrinsic to the American dream - it is the driving force, embedded in American society.

PHOTO SERIES 1: CHILDHOOD IGNORANCE

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PHOTO SERIES 2: TRANSITION AWAKENING

PHOTO SERIES 3: ADULTHOOD ANGUISH the dreamerâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s issue

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psychic coincidence

City and there were several kiosks selling magazines, candy, and of course, yellow umbrellas. I continued my day and saw a stuffed animal wearing a raincoat and holding a yellow umbrella in a toy store window. I learned this was normal, and it wasn’t simply the universe throwing coincidences at me. It was just me, focusing on little things, and making them feel bigger. Baader-Meinhof Phenomenon is actually the product of an

Words by Julia Oppenheim Design by Sanjana Reddy

increase in awareness about something. This illusion con-

Have you ever casually brought up a name in conversation

and received a text from that person moments later? How

Lily Kane, freshman journalism major at the University of

about hearing a song for the first time, then suddenly hear-

Texas at Austin, has noticed this trend in her life recently.

vinces us that we have constant run-ins with concepts we have recently discovered. Even when this is not the case.

ing it everywhere you go? It seems as if fate works its magic, or that maybe our minds have the power to evoke random

“I was online shopping and found a dress that I really liked,

happenings that coincide with our thoughts...however, this is

and added it to my cart,” Kane said. “Then I was watching a

not the case. Although this is a strange feeling, there are sev-

YouTube video that was sent to me. The girl in it was wearing

eral established terms for the concept, such as ‘the frequen-

the same exact dress. It freaked me out.”

cy illusion,’ more commonly known as the Baader-Meinhof Phenomenon.

Many people want to overcome this feeling. It can induce an eerie sense of surveillance or being followed. Sometimes

When I was in high school, I started watching “How I Met

these coincidental events are hopeful though, or even give

Your Mother.” The main character constantly talked about

us a sense of fate. When familiar situations appear shortly

his special yellow umbrella. Little did I know, I would be see-

after you bring them up, this could empower the belief that

ing yellow umbrellas everywhere. I took a trip into New York

everything happens for a reason. But every person has a different outlook. The “everything happens for a reason” mindset can occasionally be related to one’s confirmation bias, which is the human tendency to hyperfocus on information newly-learned in order to match our worldview. It is very reassuring to know why certain things in life happen to us, and our minds have the power to trick us into thinking that fate is working in our favor. No matter the real reason behind all this subconscious behavior, it gives us a sense of hope when hope is lost. In such a crazy world, in such crazy times, it is sometimes reassuring to think that the universe is on your side– even if there’s more to the story.

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Into Wonderland Art by Sanjana Reddy

A Utopian

Words by Samantha Chavez / Design by Anna Sing In my world, I am happy. I do not have to push through the dense, dark clouds that trail me everywhere, through the tangled spider webs that threaten to catch me and keep me still. I don’t have to keep an umbrella because the rain is not poisonous here. The storm is not acidic, like those words online about the color of skin, not the disgusting comments that sink through clothes when walking down the street, not the idiotic declarations made by those we call ‘leaders.’ The sun shines brightly on us all. We all talk calmly and everyone has a choice to do as they please. In my world, I am not fearful. I, and anyone else, can walk outside at any hour of the day. And nothing bad happens. No one fears for innocent lives because none are being lost. There are no inhumane people making decisions they should never make. I no longer have anxiety about sharpening my wit in preparation for arguments with people who think ignorance is ‘knowing better.’ There is no violence waiting around each corner so there is no need to hide from it. In my world, I do not need to dream away the darkness. I dream about my passions again. I focus on traveling, writing and reading. In my mind, there is no wildfire raging, where the fire resembles the one burning the world down. I don’t need to dream about safety and justice and equality because we have it. I don’t dream away the corruption of the world, slowly knocking down person after person like dominoes in my game. I dream about sunshine, about independence, about the entire realm of possibilities, because there is no one here to discourage me. In my world, I do not want to sleep through despair.

In my world, I want to be awake. I am excited for every single day. I want to see the world again. I want to talk to every person on the street, hear their stories and see their smiles. I know that even when things are bad, they will be okay again. I look forward to every single second of every day. The world is better than anything I could ever dream up.

My world is what we deserve, at the least. Why is it so hard to create?

World

I never hit the snooze button in the mornings just for a few more seconds of peace when my nightmares are better than reality. I do not pull my blankets over my head, using them to shield me from the world that cuts so deeply. We are all scarred by now. I do not lie utterly still, fearing what notifications await me on my phone, grievous little stories that haunt us.

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Transformative Dreamer Words by Sloane Wick Design by Anna Sing

Did you know that when you enter a room the lights dim because they know they can’t compare to your brightness? I watch you watching me watching you as you speak The words flow out of you in a way that can only be described as a waterfall They are the most natural thing in this universe Falling from your lips and crashing against the harsh air Every word sends hope ricocheting And I am so grateful to be in the splash zone Did you know when you talk about your dreams, your skin becomes transparent I know you can’t see it yourself So let me tell you Your blood is potential And your breath is promising You have a million possibilities converging behind your sternum You are the future hidden just behind the present Waiting but not still Did you know that your dream is not really a dream? It is the most important promise you will ever make even though the only person you’re promising is you.

Did you know that promise is not really a promise? It’s an inevitably Because I did.

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TECH SUR-REALITY

Photographer: Kelly Kim Models: Cruz Rendon, Marie Bennett, Mackenzie Dyer Creative Director: Meredith Cambis Styling: Cruz Rendon Makeup: Maya Dandashi

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How better to summarize our detachment from reality than to smash computers, in a fit of rage over this tech-driven world? In a surreal age when screens, dreams and holograms mix together, we are left among our technology as prehistoric humans, trying to absorb the nuance and escape from a digital world. Digesting so many images per day, how can we discern what is real from what is not? Tech and dreams are innately intertwined now. And digital disruptions can even keep us from our dreams - whether we stare at tiny screens instead of allowing natural sleep, or intake too many edited photos and lose the confidence to follow our intuition. In some ways, technology is a dream. In some ways, it has done us wrong.

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the dreamerâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s issue

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the dreamerâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s issue

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Confliction of Monologue Words by Lydia Wagner Photo by Joy Zhou

the dreamer’s issue

Ideal Imposter Words by Ty Marsh Design by Sanjana Reddy I am not of your dreams

The shades of rose on my cheeks are not

The mind does not create faces from

prone to frizz. My flaws are a part of me,

scratch. The people we encounter by day follow us into our slumber. Every nameless profile in our dreams is derived from our reality – from those we pass on streets without a thought, to the people we try our very hardest to dispel from

a constant and the curls on my head are not to be ignored. No crossings of past lives can diminish that. Suspend the assumptions you made of me before you even bother learning my middle name. See my shortcomings and understand they are tied to my triumphs. Re-

our minds.

member I am more than a concept.

Why lie and say you’ve met me before in

with the moments we share. Don’t let the

The enigmatic nature of my spirit will fade

your mind’s fantasies? I am not the person of your dreams - I’m imperfect. My nail polish chips and my eyebrows

require

constant maintenance. I cancel plans

when

I overthink and accidentally trip on my own feet. The impossible standard to which you compare me is fraudulent, as is the archetype you’ve assigned.

thrill of learning my complexities be what keeps you around. Find comfort in my humanity! Take pleasure in my willingness to be less than perfect around you. Realize that I am not what you expected - know that no one will be. It is not a requirement that you stay with me, but it is best to unlearn the expectations you’ve created for me before my disapproval of them leads to your disappointment. I am not a blessing from above. I am not a materialized figment of your imagination. I am not of your dreams.

orange magazine

uninvited

Oh, the sanctuary of sleep. Rest is supposed to be a restorative time for our minds, the shelter we seek after a day of physical, mental, and emotional gymnastics. In dreams, the simple fact of unconsciousness fully subjects us to our vul-

Words by Ch Design by Mer

nerabilities. Our subconscious takes the reins. We are most comfortable in waking life because we have equipped ourselves to adapt to our reality over time - to grip onto some sense of constancy. In fact, our coping mechanisms are probably more potent than the credit we attribute to them

For instance, If something unpleasant happens

when I’m awake, I deep-breathe. I go to my favorite local coffee shop. I watch a comfort show, or (most frequently,) I mindlessly scroll through social media until I’m too overstimulated to care anymore. The name of the game is self-preservation - we put ourselves in positions to minimize hardship, including who we surround ourselves with. Many of us try to ensure our subconscious is clean by surrounding ourselves with the people who nurture us - a chosen list of people who respect our boundaries and whose love we do not question. This curation is one of the most beautiful things we can control in waking life. The interpersonal relationships in our lives play out like narratives and become what we deem real. We lie down to rest at night with these comforts in mind: our close friends are loyal to us, our possible romantic interests are hopeful, and everything stable in this life results from what we have created for ourselves. It is a process that almost seems perfectible, but it is never that easy. Try as we might, we trust our minds to accurately discern between what is real and what is not in our relationships, often leading to disappointment and overall disorientation. Self-blame for “not getting it right,” plagues us. But that is unfair; we have far less control than we’d like to believe. Rest easy, because, maybe the culprit at hand is not the conscious self, but instead the repressed conflicts that leave sleep to figure out for us. Then sleep—our alleged sanctuary—can become the opposite of a safe space. Rest becomes tiresome, bombarded with

battles our lucid selves did not want to fight. But what exactly are the tools for that? When you have your life down to a science, what do you do when an uninvited guest shows up at the door of your dreams? Knock, knock! There’s someone at the door. You were not expecting them. You tucked yourself into bed soundly at the thought of a dreamworld you were well-acquainted with, and yet here

the dreamer’s issue

d guests

hase Seaborn redith Cambis

unsolicited romantic connection. What did it mean, both for you and for the person who entered? What did it mean in real life? Left with these trembling, genuine questions, you wake. Sometimes, you remember it all. How could you forget? An intrusive narrative—one so far from your realm of comfort— is now left hanging in your subconscious, and you’re stuck with the responsibility of navigating it. You can’t ask a friend to enter a dream with you, nor would someone else ever wholly understand the dream’s effect or the burning questions it left behind. Journeying this alone can feel incredibly isolating. Though your dream was not tangible, it happened. And now you go about your day, your week, or month with a distorted reality; you conjured up a narrative and projected it onto a person or situation, while those involved have not the slightest idea. The uninvited guests: we all know them and the effect they leave. So really, there’s no cause for self-gaslighting. We are all susceptible to dreams like these. However, it is essential to recognize that our realities are irrevocably altered by such dreams. We interact with people differently after they have hurt us in a dream or, even worse, after meeting them romantically for the first time. Make peace with the fact that it might take time for the dust to settle. We are all inescapably subject to the irregularity of our subconscious minds. Sleep is not going away. It is beautifully necessary for life, and is not meant to cause fear. Likewise,

comes a stranger intruding on your peace. The most surreal puzzle piece is that you have no jurisdiction here. In your unguarded state, you relinquish control. You have to let them in. Mortifying, and yet, you play the role. Do the little dance, sing the little song, and when the dream is done, there’s no changing what happened. Maybe someone hurt you or perhaps just confused you. Maybe they were out of character and were unexpectedly kind to you, or even, by opening that door, you sought an

the act of repression is not going away for most of us anytime soon. One of the only constants in life is unpredictability, and all we can do is try to give up a little bit of the control we hold so dear, and embrace the exploration of our various states of consciousness. Next time that uninvited guest shows up at your subconscious door, let them in. Because, frankly, you do not have a choice. Maybe they reflect confrontation you avoided while you were awake, or perhaps they are just trying to spice up your life a bit. Regardless, we are along for the ride.

orange magazine

Words by Dina Barrish Design by Meredith Cambis This piece depicts two friends attempting a conversation in the middle of the night. They cross that threshold of half-delirious vulnerability, where total clarity and truth emerge, yet soon revert to futile banter. Thereâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s a fluctuation of consciousness in the space between today and tomorrow: everything seems at once significant and insignificant.

Okay.

3:30am Her

No.

Her

5:40am

Sleeping? Her

Okay. No. Me

Hungry? Her

Hmm? Her

TV? Enticing, But no.

No. Her

See you in the morning? Her 42

Sleeping?

No. Me

Her

Okay!

Hey you up?

Do you still like fruit loops?

5:45am What? Her

the dreamer’s issue

5:50am

Since you’re color blind. Where’s the fun in that? Do you still like them? Me

Oh. I uh - hm. I’m not, I’m not like, that color blind. Her

Oh, Connor. Yeah, Connor. Her

Her

What? Me

That color blind. Her

Oh. Who?

Her

Connor.

Yeah, Connor. Her

5:52am

Yeah, well. Neither did he. And now you’re here and he’s god knows where so it all evened out in the wash. Me

Connor?

5:53am

Damn. I should do laundry. You know what should exist?

Who’s Connor? Me

You know Connor.

What. No I don’t.

I was eleven. I had no game.

Me Her

Hey, he did!

Like the seventh time!

Do you know who is?

Sucks he couldn’t take a hint. Her

5:47am

Her

Okay.

A magical laundry machine. Or actually, way better. I just want Sher’s closet from Clueless. Clears up the laundry issue altogether.

You used to. Her

Dang. You wore such cool eye shadow in 6th grade, too. Sucks he couldn’t appreciate it.

Oh. Okay.

Okay.

Her

orange magazine

5;59am

Okay, but Connor wasn’t even the last time. Her

Did I cross a line? The last time what? Me

The last time someone just left like that.

No. No, thank you. Thank you, I needed to hear that. Her

Okay. Me

Okay.

Her

Oh. Oh, come on. Come on. You’re beautiful.

Her

6:01am

And you have, like, the best hair ever.

I’m serious. Her

Me too! Me

Okay. Her

Stop. Her

Okay. Me

5;57am

6:30am You’re such a good person. Her

Okay. I think … I think you’re right about a lot of things. You have strong morals, for sure. But sometimes, sometimes you confuse what you think with what you think you think. That didn’t make any sense. It just makes me sad to see you depend so much on other people, when really you’re the strongest person I know. Me

No. I lie. I lied today. Me

Everyone lies sometimes. Her

No but, I felt this one. I feel all guilty, but I don’t have the energy to change. Me

What do you mean? Her

My dad called. On the Jewish day of rest? And I’d completely forgotten. Me

the dreamer’s issue

Oh. Oh. Her

What about you?

Yeah. Me

6:33am

Her

It’s like, I know a day of rest is important. It’s just hard. I can’t carry around everything I did once, just because I once did it.

6:35am

Me?

Yeah.

I think, I think the existence of God explains a lot of unexplainables, if that makes any sense. Her

No, yeah. It does. Me

Wait, was that words? Yeah. Yes. I get it. Your dad does, too. Her

Okay. Her

Yeah. Her

Okay. Me

Her

Too many, maybe? Me

Yeah.

Do you believe in God? What? Me

I don’t know. Her

Yeah.

Her

6:50am

Her

There are a lot of unexplainables.

Maybe. Me

I mean, okay. In general, yeah. Yeah, I believe in a higher power. But do I feel guilty because I disobeyed God by not resting on Saturday? No. That’s all me.

7:10am We need snacks. Her

Hungry? Me

Yeah. Her

TV? Me

8:00am

I hate your alarm. I get it. Her

Her 45

orange magazine

I can see her. Bent over and white-knuckled from clutching the rims of the toilet seat, she pushes herself up, rising from a pit of shame and frustration. Thump, thump, thump One leg, then the next… Her hands are already shriveled from washing as she tries to rid her fingers of sickness—one more day until New Year’s Eve. I’ll be different, she tells herself every year, hoping that one day it will come true. It never does. What’s this? Eyes locked and pointed towards her. Why did I find this in your drawer? She furiously shakes the blue tin revealing the demise of my trust with my mother. No, I say to myself. No, it wasn’t me. It technically wasn’t me, so I’m not

I Didn’t Do It (Relapse) Words by Bella Chamoun-Ko Design by Vildan Karaca Content Warning: Readers should know this piece discusses disordered eating and shame. During this time, I had been taking expired dieting supplements and was in the early stages of an eating disorder. It was a dark period in my life, especially to have so many family members and friends involved, but I will say this: things get better. Five years later, I am in a much better place. If you are struggling with this right now, just know - time might seem like an enemy, but it will become an old friend in the future.

lying… right? No, I don’t remember doing that. Why is THIS in your drawer! Hands slowly creep up my neck as tears well up in my eyes. .

I’m sorry! I’m soRry! I’m sORBlack. Pills. Small and white, barely an inch tall, yet their hold on me is like lying under millions of heavy weights. I see them everywhere, as they hide deep in the food that sits before me. I feel rolls of them gather at my waist as they form an armor that is impenetrable to the outside world. I continuously tell myself one more, just one more, and placate my fears with the white-lie after this, you’ll be done. Only one more, and you’ll be set. I tell myself this, trying to believe my life could be fixed in an instance over and over.

the dreamer’s issue Years later, I am in the process of recovery from Bulimia. I walk the long hallways, making sure to have a skip in my step, and a giant smile plastered across my face. I’m fine, I’m doing great! Faces continue to pass me by. One by one, they exchange kind words with me and praise me for being the person they think I am. But one poke at the apple threatening to roll out of the stand, and they all come falling down. One trip to the bathroom reminds me of my old friend, who returns to repeat her goodbyes.

My stomach hurts really bad… can you help me? All the stalls are taken up. “Use that one.” I point to the vacant stall with the bright white door and tiled floors. Rather than heading straight to the stall, she takes a step back. Her glance trails to the mirror, and I finally notice the third person in the room that I had not seen. Her hand extends to the girl, yellow and over-grown nails point toward the figure standing behind us. Her. I’m trying to get away from her. And there she goes, running toward the stalls. Bent over and white-knuckled from clutching the slippery rims of the toilet seat, she stands. Thump, thump, thump One leg, then the next… She takes her time rising from her pit of shame and frustration. Her hands are already worn-down, shriveled from washing, as she tries to rid her fingers from sickness. Why is THIS in your drawer! I didn’t do it.

orange magazine

Words by Shaina Jaramillo

The looks my parents receive when they talk in their na-

Design by Isabel Canales

tive tongue, the discrimination I witness them face, and the ill-mannered and offensive language others use to question their culture and traditions - these things still astonish me. The conflicts, the hurdles and sacrifices, were all for the American Dream. Being born to immigrant parents is a formative part of my identity. No matter which way I look at it, positively or negatively, it remains a constant reminder. My parents came to the United States from the Philippines, and like many immigrant stories, their journey was far from easy. In the Philippines, it was hard to buy food and provide for your family. It was a struggle to make money. Immigrating to another country for income was the only choice. “It’s better than staying in the Philippines because there, you’re nothing,” my mother said. My mother got a job as a nurse at a hospital in Lubbock, Texas. This was not her dream, but it was a chance for a better life. For my parents, it was a grand opportunity, as they aspired to achieve the American life everyone touted was so great. “When I saw all these people with nice houses in the Philippines, they got them because of the support they got from America,” my mother said. “I wanted to experience being able to afford something I liked.” But the American Dream fell flat. “You suffered to earn, ” my mother recalled. The job she accepted paid her and fellow migrants below minimum wage. She faced countless racist remarks and degradation from employers and coworkers. My father had a hard time finding

a job at all and began doing “under-the-table work,” like

the dreamer’s issue housekeeping, construction, and bartending. He had a de-

and recalled working a full-time job and getting internships

gree in mechanical engineering, but many employers thought

in college just to avoid such a situation.

a non-native English speaker who came from a different country was incapable of achieving a higher education. They

“I’m the oldest. I have three younger sisters, so I was always

didn’t believe his degree was real.

the example child,” Rendon said. “I definitely had to be the overachiever. Even if my parents don’t say it, I feel like I have

“They thought I was stupid.” my father said. “But I am smart

to prove to them that the sacrifices they made were worth it.”

in the Philippines. I am smart in Tagalog.” Meryl Xiong, a senior management and linguistics major Low wages meant living with other migrant Filipinos in one

at UT, had a different upbringing but shared some similar

small, run-down apartment. But their will to succeed held

experiences. Xiong’s parents obtained scholarships and im-

strong. My parents found their way to Dallas, where my

migrated from mainland China to attend graduate school at

mother took a job at another hospital and went on to work

Texas A&M University.

there for 25 years. My father took odd jobs, but finally found stability working at the airport.

Jenny Li, Xiong’s mother, said they made their decision after the 1989 Tiananmen Square incident and wanted to share in

Though their struggles have heavily influenced my outlook

the “freedom to pursue,” regarding free speech and thinking.

on life, my parents never forced expectations onto me. I

“We had dreams of pursuing freedom and unlimited self-

forced them on myself. I always felt as though the adversity

growth and being able to control our fate,” Li said.

I was dealing with could not compare to that of my parents. My own expectations were engraved in my mind. I believed

Xiong’s parents never forced her into any career or major,

that whichever road I chose to follow, it had to allow me to

but she felt there was an undertone to strive in whatever she

one day provide for them. I wanted them to see - their jour-

chose. Her parents achieved their dream to live comfortably,

ney was not wasted. I wanted to give them an even better life

and their journey still influenced her aspirations.

by doing well in school and choosing a career that guaranteed the most money. I felt these pressures as a child, left

“That kind of determination and wanting status is something

questioning what my talents were, what I actually excelled

that I experienced,” Xiong said.

in, and what I was happy doing. One notable trend with immigrant parents is that their goals Many immigrants and their children face these exact feelings

and ambitions often center their children. Their vision is to

and pressures. Immigrant guilt has affected and shaped our

see their children live well and thrive beyond their imagina-

goals.

tions.

Cruz Rendon, a public relations graduate from the University

As their children, the pressure to meet these expectations

of Texas at Austin, immigrated from Mexico at two-years-

may be overwhelming. But it lets us know how much they

old. Rendon’s birthplace was one of poverty. His parents

care. I was perplexed and worried about achieving my

came to the U.S. to provide him the best education and op-

dream to compensate my parents for every struggle they ex-

portunities. Rendon’s parents faced hardships when first im-

perienced for my sake. But I didn’t realize their dream was

migrating, including a language barrier.

already real. Instead of accomplishing my dream through material things, I can be happy. And for my parents, that is

“We had to stay with family members,” Rendon said. “It just

payment enough.

took [my parents] a really long time to get situated and for us to start living comfortably.”

When I asked them what their current dream is, they said, “To work and support you, our children. To make sure you

Rendon did not want his parents to be under financial stress

guys have a good life. Then, we will have our own life and retire, and enjoy it.”

The Coffee Shop Words by Mackenzie Pratt Design by Joanne Tsao

Another monotonous day ends with the shutting of a laptop,

She watches until it becomes too much.

its snap echoing through a lonely apartment. With hours left before sundown, she hardly has enough energy to pick up

Her eyes open, and the emptiness floods back in so quickly,

the TV remote. It’s easier to shut her eyes and let her mind

it’s jarring. But warmth lingers at the forefront of her mind,

retreat from the agony of right now.

so tangible she thinks she can live in it.

She goes where she always does - into her dreams.

Maybe she can. There’s nothing left for her here—no

Her dreams are full of warmth, of color, of people.

warmth. No love. Reality has failed her, and she’s tired of getting kicked to the curb. She straightens up, almost top-

They seem real to her, like she’s looking in a mirror. Or real-

pling her chair back, and in one swift stretch, pulls out the

ly, an old photograph.

duffle bag she hasn’t touched in years.

Her dreamscape is a nostalgic version of her old life. A whirlwind of clothes, books, and mismatched shoes overThe same few blocks she built her world on, but more vi-

takes her tiny bedroom by the time the zipper strains to

brant. More welcoming. Her apartment is more prominent,

close. She slings the bag over her shoulder, takes a deep

littered with the comfort of two people that have made it a

breath, and leaves without bothering to lock the door.

home. Love bursts at the seams. There’s a half-empty candy jar on the counter, but when she’s in this room, it’s half full.

Walking through the street, eyes closed, she practically bowls over people too glued to their screens to notice.

Outside, people see her. They don’t gaze past in hopes of

The glass door between ‘here’ and ‘there’ is so thin, it could

spotting someone, anyone else. They meet her eyes dead-

shatter. She knows what she must do. Opening her eyes as

on. And they wave. And her heart melts into her shoes as her

she turns the corner, she watches the world shift back into

feet pound the pavement, and she continues on an intimately

vibrancy. It’s the easiest thing, melting into her dream life,

familiar path. Then, she reaches her favorite spot in all the

like falling back into step with an old friend. She feels lighter.

realms of reality. Her feet carry her back to the coffee shop, hesitating when A cozy coffee shop with expansive windows and a pale blue

she reaches the well-worn piece of concrete that practically

awning is the center of her dream world. Cinnamon wafts

has her name on it. And then, she does the one thing she has

through the air and patrons spill through the door. The

never allowed herself to do.

shop’s warmth overflows and can’t help but fill her up too. She enters. She crosses the threshold with ease. Clinking She crosses the threshold, firmly separating herself from this

glasses, happy conversations, and a steady beat pulsating

false yet seemingly perfect reality. She knows if she let her-

from the speakers engulf her. She doesn’t even have time to

self go inside, she would never leave. So she watches. She

watch before an ethereal sound cuts through the room.

watches people share drinks. She watches their eyes light up after the first bite of a sticky cinnamon roll. And she watches

“Hey,” a voice that resonates deep within her soul says.

that one person disappear behind the counter like always.

“Welcome home.”

the dreamer’s issue

Where I Sleep Videography by Riley Church Design by Joanne Tsao

View Riley’s Video on orangemag.co

orange magazine

Words by Lydia Wagner

Have you floated outside your body? Heard voices? Felt

Design

stuck between waking and dreaming life, on the precipice

Anna

Sing

of awareness? As humans, our lives are webs of altered states of consciousness. Old as time and induced by a number of mental and chemical factors, humans exist on multiple planes of reality, bobbing somewhat chaotically in the transient water of emotion and being - and separation from being. Weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve tried to express these states through art, touch and verbal communication. But writing down a journal entry brings comfort, so tangibly cathartic and sweet. It records the highs and lows on a consciousness spectrum. Here are my dreams, journal entries and scribbles from the last few months to demonstrate the fragility and fluctuation of the human psychic state. Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m

transferring

thoughts

into

yours.

the dreamer’s issue 8

0 1

How do I feel in an empty

room with nobody QUESTIONING

THE

FUNDAMENTALS. DISORIENTED,

Hectic

I write the most honest things

around me?

awake

scare

myself

sometimes.

sense of self is all confused,

I don’t know what I want to say but I want it to bleed through the page.

LOST

thoughts rushing at you like

between

Flashes of happiness like

a stream of consciousness,

pendulum of spotlight effect

heat? Like heat flashes?

personal, with an ending

and

theme

Mood swings - how do I

Even when people look up

present-mindedness. That

‘come off?’

to me, I don’t get it.

life is a flow. I am my own.

As if it’s removed from me.

Actually yeah, I do. So why

That’s

confuse me?

realizing

this

I’ve become 9

Deserving of

Even more Love

this

imposter

intense 1

syndrome.

derealization.

depersonalization? I should

I felt so confused, I had to

google both again.

Now

put my shoes on and face

With a capital ‘L’ —

Sometimes my brain is too

that everything is viral even

in the other direction. I

the newest kind

redundant. Not stagnant.

peals of laughter in groups

don’t even like the taste of

Truest kind

Or am I just vain??

just sound ominous.

cigarettes.

Where do my loops come 8

Don’t disturb me.

from? Sometimes I think

[month-long

journaling and one anxious

could

live

the

same

break

from

I need something from you. It’s sinking in.

We are born clinging to

moment over and again,

each other and we seek

Like a scam

someone to cling to forever,

Like a scan,

Like, ‘meet me somewhere,

under again

not even in the middle.’

Learning

for

I was down, in love with

with any mental state,

you know?

other people, only in my

pain, in love with solitude

No matter the deterrent

Don’t be surprised

indecision

and self-pity. I wanted to

So many have done it

when I change my mind

Even in my panic, I’m time,

be alone to lick my wounds.

before. Did you know this?

self-censoring

And now I don’t want to be.

So many. Really?

I’m awake and I’d rather

Seriously.

breakdown later...] 1

Over and

0 But I can handle and cope

happiness

0 9

Thought I should journal

share my life. Rather love. I’m so strong and so weak,

today, maybe, Get to know

The reason for my tears

myself, to be myself.

is I’m having a hard time

Not numb it out.

accepting ‘things’ the ways

Feels weird to put myself

they are. You have to break

into words like this.

down those walls, you can

**** *******.

both of us -

let it go completely blurry.

If there’s a hell, **** ***

One time my daddy said he

Life is vibrant pain mixed

**** *****.

thinks I could run the world

equal with dull and joyful.

I don’t care how long

And I finally found my drive.

Hindsight happiness is a

it takes.

Now I wanna be kind.

wonderful sensation, like

It is absolutely worth

I wanna be real

I’m every sensation.

my time.

My future’s so pretty,

Every tingling

And they can still rot!

I can’t even go out

Every jingling sunbeam

I’m all of it. & I’ve said all I needed to 1

say, Even if it was painful for the

But I’ll go anywhere still

orange magazine

quote

the dreamerâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s issue

orange magazine

the dreamerâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s issue

Colophon This first issue in the third volume of ORANGE magazine was produced by members of the fall 2020 staff. Headline and body typefaces include Orpheus, HK Grotesk, Autobahn, Tangerine, Yatra One, Format_1452, Meadow, Lisbeth, and Journal. Image Credits for photos not taken by ORANGE staff members are as follows: Time Magazine 1972, unsplash.com, National Geographic, 500 Days of Summer (2009), Pinterest, Getty Images, and Flickr.