late february visitant on birthdays

by Sydney Pearson

illustrated by Icy Liang

“Get rid of death. Celebrate increase. Make it be spring.”

— “February” by Margaret Atwood

***

Every late February, during that final cold stretch of winter when all creatures yearn for the green hues of March, my birthday comes to pay a visit. I tend to be sitting at the window, awaiting springtime with mild impatience. I listen for the whistle of birdsong, search for the soft green buds on the trees, eye the bars on my windows in hopes that a squirrel will scamper past. But my birthday, when the groundhog feels like a cruel memory and all the red roses from the month’s great holiday have withered, must first make her pilgrimage to my doorstep. She comes bearing nothing but reminders of all that has passed and shows up shivering, illequipped for the late winter cold. As she knocks, I peer through the peephole hoping that maybe, if I remain silent long enough, she’ll walk away, cancel her visit for the year.

She wasn't always an unwelcome visitor. I once excitedly awaited her arrival, celebrating her return, year after year. I loved how her presence would give me the power to choose what my family would eat, who to invite to my sleepover a week later, and what activity we would do that time around. After an afternoon at the movies or painting pottery or wandering around the mall, my friends and I would set up beds around my room and stay up whispering in the dark about the drama at school and all the boys we had crushes on. The next morning, we would wake up and make waffles smothered in syrup and powdered sugar in the kitchen, the weekend sunlight shining through the windows.

But as I grew older, the yearly visit from my birthday became less of a novelty. The combination of a string of not-so-great birthdays in middle school, my growing dislike of attention in high school, and the overall exhaustion of worrying about everyone else's needs all led to my hesitation surrounding my birthday’s yearly trip. While I didn’t avoid the celebration altogether, I scaled down, preferred festivities without all the fanfare.

Going into college, the apathy about Late February’s arrival grew, except this time it became replaced with mild dread. The dreariness of my first Providence winter...

My stomach churned for the rest of the day until I was able to go home, flop on my floor, and sob. This is the first time I can remember consciously breaking down about the climate crisis. Granted, I was also having an intense pubescent mood-swing—but I felt betrayed, fearful, dizzily confused, and sad. I was sitting in my room, surrounded by pictures to commemorate my life, stuffed animals I was gifted as a baby, various books I love, and the clothes that I wore to snuggly hug my body. I was secure, sheltered, but fearful of the innate uncertainty one experiences as a human in today’s world. I was as protected as anyone could be, and yet I found myself looking around my room, playing that game...

eX nO eX nO

i love me best <3

by Ellie Jurmann

The last time I was supposed to write for post-, I got dumped. Just as I was about to start my piece, my world shattered, the future I imagined for myself came crumbling down, and the person I thought was the love of my life no longer wished to be in mine at all. Thoughts of writing or school work were lost amid my suffocating grief.

To those in my life who did not know about my breakup, let alone my then-boyfriend’s existence, this is probably a bit confusing. If I never mentioned him, it is because I did not wish to introduce someone who might not be in my life for the long haul. I now feel that I made the right choice, but I do wish for you to know me as a result of my recent experiences.

I do not write this with any ill will against my now ex-boyfriend, which is why I will refer to him as X instead of using his name. X, if you are reading this, hi. Thank you for everything, including breaking my heart.

—Siena

Normally I am very good at coping with loss, especially because I like myself and am pretty damn good at cheering myself up. The problem with this breakup, though, was I felt like X was my perfect match. We are both nerdy, silly, obsessed with food and music and dogs, and we never failed to have the best time in each other’s presence. In six months of dating, we never even got into a single fight. When he ended things, I could not comprehend why someone so seemingly right for me was brought into my life just to be ripped away...