Radical Issue Nineteen (February 2021)
A New Affirmation for You! I am love I express joy in healthy ways I live in harmony with all I find pleasure in life I act and react with kindness
What is Radical zine? I created Radical to spread a message of sustainable self-care and to support independent artists, writers, and healers with a focus on woc and queer creatives. Choosing to love myself unconditionally and heal is the reason I am still alive. Art, poetry, & choosing to support others gives me a greater purpose than just my own needs. XOXO, Leah
D.I.Y. Therapy: Cultivate Small or Large Positive Vibes! Love, harmony, pleasure, kindness, compassion. How can we bring these into our day midst a toxic culture, corruption, state sanctioned murder, and suffering during a global crisis? This is an ongoing question for so many of us. Below are suggestions for how to bring more positive vibes into your pandemic routine. Let someone know how much you appreciate them. Tell them in person, call or video chat, send a quick text or write them a letter. I do this often when I'm feeling depressed and it always lifts my mood or keeps me from spiraling into a negative mind space. Plan something for yourself that gives you pleasure. Choose something healthy or someone who will respect what you need and your boundaries. Create an act of kindness. Pay it forward, buy a coffee for a stranger, give your time, food or money to someone in need. Communicate clearly what you need in your relationships. Not sure if you are being clear? Write down what you need to say and edit until it doesn't sound judgmental and is not blaming the other person. Or ask someone for feedback about what you need to say to someone else. You can also learn about restorative justice and mediation. Check out the National Conflict Resolution Center Ncrconline.com for training and resources. Create an affirmation to remind yourself to move forward with love. “I think with love. I communicate with love. I act with love. I give and receive with love.� One of my favorite journal activities is writing a love letter to someone who is gone from my life. This helps put me in a positive mind space and remember to be compassionate when I communicate with others. If I could give ____ one more thing it would be.... If I could say to ____ one more time, I would say.... I hope you find this helpful. Find more resources at ImpowerYou.org.
Good Progress by Jasmine Farrell You love me down to the bone morrow. Embrace my dark weeks from September-December. Remember my fragile parts and rub down old aches that still expose themselves during sunrise. Kiss my cheeks, grit your teeth during the days I play guard dog in front of the heart you already proved to love until forever withers down into nothingness. You smile and my heart wants to be yours all over again and damn it, I’m just trying to work on me. Your patience is a virtue I inspire to have and have I ever told you that your heart got that heavy love that heals and leaves marks on both the wicked and beautiful things and beautiful people who have done unspeakable things? You deserve more so, I dig deep to give you what I got and you always cherish every part I seem to discover. You’re the lover I prayed about during 3am prayers in my dorm room. So, I gotta continue working on me. Because you’re one of the roots I ain’t got no business allowing to wither away. Unbothered and unashamed, you’ve stayed when it was easier to walk away, lighter to dust your feet and call it dayBut you stayed. Light up my cheekbones on the lighter days. The days when we’re in sync and the bluest skies knew us by name. Consistently, you tell the ruminating storm in my mind that you’re in this for the long haul. Fate has GOT to be behind you when you summoned my heart to yours. So, I’m gonna keep workin’ on me… While you work on you.
Jasmine Farrell, from Brooklyn, NY is a freelance writer and poet. Her most recent poetry collection, Long Live Phoenixes is available exclusively on Amazon. She wants people to reclaim who they are, so they can live life authentically and with purpose. JasmineFarrell.com & Facebook.com/justbreathejasmine & Twitter.com/justbreathejas & Instagram.com/JustBreatheJasmine
The Last Romanticists by Iris Orpi And I will love you until romance fails and words no longer fall when eternity is just a blur of color in the faded sky and there are no depths left for dreamers to plumb, when the stars assume their places, unconcerned about writing our fate, we have the moment now to make our vows count and make of them the hands that hold up tomorrow when bourbon roses and maraschino cherries get cheated off their sweetness among the distracted steps of rushing hours, I will still love you when there comes a time that the night is but a void, and a touch is only among lethargic limbs doused in a need for selfish sleep, I will still reach into the weakness that hurts you the most, and hold you there when the wires of intentions get crossed where voices make a tangled mess and emotions get pulled in many directions, I will keep a safe space and be the first to protect you
when the cupboards are bare and our pockets are empty and the vestiges of home have been reduced to four featureless walls and a caving roof, I will still carry your name as the last treasured adornment of my soul when everything else that has brought us here and kept us together has faded away, I will still stay and later, when death arrives not in dark robes but as the spirit’s slipping into some involuble unknown and there is a narrow gap left in the closing door just enough for one memory, it will be of me, loving you because the poetry of living may not always serve us, but after the last notes of the last passion symphony have ceased playing, there is a silence and that belongs to us too.
Iris Orpi is a Filipina writer living in Chicago, IL. She is the author of the novel The Espresso Effect and two books of collected poetry, Cognac for the Soul and Beautiful Fever. She was an Honorable Mention for the annual Contemporary American Poetry Prize 2015. her work has appeared in over two dozen online and print publications around Asia, North America, Europe, and Africa. Twittter.com/irisorpi & Facebook.com/irisorpi
Becoming (Poem and Art) by Inisa Fajra On a brisk January morning together with the winter fog I’m falling I follow cold and frost into their dwelling risking the warmth of comfort for a direct reality, somehow, more compelling I surrender all to truth that is unforgiving confident that it is the price to pay for living I bow down to powers outside of my control I give up being one and accept becoming of the whole No matter circumstances, accidents, and misfortunes of this world I become a flag of its succession that above them is unfurled I am confident that even through harm no harm would be done to me I accept its meaning and its importance to bring in harmony I close up in a bud that awaits its new growth patiently open to the opportunity to bloom one day maybe as a flower or maybe as a tree Only time will tell what is one day to become of me.
Inisa Fajra is a creative writer and poet and wellness & empowerment leader (WEL-being) who works on empowering others by helping to understand and navigate our emotions better. Her words serve to make people feel and to invite them to dig deep into their own well of emotions in order to heal, inspire, awaken and empower. Her book "New Skin" has now been published through Amazon. Follow Inisa at Instagram.com/inisa.fajra
C’est la vie by Jessica Nathalia Callender Like the yin and yang Everything is balanced But sometimes it feels as though Something is broken on our scale Maybe there may be More trials and tribulations Doubts and frustrations; than successes to count than things to be thankful about They say there's beauty in pain Yet there is no glamour to struggle in vain To make ends meet To stay on your feet A life of suffering should yield great rewards But wouldn't it be better having never To have to suffer at all They say the one who bears the cross wears the crown But they've forgotten it is a crown of thorns When you're happy, life drags you down When you're down it throws you a bone And says be thankful But I'd rather have never starved at all But challenges reveal our truest selves Our strength is revealed in our triumphs And the lessons we learn as well Truthfully, a life with no turmoil Is a story not worth reading A movie not worth watching An existence without meaning Life can be bitter Yet still it can be sweet C'est la vie
"C'est la vie" is a French expression loosely translated as "such is life" or "that's life". It is most commonly used to express a resignation to a situation that didn't go the way you hoped it would. Sometimes life is good, sometimes it is bad, and in this poem, it means to say that the ups and downs are just the way of life, but like the yin and yang - this balance of things is necessary for us to appreciate the harmony of life.
Hey, I'm Jessica Nathalia Callender and I am a poet. I write as a way for me to express myself and to let people see things from a different perspective. I like to believe that everyone experiences the world differently, and my poetry is a lens for someone to view the ordinary world the way I see it, as as a beautiful and amazing place. Instagram.com/nathalia_thepoet
About a Tree by Sarina Dahlan When I look back at my years on this earth—with their jumble of countries and faces, names and relationships, disappointments and pleasures—there are few constants. Of those constants, most are trees. I’ve come to see each as a marker in my book of life, a reminder of where I’ve been and who I was. The first tree that took root in my memory was a bodhi. It sat in the middle of a temple near my childhood home in Bangkok. It was a great, ancient thing with leaves the shape of a heart and gnarly roots overlapping its trunk as if several pythons had tried to swallow it and were turned to stone. It has existed in the same spot for centuries. The city grew around it, expanding and morphing like a living organism. Roads paved over rivers. Boats gave way to cars. Wooden houses on stilts turned into high rises. Political power shifted and changed. People grew old and disappeared to be replaced by new faces. Still, the tree lives. Ficus religiosa, the tree of awakening, is often a fixture in temples because Buddha was said to have achieved enlightenment while sitting under one. It’s a symbol of the infinite potential each person has, and the journey toward nirvana. To stand under a bodhi has an immediate cooling effect during a humid Southeast Asian day. Its massive stature protects everyone. People wrapped scarves—colors bright as crayons—around this particular bodhi. Sometimes they rubbed gold leaf on its bark. Other times they brought sweet-scented jasmine garlands or lit incense. Gifts for a spirit. There are stories but no one was ever clear on whose spirit it is or why it decided to settle in the tree. It doesn’t seem to matter. While a Buddhist country, Thailand has a long history with beliefs and practices laced with Hinduism and Animism. This organic mixture of faiths creates a complex and rich culture. Legends and myths are told in the same breath as history. There, magic and the supernatural are accepted more readily as a part of everyday life. Then at twelve, I migrated from humid, rain-drenched Thailand to a desert town in Southern California. Its landscape of dry scrub and tumble weed was as if on another planet. Trees didn’t grow as tall or as aplenty. There was no shade to rest under during blazing summer days. No color green to cool the eyes against the orange sun. There, no one spoke of magic. My family grew fruit trees in our small backyard. Persimmons, lemons, and limes—practical and useful—metaphors for immigrant life. But they didn’t capture my imagination the way the bodhi did. Not until I was a teenager, while visiting a redwood forest near San Francisco, did I experience another connection with trees. The giant redwoods, majestic and magical, were a sight to behold. With their maroon bark marked by deep grooves like lines on a face, they looked like creatures out of a fairy tale. Under their cool canopy, I was transported into another dimension. I was a tiny insect crawling under blades of grass. The Little Red Riding Hood skipping to her grandma’s house. A fairy on my way to afternoon tea in a wood stump. There—embraced by the collective
nature—I wasn’t just me, but the many versions of myself with lives as rich as my imagination. My next marker tree came after I moved to San Diego for college. The Silent Tree was salvaged from a dead Eucalyptus and mummified under a skin of lead. It stands in defiance in front of Geisel library, a house of books where its cousins lie in sacrifice for human knowledge. People scratched their initials on it, marking their passage through and becoming a part of the tree’s history. This dichotomy—of life and death, usefulness and waste, growth and destruction—puzzled and inspired me. There, I learned to look deeply at things from different angles. Then came September 11. The news reached me over NPR radio while I was on a country road on the way to Cooperstown, New York. After that, everything became fuzzy. I remember Cooperstown being eerily quiet. I remember staring at a lake. I don’t remember what I ate for lunch if I ate at all. There was only one thing I remember well—the color green. It seemed to permeate everything. The light, the air I breathed, even my pores. Each time I think back, I’m grateful I was in the embrace of the trees on the day when several others were walking under an angry sky that rained down ash, being stuck inside fearing for their lives, watching black smoke billowing from two towers, or praying for the safety of those they love. Finding comfort in trees became a habit. When I was working for a company headquartered in New York City, I would make a pilgrimage to Central Park each time I was there, regardless of season. Sometimes the visit was fifteen minutes, sometimes it was the whole day. The park was like an art gallery. In the winter, the leafless trees stood attenuated like Giacometti sculptures. In the fall, some exploded in glorious bouquets of orange and red. In the spring and summer, the warm light shone through the green leaves, painting my skin green just like it did in Cooperstown. There, I dreamed of becoming a writer and imagined the stories I would tell. My most recent marker tree is a tall and handsome Torrey Pine planted near the turn of the last century—one of the reasons I chose my house. The rarest pine in North America, native trees are only found on Santa Rosa Island and the sandy bluffs of northern San Diego. This tree is what I’ve come to associate with the idea of home. So, when I think of endurance, peace, and boundless creativity, I think of trees. The bodhi. The California redwood. The Silent Tree. The trees in Cooperstown. Those in Central Park. My Torrey Pine. And for the past year, the kind of tree I will become. I don’t remember how I came across Capsula Mundi. It could have been by mere coincidence, a compilation of logical steps taken from one place to another, or kismet. However it came, it left an impact. The project rethinks end of life burial. It offers biodegradable egg-shaped pod where one’s body can be placed inside. A tree, chosen in life by the deceased, would be planted over it and serve as a memorial. A lasting gift we can leave for generations to come. This idea will change the entire landscape of cemeteries, and even how we view death and the dead. Instead of gray headstones, non biodegradable coffins, and preservative-injected bodies, we will have a forest of trees where we will become one with the earth, repurposing our life for another. Cemeteries will be a place of solace. In its cool, restorative peace, one could meditate and imagine a life of possibilities. There, we would be hugged by nature and feel the endurance of existence.
Trees. The markers of time. A constant in a world of chaos. Whatever life I have left, regardless of what comes next, I know there will be trees. And at the end, I will be one. I wonder the kind I will become.
Sarina Dahlan was born into an Indonesian family in Thailand, and immigrated to the United States at the age of twelve. While children in the west grew up on fairy tales, she learned parables through ghost stories, mythologies, and Japanese manga. A graduate of the University of California, San Diego with degrees in Psychology and Visual Arts, she has blended both disciplines in careers as an advertising producer, a corporate marketing strategist, and an award-winning writer. She is currently raising her three children on a healthy diet of history, Thai curry, and scientific thinking. https://sarinadahlan.com
Excerpt from She Left It All by Erika Reyes Chapter 2. "They walked towards her hotel and she asked Franco if he wanted to come in and drink the first of the tequila with her. He did not think twice as he walked up with her without a word in response. Neesa had no fear of bringing this gentle person up to her room. They walked in and there was no time to grab cups for their drinks. As soon as the door was closed, Neesa turned around and kissed Franco with her hand gently on the nape of his neck. Franco grabbed her by the hips and pressed against her. Neesa was excited from the magic between them this night, and kept kissing Franco suggestively. Franco pulled away for a second to compliment her lips then they kept kissing, from soft to strong, then back to gently kissing for a few minutes. Neesa could feel her desire increasing to a point she could no longer hold. ... The time came for both of them and Neesa covered herself after the pleasurable release. Franco lay naked and stared at the ceiling with a look of disbelief. I really enjoyed that, he said. And there was silence for a considerable amount of time until Neesa responded, I think you can tell that I enjoyed it too. Both carried a look of sublime gratification. Then they realized they were sober and the magic was broken." She Left It All is available on Etsy.com/shop/ArtificialAltar
Erika Reyes is a word-enthusiast based in Los Angeles, California. Background is Mesoamerican, Mexican, and Angelin@. With Spanish and English writing, she focuses on short stories. But you can also get a copy of her plays, poetry, and prose, or zines about travel and erotica +++ if you direct-message or email. She also does freelance translations between English and Latin American Spanish. Please contact her for comments or questions at IG: Instagram.com/artificialaltar or email erikaisreyes@gmail.com
A Castle-Quarantine by Mahek Khwaja In our culture girls get quarantined At ten, Twelve, Or fifteen at the most When the first blood arrives. The masks of grace, finesse and femininity, Masks of vulnerability so aptly sewn That we forget it’s a mask. PPE of the finest fabric are gifted To drape the fat, black, emaciated, wounded bodies Until a man unbuttons this facade by his will To lick the delicious pleasure When the grape bursts splashing juice of victory on his eyes And his eyes glisten at the sight of a feeble grape Bursting and yelling with fresh juice He has other lemons to explore And make lemonade. This is the frolic taking place under quarantine. Other than this there are other perks too; You have got safety, security, Care and attention An anchor holding you so tightly The love that presses your heart And holds you firm_ Quarantine is not novel to our culture But it’s not that scary as your quarantine It resembles a doll-house The epitome of provision! You are never without a Provider You are the matriarch of your quarantine Adding as much salt to your scrambled eggs as you like! Look at your miniature; She’ll be eleven this year Start preparing a castle-quarantine for her A quarantine with all amenities But no windows Oh how lovely! In our culture girls get quarantined At ten, Twelve, Or fifteen at the most When the first blood arrives.
MAHEK KHWAJA, M.A in English Literature, currently works in Karachi as Manager Publishing at Paramount Books (Pvt.) Ltd. Being a scribbler, she has previously published with Hektoen International, Chicago, MIFS Newsletter, Paris, and Zau Literary Magazine, Karachi, along with features to her credit in online portals like The Rapport and Parindey. She occasional performs Spoken Word for private YouTube channels. Facebook.com/mahek.khwaja.3 & Instagram.com/mahek.khwaja
BOOK ALERT Bad Feminist by Roxane Gay is a collection of political and personal essays written from the perspective of a Black woman in the USA. I enjoyed almost every essay. A few are painful to read, but overall the essays made me think about the wide array of women's issues and how that intersects with other issues. Despite a publication date of 2014, the essays are timely and it is well worth reading and and sharing. Roxanegay.com
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Social/Environmental Justice Resources The official #BlackLivesMatter Global Network builds power to bring justice, healing, and freedom to Black people across the globe. https://blacklivesmatter.com/ This launch of A Peopleâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Orientation to a Regenerative Economy: Protect, Repair, Invest and Transform guides us collectively into a sustainable future, wherein Indigenous sovereignty and values are front and center. https://www.ienearth.org/regenerativeeconomy/ Mama Black uplifts the voices of Black women across the African Diaspora, continuing the powerful legacy of Black feminist traditions, womanist inclinations, and radical leanings. This platform offers cutting-edge perspectives and radical thought on Black women's issues, centering the lives of Black women survivors of rape and sexual violence across the spectrum of assault. https://www.mamablack.org/ Grassroots Law Project bridges the gap between grassroots organizing and legal expertise in criminal justice reform by bringing millions of us together to address the most pressing and egregious failures of the system, hold powerful actors accountable, and advocate for deep structural change. https://www.grassrootslaw.org/ March for Our Lives mission: To harness the power of young people across the country to fight for sensible gun violence prevention policies that save lives. https://marchforourlives.com/
Healing Resources Nationwide Suicide Prevention crisis line: 1-800-273-8255. Don’t want to call? Use a text help line. Text 741741 anywhere in the USA for a live trained counselor. Black Line – A crisis line that gives priority for BIPOC folk. Callblackline.com 1-800-604-5841. You can also report incidents of vigilantes and police. The Trevor Project – Suicide prevention for LGBTQ youth, 1-866-488-7386 or TheTrevorHelpline.org There are apps that support mental health. The My3App connects someone who is feeling suicidal with their three main support contacts. My3app.org Mental Health America offers free mental health first aid training, Mentalhealthamerica.net NAMI – Alliance of mental illness has a program called Peer to Peer, similar to Big Brother/Big Sister, which is a way to socialize and give support for those who are feeling isolated. Nami.org DBSA– Depression, Bipolar, Anxiety. Dbsalliance.org Survivors of Suicide Loss. SOSLSD.org The Love Warrior Community focuses on helping people work on self-love and body acceptance. Lovewarriorcommunity.com Affordable healthcare is available through various local clinics and through Planned Parenthood.
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If you like Self-Care, check out this FREE E-BOOK! By cultivating radical self-love, you are choosing to believe in the radical idea that you are whole and valuable as you are. Loving your self is one of the bravest things you can do. Featuring work by Michelle Minero, Kiyoshi Shelton, Jaz Gray, Corry Lang, Natalie Small, Rae Lawrence, Jason Freeman, Jasmine Farrell, Anaid Garcia, Donovan Cheney, Vidya, Katrina Mendoza and Leah Oviedo. These amazing people are different genders, skin tones, sexual orientations, & abilities, and hold various beliefs. Yet they all share the belief that self-love is an important aspect of life. Choose your complimentary e-book format or PDF on Patreon.com/Loviedo.
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