cover
Standford Lipsey Student Publications Building 420 Maynard St, Ann Arbor, MI 48109
ALEX ANDERSEN MACKENZIE FLEMING Editor-in-Chief
Publisher
Creative Director
Marketing Director
Operations Director
JACOB WARD
ALEX CHESSARE
JULIA NAPIEWOCKI
Design Editors
Print Fashion Editors
Print Features Editor
Print Photo Editors
GABI MECHABER TAYLOR SILVER
JOSIE BURCK KARLY MADEY
MELINA SCHAEFER
KORRIN DERING RITA VEGA
Video Editor
Digital Fashion Editor
Digital Features Editor
Print Beauty Editor
SAM RAO
SARAH ORY
LAUREN CHAMPLIN
YOUMNA KHAN
Finance Coordinators
Events Coordinator
Managing Photo Editor
Digital Photo Editor
SOPHIA AFENDOULIS SOPHIA GAJDJIS
CAROLINE MARTINO
GABRIELLE MACK
GABBY CERITANO
Human Resources Coordinator
Social Media Coordinators
Public Relations Coordinators
Street Style Editors
SENA KADDURAH
HANNAH TRIESTER APOORVA GAUTAM
JARRYN SHIN DAPHNE PATTON
SUREET SARAU ED TIAN
Digital Content Editor
ALEX STERCHELE
Design Team Andy Nakamura, Sandy Chang, Kai Hue, Christina Tan, Kimi Lillios, Rino Fujimoto, Kali Francisco, Olivia Ortiz, Camille Andrew, Emma Peterson
Digital Content Team Neha Kotagiri, Allison He, Christina Tan, Helena Grobel, Sonali Pai
Finance Team Fashion Team Sophie Alphonso, Kailana Dejoie, Chloe Erdle, Isabelle Fisher, Tavleen Gill, Amanda Li, Peter Marcus, Courtney Mass, Noor Moughni, Olivia Mouradian, Natalia Nowicka, Madison Patel, Abby Rapoport, Dhruv Verma Anastasia Hernando, Ayanna Bell, Benjamin Michalsky, Emily Hayman, Gigi Kalabat, Janae Dyas, Jordan Wade, Kathryn Dorfman, Kelsea Chen Meredith Randall, Sarah Dettling, Sandy Chang, Sophie McKay, Victoria Vaz
Features Team Meera Kumar, Brooklyn Blevins, Annie Malek, Lucy Perrone, Ben Decker Cat Heher Neha Kotagiri, Melissa Dash, Patience Young, Janice Kang, Ava Shapiro, Hannah Triester, Heba Malik, Tiara Partsch, Natalia Szura, Jayde Emery, Sarah Stolar Nadia Judge, Katy Pentiuk, Peter Hummer, Christina Cincilla
Photography Team Anna Fuder, Brooke Dodderidge, Chrisitina Merrill, Emma West, Hannah Anderson, Margeaux Fortin, Nolan Lopez, Riley Kisser, Selena Sun, Sophie Hendrich, Tess Crowley, Zahria Jordan
Videography Team Grant Emmenheiser, Madeline Kim, Hannah Mutz, Lisa Ryou, Sara Cooper, Eaman Ali, Rachel Ienna, Samin Hassan, Hannah Hur, Emily Veguilla, Riley Kisser, Coco DelVecchio
Swetha Susarla, Michelle Tao, Emma Lewry, Margaret Clark, Elle Donakowski
Human Resources Team Mary Mack, Lillian Fakih, Jacqueline Choe, Izzy Tuchman
Public Relations Team Megan Eng, Mya Steir, Ava Ben David, Rachel Pordy, Katherine Lambert, Izzy Saunders, Celia Pagnucco, Kali Hightower
Events Team Alex McMullen, Molly Kennedy, Makenzie Kulczycki, Annie Cooper, Liza Miller, Julia Barge, Tiara Blonshine, Anastasia Hernando
Social Media Team Samedha Gorrai, Amanda Sachs, Anastasia Hernando, Makena Torrey, Julia Goldish, Charlotte Foley, Neha Kotagiri, Sandy Chang, Olivia Sun, Carolyn Soltz, Lauren Rosenberg, Megan Eng, Sofie Harb
Street Style Team Sophie Hendrich, Becca Mahon, Calin Firlit, Devon Kelly, Emmalyn Kukura, Emma Moss, Hanna Erhardt, Jenna Frieberg, Leonie Muno, Maggie Innis, Nicola Troschinet, Riley Kisser, Rosalie Comte, Tess Crowley, Victoria Vaz
IN THIS ISSUE 10 Departure 44 Abyss 18
Good Strong American Sleep
50 To Be Free
20 Threshold 52 Atonement 32 Spine
58
From One Walk
36 Temptation 62 Return 42
Ange Dechu
68
Dear Odysseus
LETTER FROM A
s you flip open this magazine, you fall immediately into the hero’s shoes; here begins your journey.
In ODYSSEY, the hero embarks on an adventure to explore the unfamiliar, experience life-altering
challenges, and return home a transformed person. ODYSSEY is fantastical, imaginative and mythological, yet grounded in reality and our true human experience. It’s both conceptual and physical, existing within the walls of our minds and the margins of the pages in this issue. In ODYSSEY, we portray six stages of the process: the Departure, the Threshold, the Challenges and Temptation, the Abyss, the Atonement, and the Return. In DEPARTURE, the hero is called to adventure. They realize that they must depart from the comfortable. Though they are pulled back and face both internal and external resistance, they feel that this journey is their obligation. They embody a curiosity, a desire to pursue change and transformation. DEPARTURE is only the beginning of one of many journeys. It represents the first step in the process of attaining cultural consciousness, of doing the work we owe to each other and the world. In THRESHOLD, the hero embarks on their journey, crossing the point of no return into the unfamiliar. The hero must explore and embrace the unfamiliar. The crossing of this threshold is risky, difficult, and daunting, but it is necessary for transformation. THRESHOLD is the border between dreamstate and reality, known and unknown, fear and excitement. In TEMPTATION, the hero’s focus and resilience is tested, as they falter and step into the fire of their emotions. their material form and inner self become burned by the heat of love and lust, desire for fame and fortune. They wander through the fog to submerge herself in the water, sizzling as they drape themself across the surface in release. The sirens sing across the way, and the hero is directionless. This step is our collective temptation and materialism, and they are within each of us. In ABYSS, the hero faces the death of their ego. Lost in a void of confusion, they have failed to begin their transformation and their self-identity is compromised. They are disastrously alone and must confront their greatest fear. The hero must decide if they can move forward or if they must retreat. In their darkest state, they encounter a god, who picks them up to help them continue their journey. They represent our fight for life, our loneliness, our confrontation with the approaching descent of our earth. ABYSS is the turning point where we decide to save ourselves and each other, or to let go; ABYSS is our reality. In ATONEMENT, the hero must face their fears, challenging their self-doubt. Is failure inevitable or is transformation truly possible? They must confront these thoughts directly in their attempt to regain their way. they must not only contemplate; they must act. In confronting these fears, they become one with their identity. They are reborn, and take one step closer to harmony. ATONEMENT is the confrontation we must have with
ourselves and others; it represents the way we challenge our norms, our limiting self-beliefs, and even the threat of climate change. It is our wrestling match between our different selves, as well as between each other and our earth. RETURN is the homecoming of the hero, for they are a transformed being. They must detangle from the sticky gum-like substance of their enlightened world and newfound bliss; they have transcended to their highest self. From here they continue, cycling through many of these journeys throughout their lifetime. This is but one of their awakenings, and they must maintain and grow their wisdom. RETURN is not an end point, but rather represents the two ends of a circle meeting; our societal enlightenment is not a one-time occurrence but a life-long experience, rotating over and over as we reach new levels of cultural consciousness. Perhaps it is clear at this point that the hero is not one person, but something that exists within all of us. We each pursue both individual and collective hero’s journeys, cycling through personal and societal processes of enlightenment. I hope that ODYSSEY inspires you to reflect inwards, considering your personal call to adventure. What journey ignites a fire inside of you?
Alex Andersen Editor-In-Chief
THE EDITORS “People say that what we’re all seeking is a meaning for life. I don’t think that’s what we’re really seeking. I think that what we’re seeking is an experience of being alive, so that our life experiences on the purely physical plane will have resonances with our own innermost being and reality, so that we actually feel the rapture of being alive.” - Joseph Campbell, The Power of Myth
T
he rapture of being alive. Perhaps you feel it in the small hours of the morning when dawn tinges the edges of the black sky. Or maybe in the swirl of color and light you see as you twirl through the
dance floor, music and movement and bodies breathing as one. Maybe it’s in the touch of a friend, or the crackling distance between you and a maybe-lover. Perhaps it’s in the moment the airplane takes off and it hangs in the air like a question. Maybe it’s the liquid world of your bedroom through your watery, heartbroken eyes. Maybe it’s when you fall and bleed. Joseph Campbell’s concept of the monomyth, or hero’s journey, is based on his observation that cultures across the world and through time have been telling the same story. The hero follows a distinct path, one that is circular and brings them back to where they began. This time, however, they’ve changed fundamentally. But what is it about this structure that we continue to repeat? What is it that we hope for our heroes, that we force them on an adventure to get it every time? What is that treasure that we want to see someone attain, so that we might hope to attain it too? It’s not the prize money, or the princess, or the kingdom that we’re meant to admire. It’s the growth, the change, that the hero undergoes. It’s his ability to step off the ledge, to plummet into the unknown, to have the courage to step into a world that isn’t made for his weaknesses, and have those weaknesses challenged and destroyed (or risk being destroyed by them). Simply, it’s his ability to live fully. When we feel the rapture of being alive, when we’re joyous or experiencing immense pain, we know that we’re doing something right. We’re also stepping into a world not made for our weaknesses, and we either suffer for them or shake them off. We know in those moments when blood pours from our knees that we took the risk to be alive and to change, and we’ve hurt ourselves. But we’re also baptized in that risk, reborn just a little. After lockdowns and quarantine, we’ve constructed our safe worlds even closer to ourselves, and stronger, than ever before. Our weaknesses can exist, safe and unaltered, in our bedrooms and our kitchens and our minds. We’ve lived with them unchallenged for so long that they begin to not feel like weaknesses at all. But this is the danger. The rapture of feeling alive cannot find you in this safe space, this constructed reality. It cannot find you buried under blankets with a cup of warm tea. It can only find you on the cold rainy nights where the asphalt gleams, or on the streets of a beautifully new and terrifyingly foreign city, or in the eyes of someone that makes your heart beat fast. It’s time to test our weaknesses, to go places and meet people and do things that will hurt us, but that will also make us feel like we’re alive. It’s time to be the hero, to see the hero within yourself and take that first step into the unknown. In this magazine, we visually explore this transformational journey, and through the writing we look deeper into the complexities of this archetype. Our hope is that through experiencing this you can come to learn how to be a hero in your own life, and how to embark on your own journey. Throw off the covers, shatter those walls. It’s time to live rapturously.
Melina Schaefer Print Features Editor
ODYSSEY:
A STORY IN THREE PARTS
Teetering on the precipice of a yawning chasm. The soul leaps with fear, thrashes at the lengthy fall.
Written by: Melina Schaefer Image Credits: European Space Agency | Thomas Pesquet
Yet still, a whisper of your heart curls forth: what if?
D E PA T R E R U
STYLISTS KARLY MADEY JOSIE BURCK JACOB WARD MAKEUP YOUMNA KHAN PHOTOGRAPHERS RITA VEGA KORRIN DERING GABRIELLE MACK JACOB WARD GRAPHIC DESIGNER CAMILLE ANDREW MODELS MARIAH SCISSOM TAREK TIBA
GOOD STRONG C
laire is jolted awake by her melancholy alarm clock, so kindly curated for her by the corporate executives at the Calm headquarters in Silicon Valley. Much like her day, it billows and swells, until it consumes her and she slumps out of the grotesquely fake silk sheets she bought on prime day and slides her shittily manicured toes into the yellow smiley face slippers she says she didn’t get from Amazon but in fact did. The klonopin on the side of her bed frame is beckoning to her to come say hello, and she does. Claire’s doctor told her it was only to be used for “serious crisis emergencies” but in her mind waking up and going about anything resembling routine during a fucking p*ndemic is an emergency. She’s in crisis—constantly. And who’s to disagree? So, down the hatch. Tiktok is next. More Emily Mariko content. Claire also learns it’s a bones day. “Fuck that pug.” She checks her messages and it’s unopened threads from her girlfriends that she’s been putting off answering. She hasn’t seen them in months. But neither has anyone else. It’s fine. She’s not too dissimilar from any of us, consumed and made deceptively whole by the standardized wellness routine that the ubiquity of TikTok and lifestyle “that girl” content has graciously prescribed to us. And she’s not too dissimilar from the protagonist of Otessa Moshfegh’s My Year of Rest and Relaxation. While Moshfegh’s unnamed protagonist exists and operates under the context of y2k New York City, it’s as if Moshfegh knew there was to be a global p-word and that everyone’s lives would fucking suck in two years. My Year of Rest’s answer to this consideration seems at its outset blatantly absurd: in order to escape the mundanity, banality of post-modern life, one must quite literally self induce a coma. Sleep for a year, and that will solve everything. But is it really that absurd? Maybe some of us have been doing it all along, and Moshfegh’s protagonist is just more self-aware about it. And perhaps the way that we’ve been sleeping is even more insidious. It’s no surprise that wide scale government lockdowns keeping people in their homes for months at a time leads to increased feelings of isolation. What is interesting though, is the symptomatic consequence of this isolation, which in many cases manifests in increased abuse of substances and declines in overall mental health—notably compounded by the sense of pseudo-connection that the ubiquity of the online
sphere affords us1. At the same time that many in the industrialized world were isolating from one another, we doubly were developing more connections online, estimates on nominal increases in screen time as high as 87% for populations self-isolating.2 Notably, as a number of studies have linked increased screen time to poor mental health outcomes, prevailing research also notes how this trend is far more significant in women, particularly young women3. And while we’re surrounded by pseudo-connections, real life isolation, and economic and social anxiety, what are we to do? One answer for many seems to be to lull ourselves to sleep, effectively. Research on the period of the early pandemic (March- September 2020) shows varying increases in people self-reporting their increased or new drug and alcohol use. But, all figures nonetheless show that from the period of March 2020- present, substance abuse and misuse was on the rise, significantly. One study remarked that in the states hardest hit by the coronavirus (NY, NJ, MA, RI, CT), 67% of respondents reported an increase in past-month alcohol consumption, with 25% reporting a significant increase4. These numbers are not to be taken lightly, and point to a tangible social problem that merits serious address. A problem that is particularly heinous if we’ve somehow allowed it to be normalized in our potent online spaces, consciously or not. It seems as though while online wellness and lifestyle advocates were rightly devoting innumerable human resources to combating the viral crisis at hand, they were doubly unwilling to confront the silent beasts being born of it: alcoholism, depression, anxiety.5 And now, while we’re 1 Kujawa, Autumn, Haley Green, Bruce E Compas, Lindsay Dickey and Samantha Pegg. “Exposure to COVID-19 pandemic stress: Associations with depression and anxiety in emerging adults in the United States.” Depression and Anxiety 37 (2020). 2 Apurvakumar Pandya and Pragya Lodha, “Social Connectedness, Excessive Screen Time During COVID-19 and Mental Health: A Review of Current Evidence,” Frontiers in Human Dynamics 3 (July 22, 2021). https://www.frontiersin.org/articles/10.3389/ fhumd.2021.684137/full 3
Ibid.
4 Czeisler, Mark É et al. “Mental health, substance use, and suicidal ideation during a prolonged COVID-19-related lockdown in a region with low SARS-CoV-2 prevalence.” Journal of Psychiatric Research vol. 140 (2021). 5 See also Alex M. Russell, Robert E. Davis, #Alcohol: Portrayals of Alcohol in Top Videos on TikTok, Journal of Studies on Alcohol and Drugs (2021).
AMERICAN all afforded with a bit of lucidity under the rightful guise of the pandemic having a post- attached to it, it’s perhaps time we discuss it, truthfully. Even still, these statistics are rendered okay by the same spheres of pseudo-connection that tell the woman with the shitty silk sheets that she needs to put an ice cube wrapped in parchment paper on her rice before she microwaves it. Tiktok, which itself benefited from the aforementioned rise to the screen, continually perpetuated the notion that drinking more was okay. Mommy blogger types would remark, through their little makeshift comedy skits, that having wine at 7am was okay and cool because it was pandemic happy hour, much to the chagrin of their investment banker husbands who served as the sensible voice of reason to their quirky, about-town wives. Z*om happy hours and mixology content creators mixing grenadine in their beautifully whorish two piece sets, all telling us that the nightcap that’s becoming a morningcap and a subsequent afternooncap followed by a middaycap is okay precisely because we’re not. And were they wrong? No. We were putting ourselves to sleep for a year, slowly and less consciously than Otessa’s protagonist, but still nonetheless. And what’s so heinous about our sleep is that many of us didn’t know we were doing it. The lifestyle content that we had been consuming, telling Claire that scrubbing the fridge weekly was good for the soul, and that a proper bedtime routine warrants a pricy, bergamot aromatic candle, was also romanticizing substance use under the guise of escapism. Our For You pages were glittered with #CokeTok, wine mom content, normalization of prescription benzo abuse. Even our bosses and friends who made Instagram story graphics with bold sans serif retro fonts and dainty flower decals proclaiming that “Every Hour Is Happy Hour” were tucking us in, and we had no damn idea. In a way, our sleep was rendered so facsimile, so sanitized, so banal that it was almost stranger to be awake. This is perhaps where Moshfegh’s sleep is wholly distinct. Moshfegh’s protagonist was well aware of the project at work with her coma inducing pharmaceutical cocktail. Taking a careful melange of “[t]hree lithium, two Ativan, five Ambien” among others, she’s able to induce a years worth of “Good strong American sleep”, in the hopes of returning from her slumber a changed woman, no longer confronted by the incessant desire to just go away when the modern becomes too “post-”. She devised a concrete plan to seek out her cocktail from
SLEEP her blissfully and hilariously ignorant psychiatrist, Dr. Tuttle, picked a predetermined length of time during which to sleep, and methodically, calculatedly slept. And, to our knowledge, it works. She emerges from her slumber with a renewed foresight, epiphanizing about art and the beauty of being present and alive. There’s power and awareness in the solipsist satire of her project at work, a power that the wellness folks of our online contemporary proclaim to teach us but never really can. If only because they provide the illusion of choice, of personal agency, but not actually offer it. If we are all buying the same aromatic candle and microwaving the same parchment paper with the same ice cube accoutrement and having the same rosé night cap in the precise aims of being better, more adjusted people, is it really a choice? Perhaps not. For a large part of the past two years, many of us were doing just that. Consuming more content in online spheres while consorting less and less in our real lives. Scrolling through our for you pages’ for hours at a time, buying the same yellow smiley slippers that Claire “didn’t get from Amazon”, and drinking exponentially increasing amounts of mid-range boxed Cabernet. But we were fine. Everyone was doing it too. But, everyone was also feeling pathologically isolated, depressed, anxious. So we went back to sleep and never left. In many ways, we didn’t have the choice and agency afforded to Moshfegh’s protagonist. Our sleep was strangely prescribed to us and we never asked for it. And wine moms and wellness “that girls” who had been dutifully trying to lull us to sleep with their blissful online hymns for years certainly didn’t help. Our lives were placed on pause and we had effectively no say in the matter. Our Year of Rest and Relaxation teaches us that for its protagonist’s imagined and real slumber to work, we must be consciously unconscious. These things we were not. And for many, the consequences were palpable. Perhaps it’s time we wake up.
WRITER CHRISTINA CINCILLA GRAPHIC DESIGNER TAYLOR SILVER
THRESHOLD
A
long the hero’s journey, she passes through a threshold, containing one of her first climactic trials. In this test, she experiences a complex transformation, bringing her one step closer to her ultimate goal. At this moment, the hero experiences a dramatic shift in the emotional and physical perspective, consequently changing the path that lies before her. Perhaps a great truth is revealed, or a powerful entity is felled. Either way, the event is highly impactful to the hero. Because her goal seems to be closer in reach, she becomes motivated to continue on despite her hardships. While this transformation is mostly beneficial, the hero is also conscious of what has been lost in order to overcome this obstacle. As she moves through the threshold, she lets go of her turbulent past, moving toward a fruitful future. To portray the hero, stylistic choices regarding fashion, we implemented lighting and props. The hero is portrayed with ripped up clothes, made from a variety of mesh nude tights, signifying her difficulty within this climactic transformation. Wearing layered ruffled and lace skirts, her past affluence is encompassed, showcasing what she has left behind in order to gain new perspectives. As she grows in emotional and physical strength, she acquires a set of wings to suit her in her next journey. The hero’s wings are made out of a combination of electrical and jewelry wire, showcasing her strength and endurance throughout her journey. The variety in the wires’ colors emphasizes her otherworldliness, while also reinforcing her past forgotten identity. Her eye makeup is designed to symbolize her changing perspectives as she passes through the threshold. In this way, the hero is symbolized as a multifaceted being that has experienced both hardship and prosperity through this intense transformation.
STYLISTS ANASTASIA HERNANDO MADISON PATEL PHOTOGRAPHERS VERA TIKHONOVA GABRIELLE MACK ALVIN YAO HANNAH YOO GRAPHIC DESIGNER EMMA PETERSON MODEL MINA SIEBERT
SPINE WRITER JAYDE EMERY GRAPHIC DESIGNER OLIVIA ORTIZ
Trigger Warning: This article deals with sexual assult and violence that may be upsetting to some readers
“Y
ou want this, slut? Turn around.” Unbeknownst to Sam, these were the thoughts running through Liam’s head as she sat next to him on a stranger’s bed. Her own thoughts drowned out the background noise of the house party they’d both ended up at that night. This was it, she realized. Their first kiss. This was it, he determined. His first time. That was the premise for the project that screenwriter and director Keith Rivers proposed to me. It would be a PSA for Thorn, an organization that targets child sex trafficking and abuse, he explained. The PSA was geared to encourage parents to start positive conversations with their kids about sex in the digital age, in which young children and teens encountering pornography without initial guidance could form misinterpretations about healthy sex and fail to understand the importance of consent and respecting boundaries. Keith wanted to convey this message through the inner dialogue of two teenagers with juxtaposed expectations. Sam’s thoughts exposed her nerves and naivety. She was a figure of innocence, putting her trust in the respected, well-liked boy-next-door. But Liam harbored ulterior motives, which were
expressed through a series of vulgar and objectifying thoughts that showed little concern for Sam’s agreement or comfort level. As his vision unfolded over the phone, I could hear the slight tremble in Keith’s voice, betraying his otherwise confident pitch. He had already given this spiel to his fair share of actors and received an equal number of rejections. “It was part taboo, and it was also risky,” Keith said. “Not that risky, but risky enough where a lot of actors that I approached turned it down. They didn’t want to step into this territory. They didn’t know if it was inappropriate.” It was an intimidating concept and one that was certain to be controversial. To risk taking on a role in this project, our reasons behind it needed to go beyond pure ambition. It required an understanding of what our purpose was as creators and as individuals. If you’ve taken a class in acting or film, you may be familiar with the concept of a character’s “spine.” The spine is the force that drives a person and influences their behavior. The spine is what makes that leap into the unknown worthwhile. In her book, Directing Actors, directing and acting coach Judith Weston provides three methods to find a character’s spine: Consider common desires—love, success, revenge, etc. Think about the descriptive words you would use for the
character. What may those adjectives suggest about their desires? For example, if you characterized an individual as bossy, you could say that their spine is to maintain control or, alternatively, to assert dominance. Look at the character’s childhood and/or early nuclear family. How did they respond to deficiencies during their growing years? What about things that were plentiful? While these methods have typically been applied to fictional characters, they are also relevant when identifying one’s personal spine. As such, Keith and I used the latter method to pinpoint ours. Keith had grown up with blatantly honest and sexpositive parents, a background that inspired him to encourage openness amongst other families. “I can remember as early as seven or eight years old, my dad brought out a penis and vagina cartoon book, and my brother and I were just dying laughing,” Keith said. “I remember feeling really safe. I felt really safe and comfortable with the conversation because I knew that my parents had really good intentions in terms of teaching me about sex in a very comedic way and in a lighthearted way.” But when he dug deeper, Keith realized that the motives behind his work sprouted from his childhood desire to attain his dad’s attention and admiration. While he felt supported in some moments, he recognized stretches in his adolescence and early adulthood during which he felt invisible to his father, who was a comedic radio talk show host throughout Keith’s coming-of-age years. “I always felt this sort of detachment from my dad in a way because [he] was so focused on his work and not really focused on me,” Keith said. “I always felt this sense of, ‘How do I capture his attention?’ because he was always working on bigger and better things.” Now a father himself, Keith felt compelled to create content that would help his and other children feel seen. Through this project, he knew he could accomplish this goal while also giving parents a nudge to facilitate open and honest lines of communication with their own children. My urge to create similarly originated in a feeling of invisibility. After opening up four years ago about the sexual abuse I experienced as a child, those I
trusted in the most disregarded my experience and blamed me for revealing the inconvenient truth. Art had always been an avenue of expression through which I could comprehend my emotional processes and create something that others could identify with, and that was where I turned. So it seemed like fate when Keith approached me with the opportunity to utilize art to advocate for an organization whose mission was centered around preventing sexual violence. And while I was initially apprehensive about the material, I knew it was crucial that viewers get uncomfortable in order to understand the potential adverse effects—and to see the people who were affected—when these awkward, but important, conversations were avoided. Vertebra by vertebra, Keith and I both traced our spines, and consequently our reasons for creating this PSA, back to one sole craving: to foster understanding and help others feel seen and connected. Being creators allowed us to tell stories that people could see themselves in and empathize with others through. It was through art that people felt heard, that they felt acknowledged and validated. And it was through art that we could be heard. It was a medium of introspection and vulnerability, a way to comprehend and share our own perspectives and experiences. It was a way to look at ourselves in the mirror and show others our reflection. “This was a piece for the unseen,” Keith said. And it was a piece for change. But to set the spark, we needed to face the risk headon. We needed to tackle the taboo in a way that was vulnerable, jarring, provocative even. “People want to engage with something that is more controversial than something that they agree with,” Keith said. “If you agree with something, you just go, ‘Yeah, I agree.’ Case closed. It’s over. But if you disagree, there’s an uproar, and there’s a Twitter storm, and there’s a long reply, or there’s a, ‘Did you see that thing? I didn’t like that.’ And it’s not like I’m trying to be controversial. In fact, I’m not a very confrontational or controversialtype director. But I do think that when there is a really important message at stake, it’s important to have a discussion at the very least.” So—for the sake of our spines—we jumped, still trembling, into the unknown.
Here lie the monsters, the trials, and the tribulations. Summon your courage and face your failures; it is from them we learn to overcome all that holds us back.
Written by: Patience Young Image Credits: EPA | Jim Pickerell
Embroiled in a battle for your life, will you choose honor or fear?
Temptation
STYLISTS KARLY MADEY JOSIE BURCK JACOB WARD MAKEUP YOUMNA KHAN PHOTOGRAPHERS RITA VEGA KORRIN DERING ALEX ANDERSEN GRAPHIC DESIGNER GABI MECHABER MODEL CLAIRE GALLAGHER
Éloa, disaient-ils, oh! veillez bien sur vous: Un Ange peut tomber; le plus beau de nous tou, N’est plus ici. —•—
“É
loa, ou La sœur des anges”, translated from French as “Éloa, or the Sister of the Angels”, is Alfred de Vigny’s 1824 epic philosophic poem about Éloa, an angel who falls in love with a hunky stranger later revealed to be Lucifer. Although Lucifer reciprocates her love, his own twisted ideas of intimacy prevent him from properly returning her affection. In the last scene, Eloa is unable to help Lucifer by bringing him up to heaven with her, so instead, he ends up dragging her down to Hell with him. Eloa is described as a “sister of the angels” because she is one of the few female angels and the only fallen female angel. The story of Eloa trying to “save” Lucifer through her love for him encompasses both issues with male temptation and women’s empathy. Although it’s described as “nurturing” or “motherly” in other contexts, the phenomenon of women sacrificing their own emotions or safety for the healing of others is nothing new. An adage I have to constantly remind myself of is, “Empathy without boundaries is selfdestruction.” —•—
Pourquoi sur votre front tant de douleur empreinte? Comment avez-vous pu descendre du Saint Lieu? Et comment m’aimez-vous, si vous n’aimez pas. —•— The desire for a man to validate me as a woman has historically been my fatal flaw, in a way that validation from women or my other partners is not. I came out of my hot girl summer in New York with a God complex (in a totally healthy way), ready to take on Ann Arbor. Even through the heavy June heat, I could feel myself becoming lighter with every day away from my double life in California and Michigan. Living in my friend’s apartment for the month, I could romanticize my life to the fullest. I worked part-time and spent money part-time, allowing myself to thrift whenever I felt like it--true freedom! I claimed a spot in central park that I visited for tri-weekly journal entries and feminist theory/Sally Rooney reading sessions just so I could look like the coolest and most interesting person there. I casually dated (girls only), went to underground Brooklyn concerts, elusively strolled through museums, started wearing crystals, and binge-watched Broad City until I could name every episode.
At first, it felt sort of lonely hanging out by myself most days after work, not including when my roommate got home and the weekends. But eventually, I got used to it and actually started enjoying being alone, which is a completely new concept for me. First of all, I’m a Gemini sun, so I have to be around at least one person all of the time, but I was also your average self-loathing teen who would avoid time alone at all costs. So spending and actually enjoying time by myself felt like entering a twilight zone. I learned that I’m kind of a really awesome person with a lot to offer other people and the world. Of course, this confidence has progressed to the point where I think everyone is obsessed with me and I’m a little obsessed with myself, but honestly, I don’t mind. —•—
Sa douleur inquiète en était plus profonde; Et toujours dans la nuit un rêve lui montrait. Un Ange malheureux qui de loin l’implorait. —•— Unfortunately, as soon as I returned to school where I felt surrounded and suffocated by various institutions at play (Greek Life mainly), the compulsory heterosexuality popped out, taking with it an essential part of my being. Compulsory heterosexuality, comphet for short, is a theory coined in the 1980s by radical feminist Adriene Rich stating that heterosexuality is assumed and enforced upon women and anyone none male-identifying by a patriarchal and heteronormative society. Living in a sorority house the year prior and being constantly surrounded by fraternity culture, made me question the cool and interesting parts of myself I had only recently come to terms with and was beginning to like: my music taste, my amateur art, my sense of fashion, my quirky grandma-esk trinket collecting (if I see any swan paraphernalia at my local thrift store I will purchase it no questions asked), and my satirical sense of humor, to name a few. The idea of “sisterhood” preached in Greek life simultaneously cultivates conformity and suppresses individuality through trying to unify a group of 60 plus completely different girls, often suppressing a lot of what makes some of us unique.
WRITER LUCY PERRONE GRAPHIC DESIGNER KAI HUIE
Who am I without my queerness? Not somebody I like. My clothing is an especially big part of my identity and selfexpression and although arguably many of the girls in Greek life had better style than me, I felt unattractive if I wasn’t wearing conventionally flattering jeans and a tiny tee. I felt like I had to dress for the hypothetical man (frat boy) and make him want me only for sport. I was always told that men want a confident woman and if you just don’t want them (or pretend to) it’ll make them want you--because when is society not telling me how to please a man? The lure of feeling wanted by a mediocre straight man--a man I have little in common with, a man who doesn’t respect me, and/or a man who doesn’t see and appreciate the multifaceted aspects of my identity--has somehow been too powerful until now. Subconsciously a lot of these boys don’t want to see you happy with your feminine energy without them. They need to feel validated--and they say women are emotional! This allure of male validation grips its gnarly claws into me as soon as I step on campus, and this year, even post hot girl summer, was no different. So I hacked the system by reminding myself that I am a whole and interesting person who does not need external validation, especially from the patriarchy, in order to love myself. What I learned this summer is that when you convince yourself that you’re cool, other people will believe it too. That’s not to say that I don’t fall back into old habits of self-loathing, but it is a hell of a lot easier to godcomplex my way through most days of the week. —•—
L’inquiète Insomnie abandonnait sa proie; Les pleurs cessaient partout, hors les pleurs de la joie; Et surpris d’un bonheur rare chez les mortels, les amants séparés s’unissaient aux autels.
Although Eloa is the heroine of her story and I, of course, am the main character of mine, I feel a certain likeness to Lucifer. As a self-proclaimed emotionally unavailable relationship saboteur, I empathize with Lucifer’s toxic traits and habitual relationship failings. However, like the men I tend to involve myself with, he was too self-centered to realize he was dragging down one of his many girlfriends. So, I am going on a strike against male-induced temptation. I’m tired of being a learning experience for men. I’m tired of contributing to their journey and character development while I’m left with nothing but the desire to be wanted again. I’m tired of boring men centering themselves as the main character. I am not a sidetrack or lesson in their redemption journey to becoming the next Wolf of Wall Street. I’m tired of teaching men basic empathy and general wokeness. I am not these men’s therapists and I am not here for them to trauma dump while they neglect to consider my feelings or even listen to my stories. So, I’m learning from our divine feminines. From Eloa I learned not to sacrifice my own well-being and success for a deceptive man’s. Character development comes from the lessons we learn through our experiences with other people, but if this growth is not reciprocal we must step back and find a new path for fear of bein dragged down or inhibited from happiness. My hero’s journey must depart past the allure of validation from men and get back on track to my hot girl fall. —•—
J’ai cru t’avoir sauvé. — Non, c’est moi qui t’entraîne. — Si nous sommes unis, peu m’importe en quel lieu!
STYLISTS KARLY MADEY JOSIE BURCK JACOB WARD MAKEUP YOUMNA KHAN PHOTOGRAPHERS KORRIN DERING GABBY CERITANO ALEX ANDERSEN KARLY MADEY GRAPHIC DESIGNER TAYLOR SILVER MODELS ELIJAH THOMPSON ALDO PANDO-GERARD
“T
here’s a good chance,” said the professor I visited for office hours, “that you’ll come across someone that hates you for some part of your identity. It would be a truly wonderful world if we could all be heroes, pulling people out of their hate and making them realize why it’s so fruitless to hate one for something as basic as their identity. However, I think we all know the world isn’t truly wonderful; it’s hardly even wonderful most of the time. People have learned the hate they carry, and it’s ingrained within them.” “Does that mean change is impossible?” I timidly ask her. “Of course not. But trying to remedy hate fostered by someone else is. You can teach yourself not to hate and maybe, just maybe, it’ll make the tiniest difference in the way you experience and approach the world. Hate isn’t some floating, external force being thrust upon you, chaining you down and not letting you escape its clutches. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. We cling on to hate. We find this feeling and we latch onto it based on morals we grew up with or things we were taught over the course of our lives. I’m saying that the hate you harbor was born and fostered within you and, as such, can be unlearned. This process of unlearning can be a long, hard journey but, in the end, can also be infinitely freeing. When you stop spreading hate, you can stop hating parts of your own identity you may have disliked. When you work on stopping hate within yourself, you can be the hero of your own journey towards conquering hate” Having this conversation, I couldn’t help but think of a friend of mine who grew up in an orthodox African
community. This community always respected him as he was the firstborn grandchild. Thus, he was held on a pedestal- to set an example for others within his community. However, there was a small complication in this seemingly perfect life. He, upon moving away from his community and self-reflecting, realized that he was gay. Being gay was heavily looked down upon by the African community that he was a part of and thus, he had to keep this integral part of his identity to himself. He had to go through the trauma of seeing his classmate getting beaten up for insinuating that they might be gay. The LGBTQ+ community was never talked of, never brought up; it was simply a topic that was off-bounds. If talking about it was so taboo, one can only imagine the conflict a member hailing from this African community must deal with when they identify as gay. Despite being surrounded by a community where being gay is so despised, he had never personally felt like there was anything different about being gay. Perhaps, to him, it was a different way of living, but it was not odd or scandalous; it was simply another way of being. This was his opinion about the LGBTQ+ community before he even realized he was a part of it. Because of this, the protagonist of our story was able to be steadfast in his identity, in spite of the people around him telling him it was “wrong”. He had little moments of realization throughout his life until he finally admitted it to himself- he was gay. He was the firstborn grandchild, he was respected among the elders of his community, and, he was gay.
In order to maintain the anonymity of my friend, I won’t get too far into the details of the repercussions he faced upon coming out to certain members of his family. However, I will mention that he did gain the immense courage to come out to these people while being fairly aware of how negative the reaction from them would be. He lost quite a few integral things in his life to coming out including, most importantly, his relationship with his family. He is still in contact with them but doesn’t talk to them as often as he once did and it seems that he has been told by his family- several timesthat he has hurt them by coming out as gay. He also, most notably, wanted to be a politician in his African community. He wanted to create a difference and help those who grew up like him- as pariahs of the community- attempting to open the minds of those in his community to new ideas. Unfortunately, in the country he comes from, it is illegal to identify as gay, and, as such, he had to give up his dream of becoming a politician in order to live as his true, full self. He never gave up on the idea of creating change as he still strives towards working in a field that will allow him to achieve at least a portion of his goals.
Thus, when our protagonist does go on to do great things for his community, we’ll know that it’s because he was able to conquer the hate that could’ve grown in him. He could have chosen to suppress his identity, to listen to his elders and not live as his true self. He could have chosen to fall back into the comforting arms of heteronormativity and live a life that was easy but would always be a lie. Despite how much simpler his life would have been, had he gone down this route as many have in the past: he chose to own who he is. He unlearned the homophobia he’d been taught since his childhood to accept himself and, consequently, others like him. He stood up for his identity and decided that no matter what he had lost, it would be worth it because he would be able to not just exist, but live. When we can conquer the hate within us, we can step a little closer to making order of the chaos in this world. Perhaps not by trying to control the actions of others, but, rather, by controlling the way we react to those actions, we can shape what we teach the people who are constantly observing us, and consequently learning from us, to believe.
WRITER MEERA KUMAR GRAPHIC DESIGNER RINO FUJIMOTO
AA
TT
M E N E N O T
STYLISTS JOSIE BURCK KARLY MADEY JACOB WARD MAKEUP YOUMNA KHAN PHOTOGRAPHERS RITA VEGA KORRIN DERING GRAPHIC DESIGNER KIMI LILLIOS MODELS KIRA SINDHWANI RAFFY MILLADO MARIAH STEVENS
T
he diag is the University of Michigan’s beating
dissipates: the Michigan hive mind is ready for the weekend.
heart: perpetually pulsing, it pushes protestors,
When there’s a burning in your heart / An endless yearning
performers, preachers, walkers, talkers and
in your heart / Build it bigger than the sun / Let it grow, let it
stalkers through our campus. Though my
grow / When there’s a burning in your heart / Don’t be alarmed
presence is only momentary, I am often
He bumps into me when I pause for a squirrel scurrying
overwhelmed by these dynamic crowds.
too close to my feet. My eyes shift from the too-smart rodent to
But negotiating its pulsing arteries to the
his weathered, checkered vans and the cuffed denim around
rest of Ann Arbor is an inevitability. I resign
his ankles. Emerging from tunnel vision, he looks my way and
myself to inescapable encounters with
extends a goofy grin. I notice his mustard, knit beanie with
friends, friends of friends, old flings, professors, group project
the edges rolled. But I hesitate to remove my headphones to
partners from two years ago, and that person who always
hear myself speak—the added action feels like exceeding the
walks to class in the same building at the same time. I am
brief effort of his glance. He keeps moving, and I catch him
enmeshed in this living, breathing entity.
reaching intently for the phone in his back left pocket, also
The introvert at my core is left exposed. So I use my
home to balled-up tissues, the corners of which peek out. He
clunky black headphones as insulation from the blinding
is in flight to remedy a friend’s crisis, to offer those tissues
sunlight of these many hundreds of glances. If I soundtrack
in solace. He must be a listener, tailoring advice to the limits
my passage through the diag, I can observe its occupants
of his recipients, at once laying down the law and treading
behind an invisible, sensory wall—comparable to the
lightly. His interpersonal arsenal is well-stocked. He is the
protection of mirrored sunglasses. With daily repetition, I’ve
friend whose plans to party are too often subverted by a sad
realized that sacrificing audibility for observation permits
drunk seeking affirmative counsel. Missing from the dance
my consideration of the characters passing by. Their seconds-
floor, he offers a gracious ear from the black leather couch
long stories accumulate into a spinning mental cloud I take
in the corner. His dependability is a rare gem for others to
away from every walk-through.
pocket.
I tap the plastic ‘play’ button beneath my right ear and pace my steps to the steady beat of the refrain from Death Cab for Cutie’s “You Are a Tourist.”
When there’s a doubt within your mind / Because you’re thinking all the time / Framing rights into wrongs / Move along, move along / When there’s a doubt within your mind
This fire grows higher / This fire grows higher / This fire grows higher / This fire grows higher.
Floating atop eight inline wheels, he disrupts the gravity holding down mere walkers glued to the pavement. I watch
Crossing diagonally from State Street to South University
his knees bend and right leg swing into smooth crossovers as
Avenue, I can feel a mood shift suspended in the campus air.
he circles the commotion around the infamous M. He, like me,
It’s 5 p.m. on a Thursday. The fog behind my eyes tentatively
is wearing headphones, and pulsing nods suggest a deafening EDM track bumping inside. His body and mind appear locked in forward motion: if he skates quick enough and listens loud enough, maybe he’ll shake off the burden he carries. As his eyes dart back and forth, I imagine watching the scenes of conversations replaying in his head, and debating together their phrasing and tone because the reality has always been elusive. The past is a heavy weight
on his shoulders. He wishes someone would roll out a red carpet, down which he could skate toward clarity.
As I exit the commotion, I catch a pair of eyes
But no one is going to choose him. She didn’t. There
peering at me longingly, even desperately. She sits on
is no straight line, so he winds his way through the
the concrete bench haphazardly, indecisive about
diag in dizzying, overlapping ellipses. As he does, one
whether or not to get up. Maybe this indecision
memory pulls another out of the dark, but on the
extends further, toward her future. Does the spring in
move this spliced highlight reel isn’t so paralyzing. Gliding
my weekend-inspired step reveal the many months I have
on his rollerblades, he is a beam of blurred light. But this
left to wear my olive green backpack, tie dye socks, and last
is no joy ride. She has dimmed the world he used to see in
night’s mascara? Soon she will trade these for ironed slacks,
brilliant color.
a dishwashable coffee thermos, and the sterling silver chain she intends to recover from wherever she left it after high
When there’s a burning in your heart / And you think it’ll
school graduation. But she supposes it is all in due time.
burst apart / Or there’s nothing to fear / Save the tears, save the
Suddenly her friends can’t untwist her innate reservation,
tears / When there’s a burning in your heart
and a round of shots on the table looks not even a little appealing. But who is she if not a student? When I return her
It’s always quite jarring to see a professor outside the
gaze, she adjusts the silver wireframe glasses on the bridge of
classroom environment. Face to face with her, all I can
her nose. I spot books bulging from her backpack like aliens
manage are pressed lips and a slight nod of recognition. She
in a stained fabric womb. She could lose herself in these
is holding her pointy, every-other-Monday blazer in one hand
pages forever, or she could just as well let them grow dusty in
and reaching into the depths of her purse with the other. She
the darkness of her closet shelf. She feels the chasm between
must have forgotten something because she quickly spins
her past and future grow inside her, and tries not to fall in.
on four-inch heels, speed walking past to reveal a disheveled hairdo. I remember now how she scratched the back of her head and glanced at the clock uncharacteristically often
This fire grows higher / This fire grows higher / This fire grows higher / This fire grows higher
while delivering a lecture earlier. But she would rather recite that hour-and-a-half line reading than act on what was said
I walk through the East Hall arch, concluding my diagonal
at the breakfast table, before her two sugar packets melted
passage. I’ve exchanged not one word, yet I am inundated
into her donut-shop coffee. In her own college days, she could
with others’ feelings and stories. This flood doesn’t wash
not quite clinch the control misplaced between hundreds of
over me, instead settling into a warm blanket of support.
pages and nights on the town. She is embarrassed to walk
Imperfection is a collective truth. And identities are shaped
the same town, to feel the same helplessness in her forties.
by countless contradictions. I can guess and assume from
All that has changed is the digitization of those readings, the
inside my auditory bubble, but I’ll never quite have all of the
presence of an always-full email inbox and the ceaseless task
information. But it’s not the specifics that matter. The shared
of refining another week of scripts for the classroom stage.
human story to which we all contribute on campus is really
If I am her, distraction is my momentary mission. But if the
what counts.
couch corner is her destination, she’ll have to find her keys first. And if you feel just like a tourist in the city you were born / Then it’s time to go And define your destination / There’s so many different places to call home Because when you find yourself the villain in the story you have written / It’s plain to see That sometimes the best intentions are in need of redemptions / Would you agree? / If so please show me
WRITER HANNAH TRIESTER GRAPHIC DESIGNER ANDREW NAKAMURA
Dragging your feet back to where it all began, you can’t help but feel confusion settle in your shoulders.
Written by: Brooklyn Blevins Image Credits: EPA | Belinda Rain
Has the weight been removed, or is there simply more to bear?
STYLISTS KARLY MADEY JOSIE BURCK JACOB WARD MAKEUP YOUMNA KHAN PHOTOGRAPHERS RITA VEGA KORRIN DERING ALEX ANDERSEN HANNAH YOO GRAPHIC DESIGNER SANDY CHANG MODEL YOUMNA KHAN
=
t nightfall, your ears might guide you to the sound of my brothers. You might not realize, but you are invited to hear the timbre of their evening prayers or perhaps their dulcet sorrows. You are invited to hear me sing with them, but your ears will never be able to guide you. Dear Odysseus, did you ever hear the song of the nightingale? Did it echo in your head while you sat captive on Calypso’s island? Did you hold it in your heart next to the softening voices of your wife and child? You and I have much in common. I too once wore a crown on my head, and Grecian blood cascades resoundingly through each of our veins. This is not all we share, however. Like you, my ordinary world was thrown and disrupted. Like you, my name is invoked in stories and studied by students of literature to this day. However, our journeys are different in the ways that matter, and I’ll be sure to recount it to you eventually. But the point at which my story rifts from yours is the very point at which it connects to a legion of ordinary heroines spanning centuries and continents. I wonder if you’ve heard the story of Boudicca. The celtic queen who married the king of the Iceni tribe. The Romans arrived at their doorstep holding a housewarming gift of conquerment in their hands, but agreed to let the king and queen keep their power if they agreed to forced allyship. This ruse of unity came to a sudden close once the king died without a male heir to continue his legacy. The Romans seized their land and properties, but their most heinous crime was that against female livelihood. They held Boudicca at the stake and whipped her for everyone to see, and raped her two daughters. Her crown and dignity was replaced with a thirst for vengeance that blazed like her vermillion curls. A trained warrior like most celtic women, Boudicca
stirred rebellion among the other tribes and put Rome’s settlements and her abusers to the torch, aiming to burn the empire that wronged her, her daughters, and her people. Despite her efforts, the Romans triumphed. Boudicca and her daughters poisoned themselves in order to avoid being forced into slavery and to deny the Romans any sliver of satisfaction that would arise from parading them around like a wayward trophy. “Win the battle or perish, that is what I, a woman, will do.” Across the ocean lives the legacy of Phoolan Devi. The infamous Bandit Queen. Belonging to a lower caste and sold to a husband at the mere age of eleven, Phoolan’s time on this earth was tumultuous and agonizing. She was sexually violated by proclaimed “protectors of the law” and soon after kidnapped by a gang. However, she was able to befriend the man who was second-in-command and gain some protection and leadership. But when her sole ally was killed, Phoolan’s journey faced the threshold and she was taken by the gang and raped daily for three weeks. She was able to escape, and vanished into thin air. But a year later, she exacted revenge on the monsters who ravished her along with her new gang of caste-oppressed people. Known for robbing trains, pilfering from the rich, showing no mercy for rapists and freeing women from enslavement, she also carried the weight of the murder of twenty two men in the village of Behmai, where she was raped. This massacre left a serpentine stain on her legacy, resulting in her imprisonment and eventual assassination. To many, she is a force of inspiration, but many abhor the pain she caused to the village people. Her backers paint Phoolan as the reincarnation of Durga, the mother goddess of the Hindu faith, associated with protection, strength, destruction, and wars.
In the present day, there’s a woman of America named Cyntoia Brown. As a child, she was forced into prostitution by a dangerous man and forced into incarceration by a dangerous system. During a threatening encounter, she shot a man of much power while fearing for her life. The high court banished her to life in prison, where she cast her best efforts to care for herself and her mind. Her journey was dictated by a guild of lawgivers that coerces and traumatizes young women of color and she was thrown into the new world of imprisonment against her will. A mountain of time lies between Cyntoia and Boudicca, but their stories parallel each other to a fearsome degree. Humanity now resides in the twenty-first century, yet Cyntoia and I stare at each other through a shattered mirror. I see myself in all of these women, and it haunts me to discover that society has not changed at its core. Patriarchal violence is as natural to our Earth as each river and tree. Cyntoia continues to live with sexual trauma and paranoia, as so many girls impacted by violence and subjugation do. They say time is the greatest healer, but why do these wounds remain crimson and gaping even with the idle passage of millennia? Odysseus, I wonder if you know that your story is revered to this day. Your quest has been named the hero’s journey and humans of the current Earth understand it to be the basis of the shared universal human experience. We all are said to experience a circular journey like yours at a point in our lives, no matter how ordinary or grandiose. But the heroine’s journey often arises from the hero’s violence. The heroine is spit out of her ordinary world and thrown into the abyss by a male who has the ability to choose to embark. The heroine must reconcile with her femininity or lack thereof. She is forced to wield
her sword and unleash her wrath at the most terrifyingly familiar behemoth of all: a man who does not value her and a patriarchal culture that survives off violence against her. As promised, I will now tell you my story. My father was King Pandion I of Athens and my mother was the naiad Zeuxippe. They named me Philomela, or lover of music. I was a princess with a beauty so striking and an allure so magnetic that men were tethered to me by an invisible rope. But one particular man had invited such unspeakable darkness to swathe my world. He was called Tereus, the husband of my sister Procne. He raped me and cut my tongue off so I could not speak. Once my sister learned of this, she killed her son and fed him to Tereus. He chased us for miles, but the Gods had transformed us into voiceless nightingales. Odysseus, I laud your fortitude and valor. I am not writing to trivialize your journey and toils. My story is not one worthy of praise and does not end with a proper Return like yours. Neither do the stories of Boudicca and Phoolan and Cyntoia. Our stories are violent, wrathful, and merciless, and our quests for enlightenment are treks for autonomy. They are anything but circular and rose from desperation, necessity and suppression. They most certainly do not end with justice and our heroic return is met with trauma and otherization. This is the reality of a heroine’s journey. At the start of this letter, I asked you if you had ever heard the song of my brothers. This is because the female nightingale cannot sing. But it is my hope that one day, my sisters will sit together in the Gardens of Babylon. We will roar louder than our brothers and rattle the oppressive night until the sun awakens.
WRITER NEHA KOTAGIRI GRAPHIC DESIGNER KALI FRANCISCO
Twine unraveled from a spindle, scattered on the ground, only to be picked up again, rewound, and scattered about again. Contemplation and reflection, as if admiring one’s reflection in glistening water. The waves rolled forward, pushing currents traveling to their next location…
While it seems so much has been discovered, it is merely one star in a universe of galaxies.
Written by: Annie Malek Image Credits: EPA | Gene Daniels
DIRECTOR’S NOTE
A
lthough the last several years have felt directly out of a film, this year–hell, this semester–has been one of the most grueling ones that I’ve witnessed as a member of the student body. The monthslong process of constructing ODYSSEY was not immune to this phenomenon, which could only be attributed to our stayat-home hibernation, trauma, and fatigue from a global pandemic for over a year-and-a-half. This semester, the SHEI print team felt that creating something extravagant would render as effete, largely considering the developing situations on-campus that have made our environment less safe. Taking into account the world’s current events, protests on and off campus, and people’s ever-growing exhaustion from the institution, living in this country has certain unique repercussions on the psyche. It seemed faux to create another verbatim response to the present day, which in the history of SHEI we have not forsworn. Instead, ODYSSEY is an encapsulation, ready to be interpreted in any way, shape or form by the reader. Our ‘heroes’ are not one person, but multiple subjects represented throughout our lifetimes. The reader must form their own interpretation of the hero; consequently, each individual represents a different understanding of the issue as a whole. This freedom of creative thought sparks more engaging conversations and allows for alternative communal understandings of ourselves and one’s place in this world. This approach, we felt, was more centered around our community, and we hope that this has spoken to you beyond the realms of physicality. It is my message to you, dear reader, that if you have made it this far, I hope you’ve taken some kind of positive message along with you. Individual human growth simply has no bounds. It is with this essential idea that someday we could progress to a society that cherishes its planet, and loves its people as if they were their own children. I hold so much love for SHEI and the people in it close to my heart. It is this organization that has helped to give me a sense of purpose, and humbled me to realize my actual potential. Genuinely, there is no amount of letters and spaces to express my amazement for the wonderful team I’m a part of. Thank you for taking the time to look at our creation. With love,
Jacob Ward Creative Director
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