The Butterfly Effect Issue

on chaos theory...

Chaos theory is known as the science of surprises. As a part of the theory, the butterfly effect is a certain expression of chaotic behavior in which a very small change in the initial conditions can produce very significant results. More poetically, we question how a butterfly’s flapping across the sea could cause a storm on the other side.

There’s a Filipino saying, “bahala na,” which exhibits a similar understanding of and willingness for the uncertainties in life. It’s not necessarily carelessness, or even faith, at all. Wedging your bets on chaos, actually, is trusting the nature of the Earth—it’s about trusting the winds, whichever way they blow.

It’s also about trusting ourselves and each other.

This is an issue that encourages groundedness and your interaction with its pages. We implore you to pay attention to what is simple; to the mundane; the things long past; the things too big to carry; the things too small to share with anyone else. Bahala na. Take our pieces as you will.

dear reader,

Like a butterfly in its migration and its evolution, this issue has taken quite the journey to land in front of you. As an editorial team, we are so excited and so grateful to share in this collection with you.

We hope you enjoy this piece of us, and the stories and pieces that each of our contributors have shared. All our love,

Generation 1.5

Elena Kato

I recently studied abroad (completely alone) in Japan during the spring and summer, and these collages are meaningful places I visited or stayed during my study.

A common fear for dual citizens is getting one of their passports taken away or being forced to choose to keep one.

Similarly, I would also get "So, like are you hafu or...?" Hafu is the English word for "half," often describing people who are half Japanese and half foreign. Like in the US, some people like to guess what "race" you are. In my experience, I got this comment a lot more than I ever had in the States.

Another comment I get often is "I don't think I've ever heard the words 'migratory locust' from a girl before." It speaks to gender norms and what boysgirls, men/women "should" like or avoid. In this example, it's odd for girls to have an interest in bugs/insects. This was a pretty shocking thing to hear after I arrived there.

I associate these areas as very unique aspects of Japan or places that reminded me of where I grew up. Though I was born and raised in Japan, it is an entirely different experience coming back home as an adult, and even more so as a woman.

Reflecting on my arrival in my home country brought forth a realization of the nuances and complexities embedded within Japanese society, and also encapsulated the transformative experience of navigating dual identities and challenging societal expectations. All my encounters regardless of connotation ultimately shaped my understanding of home and belonging as a Bicultural Woman.

(im)Material Negotiations

2023 Bruton Design Intensive

photography by Awar Meman

Made possible by the guidance, coordination, and efforts of the UO School of Architecture, and Environment, John Folan (the Urban Design Build Studio), Malu Borja (Al Borde Arquitectos), Michael Zaretsky (University of Oregon College of Design), and Awar Meman (workshop student assistant) as well as the generous contributions of donors of the Bruton Design Intensive, community stakeholders, and the BRING store.

im(Material) Negotiations was a 10-day design-build public interest project, where 15 students at the School of Architecture and Environment collaborated and created a community-engagement housing exhibition. Built with reclaimed material, the heart of this project is in the negotiations of not only material use, but of personal and inter-personal basic needs issues. The workshop discussed access needs and the housing crisis as an issue that includes (but is not limited to) food insecurity; labor issues; power struggles between landowners and tenants; historically oppressive policymaking; environmental destruction; and the critical need for community care. The exhibition aims to be a space “that feels like a hug,” a place to be supported, or a place to think, feel, and strategize.

-Juli Malit, participant

i think, i thought

cing hei dim

why do I grieve for lost loves lost friendship as if they have set sails for life do I forget people move on change

loving them only meant loving a time of them not who they are right now

how do I know if you are still the same? the same love I once loved the one i’d lose my soul for the sad part is I did lose it already just I lost you with it my soul was somehow so intertwined to you when I gave you up i think my soul got confused feeling unwanted in some sort of way now I am trying to rebuild a soul how does one do that?

drawers calluses thuymai

graphite stains on the side of my hand, eraser marks across my desk, and splotches of lead lingering on my fingers from blending to perfection—the sounds of lead treading lightly on my sketchbook echo a silent narrative. i inch it away to look at the whole picture and i close one eye to spot any imperfections.

these imperfections made my eraser silver-stained, as it streaked when i erased or prompted my lead to break from the pressure i applied. my self-critique followed with every detail i needed to fix, i let my hand and mind guide me freely across the canvas, allowing my imagination to become a reality.

art is my expression and my voice—my radical joy, rage, and love woven on a canvas. art held pieces of myself—when my thoughts were too scattered and my voice was too small. yet i “knew” the amount of effort or hours i spent on a piece will never equate to any success—“it is purely a hobby.”

for years, with unfilled pages, my sketchbooks were overshadowed by my focus on science. my imposter syndrome haunted me as i was pursuing a career i enjoyed but was not passionate about. during the break as i revisited my old pieces, i felt each stroke as they are embedded with my younger self, her struggles, her truth; my drive began to surface within my soul again. despite the art block; inner critic; and outside voices; i lightly treaded my pencil on new sketchbook paper at my local cafe.

sketch, erase, crumble

a young boy, with his childlike wonder and pure imagination, ran around the cafe, smiled, and waved at everyone while his mother was occupied with work. his embodiment of innocence and joy radiated within the cafe, the aura of stress seemed to falter among adults.

i flipped a page sketch, erase, sketch

i began drawing a simple bluey character waving—a very rough sketch, with the outline slightly uneven.

tear

i walked up to the boy who was still smiling around, and handed the drawing. “i don’t know if he likes dogs, but i made him something,” i said to his mother, as i squatted to the boys level. with his small hands clutching the drawing, a large smile, and a small squeal, his eyes sparkled at the drawing and his smile radiated pure joy. “look, a dog!” his mother enthusiastically admired the drawing with her son.

this young boy did not know how much i struggled with retaining my creativity, yet his genuine reaction to such a small gesture validated each time i crumbled my drawings, was filled with self-doubt, and gave up. his untainted and pure view of the world filled with curiosity, wonder, and innocence, embraced my inner child and her passion for creativity. though it was a small act, it made him smile from ear to ear, making my world light up.

“say bye, thank you!” his small hands waved bye to me as he left the cafe with his mother.

my small act made him joyous, and in return, his reaction reignited my “why.” his young self affirmed my older self: her compassion, years of her struggles, and effort. despite the expectations of having a “traditional” and “sustaining” career, i simply do not need to pursue science to make an impact nor does my impact need to be grand. regardless of my career—science or not, his reaction will never amount to the salary i make, but his delight will always hold an unmeasurable value in my heart forever.

sketch, blend, sketch

inyeon

it was inyeon that we met 2,368 miles away—our string still attached from pinky to pinky, our paths crossed you pulled me to the center of gravity embracing my shadow

we passed by each other in high school for four years we didn’t know each other you pulled the string closer and tied the knot and somehow, our inyeon exploded into rays of light hadn’t you asked me about the quiz our senior year our paths would have strung further away we never spoke

i always became sleepy around you my habits of overanalyzing and overcompensating dimmed my attachment style became more secure

hadn’t we met i would of never felt the embrace of acceptance and love i would of never truly known my other half

let us continue tying the knot through distance, you’ll always be my home until then will the length of our string gets shorter that i will finally be in your presence and experience home again

the start of something new

Vincent Speller

change is terrifying. one interruption to my daily routine is enough to ruin my schedule for a week; hell a month even, let alone this move away from home.

i hate it; viscerally. i hate the feeling of the unknown. things i’ve never been around, people i’ve never met, it all enough to make me feel like a stranger in my own body.

structure is everything to me – without it, i don’t feel real. i’m floating through my day in a new place and it feels as though i’m watching myself live a fake life.

nothing will stick. my loves are wonderful, but without them around i feel as though i could be swept up and taken away.

the lack of grounding is making me sick. physically, i can feel my body shake more and more with each walk across the quads i’ve got no choice but to take.

without a doubt, i want nothing more than to dig a hole and never come out.

i can’t escape the reality. i cant escape the chaos that is now my life.

i’m struggling to find serenity; and in a place this beautiful, it’s disappointing. especially when the truck called homesickness decides to hit, there’s suddenly nowhere else i’d rather be than there..

when home is a person rather than a place, it’s much more difficult to identify that homesick feeling.

Maya Merrill Lisa Jeong Kain-Kasday

content warning: mentions of death, disordered eating, substance abuse

The butterfly effect. It is a concept that a simple act can have a profound effect on something seemingly unrelated. That the beats of a butterfly’s wings can alter the path of a hurricane. My butterfly moment was born in the anguish of trauma, fueling within me a need to find equity for all.

As the daughter of immigrants, a lot was expected of me. I was expected to be demure, competitive, well-groomed, athletic, self-disciplined, intelligent, and obedient. I was almost none of those things. I was a good kid, but was found loud and talkative. I enjoyed learning, but couldn’t earn more than Cs. I loved reading, but got expelled from the children’s library for throwing wooden toys across the room. I wasn’t athletic, but I couldn’t seem to sit still. Instead of playing with other kids, I preferred to play alone. I took everything literally; I couldn’t seem to learn normal life skills. I felt like an alien in my own home.

Growing up, I wanted so desperately to be loved by my parents. I wished and prayed that I could be the child they expected me to be. I wanted them to be proud of me like they were of my sister. In an effort to experience a fragment of my parents’ approval, I developed an eating disorder. This forced habit of trying to fit in was exhausting. The more I tried to fit in, the more anxious and depressed I became. By my senior year in high school, I was unhoused, sleeping in the backseat of a Datsun Wagon. I was alone.

At the end of my senior year, I met a young man. He very quickly became my best friend and was the first to accept the unmasked version of me. He thought I was the smartest girl he’d ever met. Over time I started to heal, and I learned what real love looked like. We married; had two boys. We discovered that our boys had Autism and ADHD (AuDHD). To our surprise, we discovered that my partner and I were also AuDHD.

On a long weekend in 2013, if you listened carefully, you could hear the first beats of a butterfly’s wings. On September 1, 2013, my life changed forever when my younger son died. Every moment of the accident is forever seared into my brain. The rest of the world continued forward, oblivious to the crashing down of my own.

Metamorphosis took time. We needed to heal. Still, the butterfly’s wing softly fluttered. “What do you want Jonathan’s legacy to be?” I didn’t understand. I was in survival mode. “Do you want Jonathan’s memory to be that his parents got divorced? Do you want his legacy to be that you became an alcoholic? How do you plan to honor Jonathan’s life?”

In the early days, I was trapped within my trauma. Grief was my shadow, my constant companion. My loss is and was the absolute worst event of my life. And yet, I found myself propelled forward by the simple flutter of butterfly wings.

Today, I find strength in fighting for others. Maybe it’s in exploring accommodations that can aid a student’s journey or sitting with someone who’s experienced trauma. Even simply hugging someone who’s parents disowned them for simply being their true selves. Reborn from trauma, I am a Biracial, Disabled, Nontraditional Student at the University of Oregon. This reborn version of me is still not the daughter my parents wished for. This version of me knows that’s okay. It’s great to be the loud, talkative, C+ student, fighting for equity for all.

Lisa Jeong Kain-Kasday

Disability Justice Coordinator

Shooting rubber bands at UO ceilings since 2019

Maya Merrill

(my love letter),

Consider this the start of my red letter. As I mark nearly four years in our group, I find myself reflecting on the profound impact Divisi, the UO treble A Cappella group, has had on me and each member who has been a part of its magic. In many ways, Divisi fulfills the cheesy sisterhood cliche that is portrayed in movies like Pitch Perfect (which, fun fact, was inspired by Divisi). Yet, more profound than that, being in Divisi means crying during difficult times and over stunning music together. It’s intuitively knowing exactly when fellow singers will start to sing in a song and when they need a hug. It’s squeezing each others’ hands to quell pre-competition nerves and learning each member’s quirks, fashion sense and mannerisms like the back of our hand. While music may have prompted each of us to audition, Divisi provides an incredibly special community that intertwines itself into the daily lives of each member.

The term Divisi is defined as : a musical direction indicating that a section of players should be divided into two or more groups, each playing a different part. I didn’t really resonate with this definition at first, but I do now. Our circle jam exercise is my favorite example of why. It starts with one person singing an improvised melody or beat and looping it over 4-8 counts, creating a pattern. Then, by pure intuition, members jump in to add their own looped improvised melodies, harmonies or ad-libs, complementing the part that came before it. One by one, each of us adds our own layer until, suddenly, we’re all singing an intricate piece of music. Sometimes it’s silly, and other times I’m so struck by how beautifully our spontaneous musical composition unfolds that I feel compelled to record it—to preserve it.

To preserve how each of our parts come together to create something so much bigger and more beautiful than their pieces, like shards of glass that make up an intricate mosaic. How that requires delicately balancing our individual voices with the cohesive harmony, and bravery, to expose our individual voices. It’s irreplicable. Each jam is as unique as their contributors, simply because of the limitless factors in the exact moment during which a circle jam occurs: the time of day, the season, the mood of each singer, the melodies stuck in our heads at that instance and the personalities of the people that happen to be there. These small factors influence our collective sound, creating ripple effects that generate vast differences in the music and community we create from one group to the next. Each circle jam, like each generation of Divisi, is incredibly unique due to the ways in which our environments and personalities have butterfly effects on each other. This irreplicability is part of what makes being a part of it so special. It is a reminder that while we may sometimes struggle to contribute our own voices in the outside world, there are ripple effects an individual voice can create on a larger, beautiful and impactful whole.

I’m grateful for the generations of women who have shaped Divisi, and I eagerly anticipate the growth and camaraderie of those to come.

P.S. Go give our album ‘Revive’ a listen on spotify and stay tuned for our upcoming album of our winning ICCA set!

Metamorphosis: Metamorphosis: Metamorphosis:

Caterpillar:

I was born crawling on the ground, guided by others who’ve crawled on the ground their entire lives. They don’t know what it is like to fly, nor do they understand why people would want to fly. “You were born to crawl on the ground” they say, “If you were meant to fly you would have been born being able to fly”. I try not to listen to them, but only being surrounded by those voices makes it hard not to. I tell my family that I’ve always dreamed of flying, but they do not understand. As I grow longer, and gain more legs and lose my color, I yearn for flying more and more. I tell my friends about my wish to soar in the sky and they tell me they wish to fly as well. We all dream of having bright colors, wings, the air beneath us. But all we can do is walk on dirt and logs, looking at the sky.

Cocoon:

Not to be put off by the majority of caterpillars around me, I found a colony of caterpillars akin to me. All of us wishing to fly, to soar, to be able to wear our true colors on our bodies. Over the course of my time on the ground, I hear stories and see pictures of caterpillars who’ve turned into butterflies, and I wish I could be like them. “You could never be a butterfly” I get told time and time again. “Those caterpillars who’ve turned into butterflies don’t know what they’re thinking” they say. “I really want to be a butterfly” I tell my mother. “I can’t let you become a butterfly” they say “With all of your bright colors you’d become easy to hurt” my mother says. I don’t think she knows that not having those colors is hurting me even more.

I know that I am a butterfly, I know that I am a butterfly, I know that I am a butterfly.

I keep telling myself and reassuring myself that I know what I am. I begin to close myself off and crawl away. I create hard shells that make it hard for both those who want to hurt me to come in, but also those that love me to come in. It makes it hard for me to reach out, to tell others how I feel and how I want to be seen I would just rather be by myself than be around people who tell me that I’m not what I am.

Butterfly:

After some time alone I realize, I’m not happy being alone. Sure it’s just me knowing what I am, but I want to be with other butterflies, other insects who appreciate who I am. Despite those who don’t want me to come out of my cocoon, who wish I stay a caterpillar, I unravel my wings of glistening blue, pink and white, an ombre of joy and truth, and begin to fly. I don’t feel the need to make a huge announcement of my metamorphosis, for those who truly love me have known since the beginning. I find colonies upon colonies of butterflies, all those who once were caterpillars and find that I’m soaring higher than I ever imagined.

I look down upon the ground, at those who said I couldn’t, and those who still wish I didn’t and smile. This body is all my own. I knew what I was from the start and never let other caterpillars tell me what I was. Flying over rivers and streams, mountains and valleys, I hope one day those caterpillars can find it within themselves to look past what others say, what they were taught and what’s expected, and metamorphosize with me.

Michael Sherwood Michael Sherwood Michael Sherwood

I wish I could brainwash myself

It started with that embrace

Too snug and waistful to be friendly

The first of many that held on longer and longer

As your wings wrapped around my body

They started to wrap around my mind

I saw the internal colors

Became so engrossed I failed to see how they shut out the world around me

You started to spin

Then I did

Around and around in ravishing entrancing colors

But the spins became faster

And faster

Until a whirlwind became a windstorm

To a cyclone

To a raging typhoon, to a deadly tornado, to a violent vortex

Circles and circles and cycles and cycles

Everytime I try to leave, our winds whirl me back into place

How am I still standing?

I look around and see I am in fact standing

But surrounded, by the dark grains of Earth, buried. I look up at into the swirling monsoon and see you flying above

How did we get so far apart?

Goodbye my beautiful butterfly… I have to get out of here…

But thank you for helping me build my cocoon. - amaru

Olivia Chignell

I wake up every morning excited to eat breakfast

The stove is a map for all my excursions

Pancakes, waffles, bacon, and sausage!

Though my favorite lies in a carton

I’ve always loved eggs

The sound they make when they crack

Performing surgery when a shell invades

The sizzle of the pan as I watch transparency turn into clouds while the yolk stands in for the sun

Watching two become one as I rotate the fork to make the perfect scramble

A light blanket for my toast

To be the feature on my plate or even a side, the egg can do it all

Versatile to perfection

The contrast of a sunny side versus an overeasy

Boiling versus poaching

Being steamed, fried, hard-boiled, poached, and scrambled

Subtle differences generate a completely new meal

Life is unpredictable and uncontrollable

The chaos can drown me and leave me feeling hopeless

But no matter how hard it is, It’s the small things in life that can bring so much joy

Even as small as an egg

Chignell

Olivia

Marriage, Love, and Radical Acts of Feminism

Lili Calonjie-Quintero

There’s nothing like reconnecting with an ex-situationship to put things into perspective. He was an old friend of mine, someone I’ve gone through the awkward dance of becoming friends with, knowing, and finally turning into strangers again. And then, like no time had passed, we were there, unpacking months worth of thoughts, feelings, confusion and dreams.

He asked me, “so, do you have any goals for the upcoming new year?” Simple enough question.

We were two seniors in college, and the pressure of becoming adults outside of our comfortable college bubble was starting to close in. I answered, “I want to be better about putting up boundaries and dating intentionally.”

But what does that mean, anyway? Dating in college is difficult, but dating as an adult in your early to mid-twenties is a whole different ballpark. There is an unexplored set of expectations, dating norms, and rules awaiting us all. Modern dating is, for lack of better words, ridiculously complicated. We expect each other to act “nonchalant”. Expressing affection too early is a big no-no, holding boundaries makes you “crazy”, expecting healthy communication makes you “weird” and seemingly too invested.

As a victim of the situationship dynamic, the constant invalidation of emotions and suppression of healthy needs has left me, along with many, feeling exasperated with the college dating scene in general. And then there he was, sat across from me in the car, so sure of his own future while mine lingered hazily in the distance.

He looked at me and stated very matter of fact, “I know my purpose in life is to be a dad.”

I turned my entire body to face him, mouth open, wide eyed.

He answered my silence, “I want to see my kids and grandkids grow up. I want to have kids by my late twenties.” I sat unmoving and speechless staring out of my car window, and he went on, “How about you?”

What about me? Rarely did I allow myself to picture my future love life, even less so plan it. Did I see myself finding my life partner and having kids by my late twenties? Is there a timeline for these life changing commitments that I was not aware of? Does my lack of preparedness for the life of a wife and mother make me a “bad” woman by some standard? Does admitting that I would like to be a wife and mother make me a “bad” feminist? I was left to revel in my own uncertainties. Why did acknowledging that I would like to be married, in love, and with kids feel like such a pathetic, dirty confession?

I’ve come to find myself mired in cognitive dissonance with the version of feminism that taught me shame.

I’ve noticed the ways that the feminist movement has subtly worked from an anti-femininity angle. Those who cannot agree on what it means to be a feminist have settled with defining it for everything it is not. It is not the mother, it is not the wife, nor the home-maker, very much not the procreator. We want the “girlboss” life, the life of a career-driven, independent woman who has no time for a love life and needs no man to save her.

But do we? Is it feminist to deny ourselves of love, which makes us human? Is it feminist to force ourselves into a box not made to fit us? What is feminism if not choice? I’ve been reading bell hooks’ The Oppositional Gaze, where she wrote, “emphasis on creating a counter-culture has alienated women from the feminist movement, for such space can be in churches, kitchens, etc”. To believe that there is only one way to be feminist is to lie to ourselves. What is feminism without intersectionality and inclusion?

There is nothing wrong with wanting to be career-focused, not wanting children or marriage. There is nothing wrong with wanting to be a stay-at-home mom. These two lives are not at all mutually exclusive. Why can we not take bits of both? The “girlboss” movies and books that teach women how to get through life without needing men are well intentioned and there is some merit to them. I wonder though, for the little girls watching these movies and young women reading these books, what are we teaching them about womanhood? Are we unintentionally telling women there is a “right” kind of dream or goal to have? There isn’t one.

Feminism can’t be sung in one note.

I have yet to fully make amends with the young girl in me wanting to plan a wedding, pick out dresses and baby names. I have yet to completely rid myself of the shameful feeling that comes with planning my future around such gendered standards. But I deserve to be able to dream up whatever I wish to, to be able to answer questions about my future just as any man could, without any sense of shame. We all deserve a chance to live the life we yearn for.

it has always been a part of me the way that i love others i love without bounds and through flaws flags of every color I love, I love, I love i love through pain, through the rock that sits in my chest i love despite the thoughts of everything you put me through I love, I love, I love i love the hate that follows my memories of you around like a shadow i love the weight lifting from my chest when i remember i don’t have to forgive you i love the thought that someday you may feel a fraction of the pain you caused I love, I love, I love i love that i am alive i love the doors that opened from walking away from you i love that i am loved now i love despite the damage you caused and i love that i am better because through the pain and the tears I love, I love, I love i love through the loneliness i love through the struggle i love because i am capable because i am deserving, because i am worthy i love because it is my nature I love, I love, I love i will continue to love through the pain and the rock that sits in my chest i will continue to love despite the thoughts of all i endured at your hands i will continue to love because i am alive and i am breathing i will continue to love because i am capable, because i am deserving because i am worthy, because i am loved i will love through the pain, the rock, the hate, and the healing I will love, I will love, I will love

to be loved the way i love

Savannah Zerbel Women’s

Center 2023-2024 on representing the staff shirt design

“It has been an absolute honor to design the all staff t-shirt for a second year, this is by far one of my most favorite illustrations I have ever made and I’m so glad to be able to share it with all of you. I wanted to create a design that not only captures the beautiful souls of everyone at the Women’s Center but also reflects the power and strength we hold together. We are a group made up of lovers and fighters. We have been through so much this past year yet through the pain we continue to persevere. To represent our deep love, connection to one another, and to the Women’s Center as a whole, me and Fatima chose to focus the design on an anatomical heart. Our hearts are what drive us to fight for what is right, in our hearts we feel the excitement of every victory, the determination in every challenge, and the pain with every setback. A tree trunk sprouting leaves wraps around the heart to illustrate the continuous growth and life within us. Knife’s stab through, reflecting the anguish and constant daily struggles we face. Barbed wire wraps around the heart to represent the shield of protection we are forced to put around us. Our hearts are full of scars but we are healing. A fresh wound is patched up with a bandaid to show that no matter how fresh the wound or fierce the pain is, together we can and will continue to love in war. The flowers I chose each have a meaning that I feel encapsulates the Women’s Center. In the middle is a pink Primrose, Primroses are meant to provide protection, safety, and love, they symbolize rebirth and new beginnings. A blue Aquilegia on the right symbolizes hope for healing and recovery. An iris on the left symbolizes strength, brightness, and hope. Red Roses grow through the sharp wire to represent Murdered and Missing Indigenous Women and Girls. A hummingbird emerges from the heart to illustrate that though we may be small we are mighty. Its feathers shine and sparkle amongst the darkness. A monarch butterfly sits upon the heart symbolizing change, transformation, and hope. And lastly 20 bees fly around the illustration representing us, and 2 bees sit upon the front WC logo to represent Karyn and Fatima.”