Strike Magazine Notre Dame Issue 01 by Strike Magazines

HOUSE OF CARDS ISSUE 01

When building a house of cards, you face fragility, complexity, and the potential of failure at any point. And inevitably, you learn that you will sometimes fail. But in rebuilding, you discover new patterns and emerge even stronger. In the same way, we are constantly progressing through our lives as they change around us. We cannot grow without making mistakes, and so, when our house of cards inevitably falls down one time or another, we find ourselves with a new kind of renaissance – a new opportunity to take everything that has come before, see the beauty that it holds, and revolutionize it.

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This issue’s theme reflects a renewal of our personal house of cards; navigating this new generation and way of living forces us to be more intentional, more careful with the cards we’ve been given. We wish to highlight how in this moment, when everything seems to have gone awry, an opportunity presents itself. It is not a signal to abandon what we have created. It is a way to find the beauty in the mess and destruction of the house.

After all, we believe that life begins again when the cards fall: we have the chance to breathe, to restart, and to build something even greater.

A special thank you to our gracious sponsor, SKSMM Luxury Chauffeur

Cover photography by Grace Beutter Modeled by Ana Cristina del Pino

Contents.

ur lives are built from a series of individual moments, life-altering events, and the various paths and places we venture to along the way. At any given moment, these pieces can collapse and we will have to build again. This issue chooses to revel in those moments of reconstruction. Rather than trying to avoid making mistakes and living with the anxiety that comes with such calculated thinking, we capitalize on this idea of the fragility of life and how at any moment, our lives could fall apart in seconds. For it is in this exact moment – this split second, the instant where everything seems to fall apart, when what we have been crafting so carefully comes crashing down around us – that we experience true relief.

TABULA RASA. The Master Plan, Dissolved & The Game of Vita

REVISIONS.

BALANCING Too Many Hats, Not Enough ACT. Hands & Hail in the Heart

COMMON TURMOIL.

When the Music Stops & Dance Like Everyone is Watching

Too Much in Common & Kiss the Enemy

CALL OF THE VOID.

EMERGENCE. What Changed? & On the Rise

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Dreaming on Unstable Ground & Consumed in the Collapse

HOUSE of CARDS

CREATIVE DIRECTOR Kenzie Phillips CREATIVE DIRECTOR ASSISTANT Isaiah Scarlett

CREATIVE TEAM

Writing Director Caroline Kranick

Design Director Ahlering Jackoboice

Blog Director Catherine Nilsen

Layout Assistants Meg Kelleher Destiny Lerner Daniela Mantica

Writers Natalie Daskal Isabelle Grassel Maddie Schlehuber Katie Sharp Tess Spesia Abby Wager Sonria Willis Helenna Xu

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EXTERNAL AFFAIRS DIRECTORS Cece Giarman & Olivia Mandella

CONTENT TEAM

Content Editors Grace Rozembajgier Kimani Krienke

EDITORS-IN-CHIEF Trinity Reilly & Theresa Tulsiak

Graphic Art Assistant Emily Fuchs Beauty Director Sam Bader Makeup Artists Alexy Monsalve Sarajane Smith Jessi Stokx Fashion Director Rose Hsu Stylists Anna Albertini George Bivins Sophie Burke Holland Hiler Rory Jasper Mark Leung Marcello Olivares

PRODUCTION TEAM

EXTERNAL TEAM

Production Director John Adkins

Marketing Director Madison Wagner

Assistant Production Director Gaby Howard

Marketing Team Members Sarah Flight Quinn Hogan Claudia Interiano Nic Meringolo Kenzie Murphy Luke Thornbrue

Head Photographer Margi Antonio Photographers Grace Beutter Leah Ingle Katherine O’Neal Lily Ricci Katerina Rodriguez Head Videographer EJ Kelly Videographers Carol Kim Chloe Stafford Production Assistants Ida Addo Kelly Gorman Valeria Guerrero Ana Tisa

Social Media Team Carlota Fernández Tessa Newman Finance Director Peter Ferraro Finance Team George Griffith Sarah Rodriguez Outreach Director Logan Mendoza Public Relations Assistants Cassidy Ferrell Ceci Guarnuccio Julia Quinn Geo Tabet Booking Director Katie Hays

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Ambassadors Arabella Baker Madeline Farmer Anna Kulczycka Maria Silver Emma Solferino Maria Wainscott

Social Media Director Melissa Kelley

FOUNDING ISSUE

STAFF LIST

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Strike Magazine was founded at Florida State University in 2017 to embrace diversity of thought, opinion, and image, and to exemplify individuality and creativity through the production of a lifestyle publication. In doing so, Strike captures the unique attributes of all and reflects a deep appreciation for fashion, art, and culture. We are privileged to have the opportunity to now portray our appreciation for such values to the South Bend community through Strike.

Strike gave us the opportunity to shape something unique for our community, a creative outlet unlike anything before it. In an effort to change this reality for ourselves and our peers, we took the opportunity for change – not just for us, but for those years to come. The different yet complementary qualities of the four of us came together motivated by the same hope: creating an outlet for expression. Learning how to capitalize on each of our talents in a united front was the first of many obstacles; we experienced moments of doubt and indecision when bringing Strike to South Bend, but once it began to come to life, all those uncertainties vanished. We ignited a fire that could not be put out.

STRIKE OUT,

To Hannah Kealy, the original founder of Strike, thank you for entrusting us to continue your legacy and for instilling a steadfast passion to inspire change in everyone we touch. You continue to shape the lives of people you have yet to meet and serve as a role model to so many. We cannot thank you enough for believing in us, guiding us, and allowing us to keep your mission and vision alive. To Emma Oleck and the executive leadership at all chapters of Strike, what we have created would not be possible without you all. Thank you for your continuous love, support, and guidance throughout the founding process. We are honored to be part of the Strike community among your creative visions. As we launch the founding issue of Strike in South Bend, we realize this has become much more than just a student-run publication. This debut issue is the physical manifestation of four students taking the cards they were dealt and creating something even stronger for ourselves and our community. We encourage you all to embrace the hand you are dealt and build your own House of Cards.

Photos by Grace Beutter

LETTER FROM THE FOUNDERS

hey say to jump before you’re ready. In October of 2020, we decided to take our own leap of faith. Pandemic burnout was hitting harder than ever, a semester with no break was taking its toll, and we needed an escape from the mundanity of academics. As people with innate desires to challenge ourselves, we knew our creative tendencies were not just hobbies to be pushed aside but traits to be nurtured. We sought something more, something that could combine our passions in a meaningful way. More importantly, we knew we weren’t alone in these feelings and there was a need for a space that embraced diversity, celebrated individuality, and fostered creativity in our community. The art of creating this space was tricky. And that’s precisely what it was — an art, not a science. Without a handbook, we weren’t quite sure where to look. But then came Strike.

Cece Giarman & Olivia Mandella | Founders & External Directors

Trinity Reilly & Theresa Tulsiak | Founders & Editors-in-Chief

Kenzie Phillips | Creative Director

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Design by Destiny Lerner and Theresa Tulsiak

Photography by Grace Beutter, Margi Antonio, and Leah Ingle

Produced by Kenzie Phillips, John Adkins, Gaby Howard, and Isaiah Scarlett

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The

Master Plan, Dissolved

ver since preschool, our lives have been determined by time. Second, third, fourth grade pass in a blur, and as these arbitrary beginnings and endings of school years pass, we feel like we are accomplishing something simply by continuing. Gaudy eighthgrade promotion ceremonies and last day of school parties manufacture artificial feelings of achievement as all we really do is grow older, along the exact same path as everyone our age. High school might be a deviation, the first point at which we started designing our lives. After all, we undertook different course loads, had different approaches to college applications, and picked different paths after high school. Technically, nobody did the same thing, but we all had strikingly similar iterations of the same life. As I formed my path, I never had to decide to act; it was simply written out for me in a master, 18year agenda that nobody thought to tell me had an end.

As if regurgitating the typical college experience, I went out three nights a week, signed up for required major classes, submitted applications for the most basic organizations out there (student council, the big service organization on campus, the Italian club, the newspaper), and thought that everything else – an internship, a job, a decided-upon path in life – would come along when it was supposed to, when I needed it to. The summer after sophomore year, though, I looked around to find that something had changed. Senior year of high school, people decide what they want to do afterwards; sophomore year of college, people get internships; at the start of junior year, people have an idea of their career. Time passing had propelled me through that first step, but now time is passing and I have stopped accomplishing. I’m doing what I’ve always done, passively progressing through life, but somewhere along the way, it stopped producing the same results.

I don’t have an idea of my career; I don’t even know where to start. Those things that were supposed to be happening weren’t there for me, even though it felt like everyone else was still moving along the written-out path. The way I lived my life felt broken, because the master plan had dissolved under my feet. At first, I blamed myself; to an extent, I think I still should. I have been indulging myself in my indecision, unwilling to acknowledge that I am not moving forward with those around me. As I look around, I realize that none of us are on the same path anymore. Accolades are no longer given for simply making it to the next achievement, assembly-line style, based on the wonderfully simple fact that time pushes me forward and drops milestones into my lap. More than ever before in my life, I am an individual now. Acknowledge that you are alone, I tell myself, because you can no longer maintain the facade that your actions are linked to the people around you me. Embrace what you have been given, for the first time: a blank slate, to write for yourself. By Trinity Reilly

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Once I got to college, I felt overwhelmed by the options that I now had. There were hundreds of clubs, intramural sports, and professional organizations to join. Avoiding having to wrestle with deciding what I truly wanted to do, I let everyone but myself make

decisions for me – why not? It was what I had always done, and so far, it had gotten me a life that people congratulated and complimented.

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TA B U L A

“Emerging into the white light of the world, we are not yet aware of what awaits. Were our half-opened eyes filled with wonder or fear when we first got a glimpse of faces and walls surrounding us? It’s the beginning of all beginnings: the

utmost

state

uncertainty.”

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the

Game Vita of

e all start with a blank slate. Emerging into the white light of the world, we are not yet aware of what awaits. Were our half-opened eyes filled with wonder or fear when we first got a glimpse of faces and walls surrounding us? It’s the beginning of all beginnings: the utmost state of uncertainty. The cards have already been shuffled and laid out on their fronts. One could say life is a gamble at predetermined odds. These cards are what we make of them: clubs, diamonds, hearts and spades; different numbers, different colors. Each card can be an asset, each card can be a liability; it all depends on the game. If you look around, you can get a glimpse of other players’ decks, discreetly held up or placed in uniform lines. Each card looks perfect lined up next to the other. From afar, you would think all the cards are the same; but if you look closer, different angles will reveal each deck is unique. Don’t compare! It’s the ultimate trap of the game; you’ll be a better player if you figure it out for yourself.

They won’t tell you their plans, but everyone’s is unique, anyways. Depending on the game, it can help to be a risktaker, while some require more judgment. As you play two, three games, you start to understand and begin to lay out your own plan.

Reexamine your deck, try to reconfigure your plan. You have time but don’t stall for too long, other players are ahead of the game – focus on the outcome, focus on the win. *** In most card games, there are only two outcomes: a glorified win or a shameful loss. All of us are tied down by the rules of the game, blinded by the outcome, by the potential of a win. But what if we took all the cards in our deck and reconfigured the rules that tie us down? Instead of playing battle, we could build a house of cards. Each player could go at their own pace, not worrying about others’ plans. In a house of cards, no one’s initial deck matters; it’s all about experiments, creativity and vision. We could even help one another, combining our strengths by working to each other’s advantage, rather than going against each other. With practice, we could each build our own house of cards. By Sonria Willis

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When you’re a novice, you can expect to make mistakes. You might make the wrong move, but don’t be ashamed to make these slips. Ask questions, here and there, to more experienced players. They will help you understand the rules and conventions of the game.

Straight aces can get you far, but not in every game. A ten might be higher than a five, but don’t be discouraged: other plays will make up for the loss. Calculating out every move does not always work; obstacles will arise, unplanned moves will occur. Don’t panic! It’s not the end of the game.

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Produced by Kenzie Phillips, John Adkins, and Gaby Howard Photography by Margi Antonio and Katherine O’Neal Design by Daniela Mantica and Ahlering Jackoboice Videography by EJ Kelly

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t is a feeling of freedom, a feeling of expression. A rhythm, a series of moves, one after the other, flowing together with a sense of effortlessness. You feel like you can fly. You’ve memorized the steps and the moves. You’ve practiced them over and over again. You know this dance. You concentrate on the familiar music, counting in your head, giving it everything you’ve got. But suddenly, without warning, the familiarity is yanked out from underneath you, and a short, stark static fills the room as something unknown causes the music to stop abruptly and unexpectedly. A sense of fear settles into your heart. Thump, thump, thump. The “known,” the music that has been keeping you steady, has disappeared. But you do not have a choice; you must keep dancing without it. The show must go on, as they say. You must find it in yourself to improvise. Although dancing without the music you so closely associate with the performance is new territory, you still know the steps. You still know the moves. So, you keep dancing. 1, 2, 3, 4. 5, 6, 7, 8. The soft thumps of your feet landing and running and twirling on the floor are the only sounds in an otherwise silent room. You finish the dance, beautifully improvising, creating something new, and you don’t miss a beat.

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What happens when we find ourselves in a situation where our own music stops, when the familiarity disperses? When our life stops or our world stops, and we must find the strength to go on anyway? When we don’t have a choice?

As much as we can try, we cannot always account for life’s technical glitches. Life changes. It throws extra punches and often pulls the rug out from underneath us without

warning. How do we continue to produce something beautiful, to live when we’re afraid of uncertainty? The answer is simple: just as with a dance, we create spontaneously. We improvise. But sometimes in life, we aren’t able to continue without pausing. We feel uncertain, anxious, and scared, and we have to stop and take a breath. We have to miss a beat. We all have our own versions of technical glitches, our own moments when we feel the certainty of a song slip through our fingers. But maybe these glitches are where the magic happens. Maybe when it all goes silent, we can take the time to assess, to reevaluate, to create something new. We can take our loneliness and turn it into beauty. We can take our grief and turn it into joy. We can take our fear and turn it into power. All we have to do is make the choice to keep moving forward. So let’s continue to improvise. Uncertainty can be daunting, but that’s the point. We cannot always prepare for when our music stops – so be scared. And continue anyway, dancing and dreaming and living. Improvise. Because sometimes the improvisations will turn out even more beautiful, striking and breathtaking than doing what we already know, what would’ve happened if the music had never stopped. By Abby Wager

WHEN THE MUSIC STOPS

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Life’s a dance you can’t rehearse. As we build our House of Cards, we have to constantly revise and adapt as the world changes around us. For this concept shoot, our Creative Director taught four dancers choreography to “Worry” by Jack Garratt. Halfway through, we changed the song. Scan to watch.

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DANCE LIKE NO ONE IS WATCHING

“J

ust be yourself.” “March to the beat of your own drum.” “Put your best foot forward.” “Dance like no one is watching.”

We’re constantly told to be confident – in ourselves, our own skin, and our actions – without paying attention to what others may think. As a dancer, this intention is intensified, as the act of performance demands an audience. To dance like no one is watching is to fully embrace the melody and make it your own, unapologetically, but to achieve this mindset of assured comfort can be a difficult path. Reflecting upon their personal experiences with dance, models Christina Cefalu, Parker Chan, Margo Murphy, and Katherine Fynes share their art of self-expression.

“Dance was the first thing I really wanted to work on in my free time...as I got more invested into dance, I fully invested in myself. That was the first thing that really grabbed me as a passion.” – Christina Cefalu (CC) To invest in oneself through art is deeply introspective – dance is personal and identifying and a statement of the self. Whether choreographed or improvised, dance holds a unique individualistic aspect – every movement is made new and original by the dancer. “Dance is just fun. That’s one of the reasons I like to do it. It’s become my thing. I was very studious in high school, but I didn’t want that to be my full self…I needed something and dance has become that.” – Parker Chan Careful choreography provides both inward and outward expression, a dichotomy of self uniquely poignant in dance. Acting as a compass of movement, choreography and music guide the tone and rhythm of a dancer’s movements. But what happens when this choreography, a structured cadence stops?

While physical flexibility is an obvious necessity for dance, the need for mental flexibility is often overlooked. Being open and ready for change qualifies dance as an artful expression that is ever moving and living. Adaptability is key in the dance of life, as well. The constant push and pull of possibilities and

“In the space between, you got to give yourself a moment, let your body be” – “Lose It” by OH WONDER To lose yourself to music, to melody, to movement can be terrifying. But in a sense, it’s freeing. A loss of self can be an expression of discovery and change – something palpable not only to you but to anyone witnessing the transformation. “Introspective might be the wrong word, but when I’m improving, I’m not really paying attention to what else is happening. The way I’m performing choreography, it’s more like outward performance.” – CC There must be an audience with art – someone to receive, acknowledge, and appreciate the performance before them. The true art of dance is a gift from the dancer, a moment of their own unfettered self-expression that they choose to share with anyone watching. “Everyone can dance, and there are so many different forms of it. It’s one of those things that can bring you joy, can bring other people joy…Watching dance, it’s just something that’s so magical and that’s why everyone who sees it, they want to do it, because it looks impossible, but it’s so beautiful. As a dancer, you have to make the hardest things look like breathing.” – Katherine Fynes Society is an ongoing conversation, begging us to participate yet constantly keeping us on our toes. No one knows when the melody may change, or music might stop, but the twists and turns we take in response offer an ode to opening up. Our own lives and dances are a marvel in themselves and when we let go to find something new, we invite acknowledgement from an audience. “It’s a very communal thing but it’s also a very personal thing. Dance is good for your body and it’s fun, it’s happy. But also can be sad, it can be emotional. It can make people feel things. It’s beautiful. And it’s when you do this together that dance is collective but private. And I think it’s just something special.” – KF We’re constantly told to dance like no one is watching. But we always have the opportunity to rebuild that narrative, intentionally making internal movement an external expression, so that somebody may watch, and be inspired to join in the journey of revisions. By Grace Rozembajgier

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“The song change terrified me. Without any base technique from dance training, I was essentially left with a blank slate. Full disclosure: nothing is more daunting to me than a blank slate. When the music first switched to not only a different song, but an unfamiliar one, I temporarily froze. Little by little, though, as I got a feel for the rhythm and lyrics, I allowed my body and my movements to mimic the song’s energy. By the end of it, I wasn’t even thinking about being unprepared for the change, I was just proud of myself for adapting and making the most of it.” – Margo Murphy

unpredictability demand an improvisational outlook when faced with the feat of letting go.

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“What

happens

when

ourselves

find in

situation where our own

music

stops,

when the familiarity d i s p e r s e s ? When our life stops or our world stops, and we must find the

strength

have

anyway? we

don’t choice?”

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When

Produced by Kenzie Phillips, John Adkins, and Gaby Howard Photography by Grace Beutter Design by Meg Kelleher

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I C

G N

L A B

N A

T C A

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HAIL IN THE HEART

& FLAMES IN THE BRAIN

oll over, hit snooze, close your eyes again. As the second ringing sounds and your eyes slowly peel open, there is one thought that makes the pain of leaving bed marginally more bearable for so many people: the joy that will soon come from the perfect cup of morning coffee. However, achieving a “perfect” cup is far short of a guarantee. The beans must be just right. The water cannot be too hot or too cold. If you are using an espresso machine, the grounds must be perfectly patted down, or if you use a drip coffee maker, the filter must be folded with precision. Your day can depend solely on this cup of coffee. If it reaches perfection, you’re off to a good start. But if the coffee is not just right, your mood will sink, and the entire day will be spent trying to rebound from its imperfect beginning.

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The making of coffee is just the first of dozens of moments throughout your day that teeter between stable and unstable, balanced and off-balance. Although many people deal with an all-consuming imbalance in their lives, the instability that comes from individual moments throughout the day can be equally destabilizing. Every person experiences these minor successes or failures in their day that accelerate the heart and ignite a flame inside the brain.

Some of these experiences people bring upon themselves. Take walking on the curb – seldom will a young child miss a chance to carefully balance on the side of the street. The balance beam-like podium causes an adrenaline rush, and in these first moments of self-induced instability, people feel an emotion they can’t ever escape. For example, right after a woman finishes her morning cup of coffee, she’ll likely start applying makeup, where there are so many little things that must be done just right. The creams have to be applied evenly on every inch of the

face. Powders have to be applied enough so that they make an impact but not so much that the makeup becomes clown-like. When contouring the face, precision is key, or one side will look entirely lopsided compared to the other. To make eyeliner proportioned, straight, and symmetrical with the other eye rivals impossible. And a similar rush to the one you experienced as a child comes back when applying makeup. Your hand will shake, your heartbeat will increase, and depending on the outcome you will either experience a small rush of joy or of disappointment. Once out the door and en route to work, people will often encounter moments of instability. If driving, whether or not to go through a yellow light. If walking, either to jaywalk or to wait for the walk signal. If taking public transportation, be it a bus or a train, whether to rush to the stop to make the incoming vehicle or to meander and wait for the next one. These occurrences that force the brain to make a split-second decision add something to the human experience; if life were always a straight, uninterrupted path, emotion would not exist. These moments may feel like a balancing act, but the angst they produce is not necessarily a bad thing. The instability experienced in these moments comes from the vulnerability of the outside world. Each day you open your bag of coffee, scoop out the grounds, pat them down, click brew, and wait to pour. The first sip may inspire excellence or mediocrity; this is the instability our lives are propelled by. These feelings move like a seesaw throughout the day, and though they are not always positive, they turn life into a beautiful balancing act. By Natalie Daskal

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TOO MANY HATS,

NOT ENOUGH HANDS

journalism professor I had told us one day in class that we will always be humans before we are journalists. We may put on our metaphorical journalism hat when writing an article, interviewing a subject or contesting the Oxford comma, but the hat underneath – the human hat – is one that is permanently attached to us.

This hat metaphor my professor cleverly used to help us understand the importance of being an understanding journalist doesn’t stop at our future careers, however. Every second of every day, we are expected to hold a plethora of hats without letting any of them fall. These hats range from being a responsible student to being a respectful daughter, from being a supportive friend to calling people out on their bullshit, from being a people-pleaser to being someone who forges her own path. But how many hats can we be expected to juggle while denying the need to let everything fall and to catch our breath?

When trying to balance everything all at once, some things are always bound to collapse. You just always have to hope you don’t drop the hat that you have your future riding on. When I interned for the Pittsburgh PostGazette this past summer, I came in with the thought that everything I wrote there had to be perfect. I told myself I wasn’t good enough as I looked around the newsroom at more accomplished interns. Here I was getting my feet wet at my first internship while others were already swimming freely in published articles outside of college publications. So to compensate, I said yes to every assignment that came my way. Don’t get me wrong – the experience of getting to tell a range of people’s stories and get close to my interviewees was amazing. But I said yes for all of the wrong reasons. I piled things on because I thought constantly being busy was what I needed to do to match up to my peers. I started to hate my journalism hat because I made it stress me out all of the time. Months later and after multiple thoughts about making

the right choices to propel me into a happy future, I’m still recovering from my failed attempt to balance things this past summer. We’re all being pulled to be multiple versions of ourselves as others continuously expect more from us. After all, our futures are on the line – or at least that’s what everyone keeps telling us. If we don’t get it right now, forget it. But, no. Forget that! I want to get being a human right. I want to make mistakes without feeling like the world is crashing down around me. I want to challenge myself, and I want to let myself rest when those challenges have taken their toll on me. Breathe in. Breathe out. Allow yourself to balance things and then in the same breath drop those things if they become too heavy to carry. Allow yourself to be human, even if you can only manage the detachment for a little while. We are, after all, humans first. So be okay with simply living for a little while. By Kimani Krienke

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As graduation approaches, we have to apply to jobs or some type of higher education schools, complete homework on time, keep up with our social lives, spend time with our families before we move away and, of course, enjoy our time in college all at once. I’m overwhelmed

and anxious to the point where I can’t give a decent amount of attention to any of my responsibilities. But a people-pleaser never says no, so I add yet another hat to my already shaking hands.

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Produced by Kenzie Phillips, John Adkins, and Gaby Howard Photography by Lily Ricci and Margi Antonio Design by Ahlering Jackoboice and Theresa Tulsiak

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COMMON

TURMOIL

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HOW DARE I STAND OUT WHEN A RULEBOOK IS WRITTEN AS PLAINLY AS OURS? STRIKE MAGAZINE | ISSUE 01 | 43

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TOO MUCH IN

COMMON

“N

How dare I stand out when a rulebook is written as plainly as ours? Attending a Catholic, all-girls high school was a privileged experience. I was supposed to be surrounded by a top-performing cohort of women destined for great colleges, successful careers, and deep alumni pockets. But we all competed for the same thing – the same colleges, the

“If you drink, be sure to pull trig. Nobody likes a messy girl at a party. If you hang out with your friends, post about it, but not too much. Ask a boy to prom who will fit in with your friends’ dates. If you want to be captain of a sports team, be prepared to throw teammates under the bus to get there. On Tuesdays, go to sculpt yoga. Go to the Glow Lounge for spray tans, not

the $5 tan, because then you look tacky. Don’t eat the meat in the school cafeteria. Nobody does updos anymore; make sure to get an appointment for a blowout. Don’t take seconds at lunch. A large iced coffee is an appropriate breakfast…”

It was all so normalized. We worked harder than our friends because they were our true competition. Our stress became within and about each other. We looked the other way when someone transferred schools or stopped trying because they couldn’t take it anymore. That just made the rest of us more tightly wound to succeed. When someone broke the mold, the rest of us were all a little envious, but we dared not follow her. That was our common turmoil. By Maddie Schlehuber

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Follow the rules. Shirt always tucked in. No piercings. Hair straight. Go to class. Go to practice. Win. Do homework. Wake up. Repeat.

same dream, so much so that each girl had fractures in her perfect image, meaning we weren’t as perfect inside as we tried to seem. It is easy to look complete on the outside wearing expensive brands with perfectly balayaged hair, but our external appearances functioned as masks to hide the chaos we dealt with inside. Some fractures were different; most were the same. I didn’t realize it was abnormal to feel constant panic and dread until I got out, and I know I am not the only one. Here is what the rulebook didn’t include:

avy uniform skirt (neatly hemmed no more than 2” above the knee). White oxford button-down blouse (long or shortsleeved), always tucked in…Students who are in violation of the uniform regulations will be required to remedy the situation immediately or be sent home.”

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THE JUDGEMENTAL EYE OF THE CROWD ROBS US OF OUR AGENCY TO ACT.

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KISS THE ENEMY

realize I have the tendency to actively seek differences between myself and others when I meet new people. This sentiment led me to alienation, doubts, and most importantly – fear.

Why do I do this? I ask myself. Why do I do this if I want to spread love and affirm self-worth? Maybe it is because in kindergarten I was taught to notice differences in categories – color, shape, or function – and these evolved to be race, culture, and language. I became very good at recognizing distinctions because I was attuned to be oblivious of commonalities.

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My environment trained me to conceal my private identity, one that I am terrified of exposing to the public and even to myself. We are taught to think certain things are right and certain things are not; gradually, it becomes impossible to remove ourselves from these suppositions that have been integrated to be an instinct that we should tear away from our conscience.

At school, I always try to build a certain image of myself that isn’t the most genuine me, but what I perceive to be the most likable. The fear of losing things I deem to be an inseparable part of my life, such as recognition from friends or my public image, ultimately silences me. The judgmental eye of the crowd robs us of our agency to act. It is a perpetual weakness for all of us, one that inevitably alters our life when we are vulnerable. Frightening as it is, the pretense of compliance will eventually collapse, leaving me crumbling to the ground. I refuse to hearken to the pressure

and be the subject of a social experiment and instead persevere with a will of my own. What if we think of fear not as something that alienates us, but as common ground? Instead of looking for differences, I want to understand where others are coming from. Yes, there are disagreements that probably have no hope of resolution, but the point is not always to find an answer. Often, I put myself in a mindset of all or nothing, which discourages me from communicating and excludes me from the possibility of reconciliation. If everyone around me is just as afraid to speak up and expose vulnerability, I just need to take the first step. From now on, I must confront my fear because I am not alone. My choice to be genuine could very much change the decision of another in the best way possible. How could I ask someone to be honest with me if I can’t do it myself ? Transform that fear into a desire for love. Only the power of unifying love can conquer the images in our heads that make us embarrassed and uncomfortable. Only intimacy can make us indifferent towards the judgmental eye of the crowd because we realize that we no longer need superficial validation. When we are building our house of cards, don’t ignore the cardinal humanity that ties us together. Fear is the epitome of the façade we make it to be. Let desperation for love overwhelm you instead of fear; let the poignancy caused by differences fade away while we hold each other. By Helenna Xu

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Produced by Kenzie Phillips, John Adkins, and Gaby Howard Photography by Grace Beutter and Katherine O’Neal Design by Ahlering Jackoboice and Theresa Tulsiak

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CALL OF

VOID. THE

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DREAMING O N U N S TA B L E G R O U N D

’m standing on top of what feels like the tallest building in the world. This building, constructed by my own experiences, my love, my loss, my anxieties, and my joy, is supported by a strong foundation, yet it seems to sway with just the slightest breeze.

I’m standing at the peak of the life I have built, and yet I am questioning the placement of each brick. Do I continue to build, up and up and up, until a gust of wind, the smallest shift of one brick, brings the whole structure down? I take one step closer to the edge, moving my gaze up to the boundless sky, finding it full of both opportunity and barrenness. How can the view up here be so beautiful yet so terrifying all at once? Looking out into the darkening sky, I find myself captivated by the hundreds of thousands of stars that attempt to brighten it, all faintly different in their size and radiance. They all seem to belong right where they are. But even now as I am captivated by its brilliance I am, at the same time, terrified by its vastness. The longer I stare, the more engrossed I become by its boundless space. A blank canvas. An empty space to choose how I want to rebuild.

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What if I could find my own place, safely among the stars? I could build upward, I could build outward, I could mold the bricks by hand and ensure each one is strong enough to support my new direction. One where I don’t have to question which bricks belong because I placed them there myself.

But what if I’m unsuccessful? I have no model, no building design laid out; how will I know if the floor plan I am building is correct? What if this new building, this new life, is even more unstable than the one I stand on now? Rebuilding means facing the possible consequences. Be that as it may, I am drawn to act by the fear of feeling stuck, forced to conform to what everyone else wants me to be. Rebuilding means making the decision to embrace the fear of starting over. To begin construction on a new foundation, where my future may be uncertain, but it is up to me to build. Yet I remain still – unable to make that first move. Pulled between the fear of starting over versus the fear of staying the same, I catch myself beginning to feel welcomed by that limitless night sky, just the slightest bit. I begin to question if I am any safer where I stand. Why do I remain up here, dreaming about the life I could have, the life I could create, when all I have to do is let go of the past and I would have the freedom to create it? When everything inside of me is telling me to make the move, why do I feel like my feet are glued in place? Must I bring this whole building down with me in order to bring down my own fears and anxieties that built it? Why does that make me so afraid? By Katie Sharp

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CONSUMED IN THE COLLAPSE

nd just when I think I’ve found my footing, the confidence needed to step out on my own and conquer the anxiety, the fear, the things holding me back…

It all comes crashing down. The collapse. The inevitable. I knew it was coming, it was inescapable, and yet I am surprised. I just watch, as everything I built falls in front of me, returning to the state it once was, and at the same time I hear the void, calling me back once again and slowly starting to consume me to the point of nothingness. Fear is the only word I can use to describe the feeling. In one fatal move, I have been reduced and everything I’ve built falls around me, captured in the wind, traveling further and further down. It’s as if I have lost all control of what was once mine, of all choice in what the future may hold for me, just like water crashing on the shore, destroying what we so carefully and meticulously built: so violent yet so poetic and utterly inescapable. As I watch these events unfold, I find myself thinking back on every move and decision I made up to the collapse. I am consumed in the moments and memories of life before the collapse because anything would be better than this chaos that has ensued. It’s maddening.

It seems that nothing in life actually goes as planned. Every day I find myself just continuing on to the next task, building toward something positive, towards achievement, just for it to be torn down. So is this the end? I put in the work. The effort, the thought, the commitment, all wasted away on something that couldn’t last. With everything I built up in the air, is spiraling around me, the doubt comes flooding back in and I lose all sense of direction. I reminisce, replay, and reevaluate what I’ve done, desperately trying to get back to that singular moment before the fall. I wish I had a do-over. I wish I never started, and I don’t think I would’ve if I knew this would be the result. I can feel myself spiraling. The void slowly takes over. Stop. As I see the last card finally fall, and the dust settles. I take a breath, slowly. This was meant to happen, it was supposed to happen, and I knew that, deep down. I just don’t know what to do, what to feel. I have spent all my time in this spiral running from the void, blaming everything and everyone for what has happened, but I think I needed this to happen. I kept wanting to get back to that moment before the collapse, but is that really what I want? Do I want to be that person again, so fixed on this idea of perfection? I needed the void. The constant reminder, the little shred of doubt, to tell me to keep going, and the collapse was the clean slate I needed to start over. It’s freeing in a sense, and yet I feel... By Isabelle Grassel

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“

THE COLLAPSE WAS THE CLEAN

” OVER. START TO NEEDED I SLATE

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Produced by Kenzie Phillips, John Adkins, Isaiah Scarlett, and Rose Hsu Photography by Lily Ricci, Katherine O’Neal, and Leah Ingle Design by Theresa Tulsiak

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WHAT CHANGED?

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have never caught the leaves changing. It’s a game I play with myself each autumn. I stare at them as I walk by, I take pictures of them, I grab at them as they lazily drift down to the sidewalk below. I don’t want to miss it. But one day, they are all gone and despite my best efforts in this game, I have lost. There is no way to adequately absorb the immense change happening all around. Say I did a close study of one leaf by committing my autumn to observing that leaf alone. I would still lose the game. I would not see the ways that the whole tree changed, how each leaf fell at its own pace, let alone the forest with all of the different shades and species. But even if I stepped back and took it all in at once, I would surely miss the nuances in the subtle evolution of green to orange to brown on a single leaf. Just as it is overwhelming to try to capture the beauty and chaos of the change of seasons, so it is with our life changes. Even when there is a dramatic

event that catalyzes great events that created autumnal change in our lives, it rarely seasons of change and asked happens in a documentable themselves “What changed?” moment – something you Here are some of our “leaves”: can look at straight on, take a picture of, or grab in your “I could no longer give and hand and say, “ah yes, this resent my relationships for was the changing.” Focusing on taking.” one small thing that changed would ignore the tree and the “I learned that the only thing forests of every other part of I have control over in my life your life that was changing. is myself – the way I act and t Yet, trying to view your change he way I react are a direct in the broadest possible reflection of the way I choose way blends the moments to view everything.” together creating a muddled reality of the season that loses “I now fall for love, not authenticity. infatuation.”

The Strike staff reflected on their own lives and the

“My priorities shifted – I realized that life is too short to

“Watching her get discharged from the hospital gave me a new reason to live.” “I learned that having a breakdown does not mean you are broken.” I have never caught the leaves changing but I have always known it was the leaves that changed. I think what changed was more important than how. By Tess Spesia

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So, perhaps we should not try “For the first time in my life, I to catch the leaves changing, learned that the only love I ever or the seasons of our own lives, needed was that which I gave but instead ask the question, to myself. Depending on others “What changed?” When the for validation, for attention, changing feels catastrophic for guidance, and for love was or indescribable the change an incredibly beautiful thing is often much simpler. – human connection is vital to the human experience – but it What changed? The leaves. was fleeting; and most of the They changed colors and time, it was contrived.” floated down to the ground and got swept away. But come “Now, I think failing is one Spring, new leaves will emerge of the best things that could and our leaves will too. happen to a person.”

worry so much about getting good grades and doing clubs that I’m not actually interested in, when I should be spending time with people who make me happy and investing myself in activities that I am passionate about.”

“When things go up in flames, the end result isn’t a neat pile of ashes so much as an upended battlefield of smoldering debris, and it’s hard

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to say whether some fires ever

fully go out. Oftentimes, we have to root through the wreckage of our downfalls in order to discern what’s salvageable and to discover what didn’t survive the destruction.”

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ising “like a phoenix from the ashes” is overrated.

Think about it. A bird goes up in flames (for whatever reason), is reduced to a pile of ashes, and . comes back again. End of story. Except it’s not the end of the story, because the whole process repeats itself again, and we’re left with little more than a bird trapped in a cycle of destruction and rebirth from which it never grows, never develops, never learns. The mere act of destruction, of going up in flames, is enough to ensure a redemptive return. The phoenix doesn’t work to restore itself to its former state of glory; it simply ascends from the rubble of its past self. A straight shot back to the top, abandoning the unpleasant past with eyes focused on the future ahead.

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I don’t know about you, but my experiences have been a little bit different than that.

Real life is messy. When things go up in flames, the end result isn’t a neat pile of ashes so much as an upended battlefield of smoldering debris, and it’s hard to say whether some fires ever fully go out. Oftentimes, we have to root through the wreckage of our downfalls in order to discern what’s salvageable and to discover what didn’t survive the destruction. We don’t walk away from trials and moments of tumult as exactly the same people we once were. There’s always a change – knowledge gained, lessons learned. Something lost. As we reemerge from moments of collapse, we are forced to grapple with the new people we have become. Because that’s what it is: a new identity, borne of turmoil and brought into the world by the sheer grit and determination that is required of anyone attempting redemption. We are still ourselves, yes, but not quite as we were before; we are the versions of ourselves who are now better acquainted with defeat than we perhaps we would like to be, who have put in the work required to return from the lows to which we had fallen. I pity the phoenix that rises from the ashes, because it’s forced to start over. We return from the wreckage of our collapse armed with a wealth of experience and knowledge that form us into who we are, while the phoenix’s slate is wiped clean, its progress returned to square one. While the phoenix is merely reborn, we rebuild. Our emergence is an evolution.

ON THE RISE It’s admittedly a more difficult process – imagine how much easier it would be to simply open our eyes to find our troubles had magically dissipated, our fallen selves restored to their former glory – but the creative process of our own reemergence is far more exciting. How will we navigate the new lives which lie ahead of us? Where do we go from here, now that we’ve decided to stand and rise from the depths to which we’ve sunk? Upward, of course, but to what destination? Toward what goals, what dreams, what desires? It is with this freedom, this endless font of possibilities accessible only to those who have experienced a complete collapse, that we begin to rebuild ourselves, different and better than we once were. And we remember the hardships we have endured. No one wants to fall; no one wants to witness their life be reduced to rubble and ash. Our turmoil, our anxiety, our collapse – these are not enviable experiences. As liberating as it can be to rebuild, it can be equally – if not more – devastating to have reached such a state of destruction in the first place. Unlike the phoenix, we cannot simply fly away from our pasts, unbridled and unburdened by the memories contained within them. The losses we’ve suffered and troubles we’ve faced cannot be so easily swept into neat piles of ash that grow smaller in the distance on our flight until they disappear from view altogether. What we’ve experienced, we carry with us – for better or for worse. In acquiring such experience, we must resist the temptation to let it drag us back down. A little extra weight makes for a more difficult uphill battle on the road to our rebuilding, but this can only help us in the end. After all, what doesn’t kill us makes us stronger. And wiser. Braver. Better equipped to take on life’s future challenges. A more complete version of ourselves.

We’re not phoenixes rising from the ashes. We’re better. By Caroline Kranick

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We’re not phoenixes rising from the ashes. We don’t bounce immediately back from our downfalls with effortless elasticity. We don’t return from a fallen state as exactly the same people we once were, able to act as if nothing much had happened. As if we’d never even gone up in flames in the first place.

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THANK

YOU

TABULA RASA Writing: Sonria Willis and Trinity Reilly Styling: Kenzie Phillips, Rose Hsu, and Sophie Burke Makeup: Sam Bader, Sarajane Smith, and Alexy Monsalve Production: Kenzie Phillips, John Adkins, Gaby Howard, and Kelly Gorman Videography: EJ Kelly Photography: Margi Antonio, Grace Beutter, and Leah Ingle Design: Destiny Lerner and Theresa Tulsiak On-set: Theresa Tulsiak, Trinity Reilly, Cece Giarman, and Olivia Mandella Models: Corinne O’Toole, Tom Guo, Joe Hunt, Genevieve Jackson, and Isaiah Scarlett

REVISIONS Writing: Abby Wager and Grace Rozembajgier Styling: Kenzie Phillips, Rose Hsu, and Sophie Burke Makeup: Sarajane Smith and Jessi Stokx Choreography: Kenzie Phillips and Christina Cefalu Videography: EJ Kelly and John Adkins Photography: Margi Antonio and Katherine O’Neal Design: Daniela Mantica and Ahlering Jackoboice On-set: Theresa Tulsiak, Cece Giarman, and Olivia Mandella Models: Margo Murphy, Christina Cefalu, Parker Chan, and Katherine Fynes

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BALANCING ACT

Writing: Kimani Krienke and Natalie Daskal Styling: Kenzie Phillips, Rose Hsu, and Holland Hiler Makeup: Sam Bader and Alexy Monsalve Production: Kenzie Phillips, John Adkins, Gaby Howard, and Kelly Gorman Videography: EJ Kelly and John Adkins Photography: Grace Beutter and Katerina Rodriguez Design: Meg Kelleher On-set: Theresa Tulsiak, Trinity Reilly, and Cece Giarman Models: Liam Hollen and Austin Rose

COMMON TURMOIL Writing: Helenna Xu and Maddie Schlehuber Styling: Kenzie Phillips, Rose Hsu, and Anna Albertini Makeup: Sam Bader, Sarajane Smith, and Jessi Stokx Production: Kenzie Phillips, John Adkins, and Gaby Howard Videography: EJ Kelly and John Adkins Photography: Lily Ricci and Margi Antonio Design: Theresa Tulsiak and Ahlering Jackoboice On-set: Theresa Tulsiak, Cece Giarman, and Olivia Mandella Models: Emily Chudy, Eden Tesfay, Ike Anyanwu, Heaven Carter, Madeline Farmer, Mark Leung, Mary Jean Musselman, Sammie Kim, Faith Woods, Alex Edwards, Rose Hsu, and Luc Postec

CALL OF THE VOID Writing: Isabelle Grassel and Katie Sharp Styling: Kenzie Phillips, Rose Hsu, Sophie Burke, and Marcello Olivares Makeup: Sarajane Smith and Alexy Monsalve Production: Theresa Tulsiak, Kenzie Phillips, John Adkins, Gaby Howard, and Ida Addo Videography: EJ Kelly and John Adkins Photography: Grace Beutter and Katherine O’Neal Design: Ahlering Jackoboice and Theresa Tulsiak On-set: Trinity Reilly, Cece Giarman, and Olivia Mandella Models: Dasha Kudriavtseva, Ana Cristina del Pino, and Tahira-Jahnai Vera

EMERGENCE

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Writing: Caroline Kranick and Tess Spesia Styling: Kenzie Phillips, Rose Hsu, Anna Albertini, and Holland Hiler Makeup: Alexy Monsalve Production: Kenzie Phillips, John Adkins, Isaiah Scarlett, Rose Hsu, and Ana Tisa Videography: Chloe Stafford Photography: Lily Ricci, Katherine O’Neal, and Leah Ingle Design: Theresa Tulsiak On-set: Trinity Reilly and Valeria Guerrero Models: Juliana Salvatierra, Francesca Masciopinto, and Allan Njomo

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