sula journals
by sula collective
saffa khan raven necole diana bamimeke kassandra (k.)piùero nicole shantè white jaime puente-tortorelli van hong oyinda yemi-omowumi sophia yuet see angie anzai nadia rebello jasmine simone francine thompson
sulacollective.com/staff
In April 2016, we began a new weekly column, Sula Journals. Every Sunday, a staff member of Sula Collective posts a reflective blog post / diary entry documenting their recent thoughts, feelings and interests on our site in any medium they want. In this issue, we have chosen a collection of these entries including new pieces that were created for this zine. Designed by Sophia Yuet See & Jaime Puente-Tortorelli.
saffa khan
Sunday 17th April 2016. Keeping myself busy with job after job has been a good coping mechanism for me the past few months, but now I’m ridiculously exhausted & keep finding myself feeling hopeless most nights, praying to a higher power and wondering whether someone is even listening to me or whether I am just wasting my time and breath. “Lets talk about feelings.” So here I am.
A lot of things happened this month: My parents went back to our homeland after eight years of separation from their families & loved ones. I wish I could have gone with them. I wish I had gone home. I am working day & night just so I don’t have to answer anyone’s questions, however my body is not cooperating and I feel like my skin is going to melt off, exposing all the secrets engraved in my flesh.
Watching old Bollywood films is oddly satisfying and I found myself singing along to some of the songs, even when I couldn’t remember watching them before. It’s incredibly heartbreaking not being able to talk to your mother about your life in the different city, about your sexuality, not being able to discuss your views on the world or talk about the future. I guess I’ve also been watching too much Gilmore Girls. Being a student sucks. Being an adult also sucks. Being the only brown girl out of 60 students on my course, in my academic year sucks even more.
Some things I’ve loved and discovered this month:
This YouTube channel:
Saimastyleslike – Thank you for being so brilliant & reassuring me that getting my septum pierced will not be a decision I’ll regret.
This song: Maya’s Theme – Michael – I’ve only recently watched Kama Sutra: A Tale of Love (1996) because I’m slowly but surely going through Rekha’s filmography and I came across this song on the soundtrack. I would be lying if I said I didn’t shed a tear. It’s a wonderful feeling when you accidentally come across a lovely piece of music that you had heard as a child but never really understood what it was/where it was played, so it just lingered in the background of your childhood memories.
This project: “I understand photography as a dialogue from personal to global; like a game in which the personal and social codes are put at stake to be reinvented, a continuous flow between the photographer and the photographed, a bridge between masks and identities. For this reason, I raises my work as a tool of exploration, questioning and searching for identity, for each own and others.” – Angelica Dass [pantonepalettes.tumblr.com]
diana bamimeke.
Kassandra (K.) PiĂąero part 1
Sunday April 24th, 2016 This past week has been a rare streak of almost constant productivity and happiness. From last Saturday up until Friday I’ve accomplished more than I usually do within a month. I went to a gallery for a special exhibit I had been looking forward to for weeks, met some new pals, had a picnic with some friends in Prospect Park, started a new book, and meditated on friendship. Life is still causing me a lot of stress on the daily, but lately I’ve been able to appreciate the little moments it has given me.
Saturday: April 16th I took the train into New York to go to the TEEN DREAM gallery out in Brooklyn. I saw some amazing art and got to pick up my copy of Coalition’s Spring/Summer issue. I met Fabiola and Siddisse at the gallery and after it was over we went thrifting around the Village, talked about astrology (I’m a Sagittarius), and got warm cookies. Once 10pm hit, Me & Stef went up to Times Square to grab Jada and got stuck in human traffic. Then we headed back to Stef’s dorm, ordered pizza at 1am, and fell asleep watching Trainspotting.
Sunday: April 17th We woke up at around 10am, grabbed coffee, and went up to Harlem to grab Puerto Rican food at Cuchifritos. Took the 6 train to Canal, transferred to the J to go back to the gallery so Jada could look around before we went over to Prospect to meet our friends. It’s been about 2 or 3 months since I’ve seen most of them, but I felt so happy to be back. Some people had to leave early and those of us who were left ended up walking to The Community Bookstore. I found some books on the sidewalk on the trek there (2 copies of Yeti Magazine!!). There was a cat inside the store named Tiny. He jumped up on the Fascism table to let everyone pet him and on our way out I got to pet a tiny puppy so it was good feels all around that day. I didn’t want to say goodbye, but I didn’t feel lonely when I got home either.
I’ve been spending a lot of time thinking about friendship. I used to be one of those people who didn’t care about their friends at all, but about a year or so ago I started experiencing a lot of platonic love for the new friends I made through school clubs or online. I’ve limited my interactions with white people who aren’t socially aware and cut off the two toxic people I had been friends with since high school because they had never shown me any love or support. I was sick of being treated like shit and feeling like I wasn’t good enough because I wasn’t white. I was tired of being kept in the shadows because I wasn’t white. I was good enough to hang out with one-on-one, but was never invited to hang out in groups. I felt like a dirty secret.
Now I feel loved, supported creatively & emotionally, and understood. It feels good to know that my friends can understand why I’m so insecure and anxious and to be surrounded by people who don’t make my mental illnesses seem like something I’m fabricating for attention. It feels safe being surrounded by women and people of color. It feels safe to be involved in a supportive, online community.
Going to that gallery alone was a huge step for me. I’ve been to a few zine fests in the past and I caught bad anxiety attacks each time, but this time I talked myself into socializing (with the help of Sophia) and was accepted and shown so much love. Just talking to Fabiola & Siddisse helped me gain more confidence in myself and my work. Fabiola is the reason I’m writing this entry right now. I’m trying to put myself out there more.
Some of my recent loves:
3. This piece about being intimidated by Susan Sontag’s work. (Her journals are amazing though):
1. Ceramics. I’m taking hand-building & wheel-throwing this semester and I’m so in love with it I considered taking it up as my major. Definitely looking into buying my own wheel and mini kiln at some point in the future. The photo above is my hand in a bucket full of purple glaze.
2. This video:
and this video:
4. Old New York 5. LEMONADE. I’m pretty sure that goes without saying. 6. Adrien Brody. I’m so obsessed with his face, he is so handsome and such a good actor. 7. Yann Tiersen’s work.
All I want in life is to be covered in glitter 24/7.
8. THE ARGONAUTS by Maggie Nelson:
“But whatever sameness I’ve noted in my relationship with women is not the sameness of Woman, and certainly not the sameness of parts. Rather, it is the shared, crushing understanding of what it means to live in a patriarchy.”
& “…I realized that age doesn’t necessarily bring anything with it, save itself. The rest is optional.”
When my phone began to double as a cuddle buddy and a night-light, I thought this is just what single 20-somethings do in 2016. I was merely consuming critiques of current events, pop culture updates, and intimate happenings of “friends” and “followees”. But when gory nightmares started I was forced to investigate my before-bed routine with a microscope. It’s relatively easy to admit that my ceremonious social media scrolls consisted of comparing my physical body and artistic success to others. The more difficult truth is I enjoyed the self-depreciation that accompanied this habit. As an artist that struggles with depression, social media was fueling toxic thoughts. It was reaffirming my feelings of inadequacy and worthlessness. Social media was making the venomous voice of depression seem less absurd. When I felt unaccomplished or unattractive, I would go scrolling for proof and found plenty; “followees” with newly published book or “friends” with flawless beach snapshots. After enough nights of waking up to terrifying images of being de-skinned, I decided to take a social media hiatus. This quickly evolved into a list of goals I titled The 6 Week Self-Love Offering: -no social media -be physically active at least twice a week -drink at least 2 liters of water every day -read for at least 30 minutes every day -practice my craft for 1 hour every day -begin and end each day with positive affirmations I typed these commitments and formatted an official contract: “I, ____________, am capable of committing to these actions for the next 6 weeks. Each Sunday I will check-in and reflect on my progress. I am investing in my well-being. I am turning intentions into realities. I am worthy of self-care and self-love. I am also deserving of self-forgiveness.” If you’re reading this, I’m on week two and this shit has been really hard.
1. Without social media my mind feels less cluttered. I even feel more present when I talk to people in person and over the phone. But when depression’s hyper-judgmental voice reemerges I have to confront her all on my own. I can’t feed the beast with status updates and Instagram likes. I arm myself with 6. positive affirmations and tell her to take several seats. I’ve also been listening to more empowering music, podcasts, articles, etc. This is the first song on The Offering’s soundtrack: 2. I’ve been attending dance classes twice a week (Jazz Hip Hop Fusion and Modern), along with teaching dance classes twice a week. I even tagged along to my roommate’s Tahitian dance class one Wednesday. Contrary to depression’s shitty ass opinion, I’m not as out of shape as I’d feared, my technical dance skills are still sharp, and I’m a very fast learner. I also surprised myself with how much 3. water I can drink in a day. After the first couple of days of sprinting for a restroom every fifteen minutes, my body adapted and two liters feels like a sip of water now. I’ve noticed a huge boost in energy. I feel more awake! I feel more capable of 4. reading for long periods of time. I’ve replaced train naps with reading, which makes my commutes seem shorter. I don’t know if there is a word for the sadness you feel as a result of the epiphany that you’ll never be able to read all the books you want, but I hope all this newfound energy will help me overcome (insert word). 5. Practicing performance and composition everyday has been the most challenging component of this offering. I’ve memorized more of my poems and edited a lot of dated writing. However, I’ve been struggling to complete a choreopoem I’m working on for a while. The process of creating this work has me in a very vulnerable space, in which I am not just exploring, but owning everything I know about dance and poetry. The execution of this project doesn’t work without complete confidence in my skill set and my content. The beauty of The Offering is acknowledging that I’m not there yet, but genuinely believing that I am capable. Although there have been some days when I fell asleep before saying my before-bed affirmations or forgot my water jug at home, I’ve been impressively consistent. Instagram keeps sending me tempting emails about checking my account activity. I remind myself of the bloody nightmares when I think of logging in. I’m proud of the strides I’ve made in two weeks. Of course I have anxiety about re-entering the world of social media once The Offering is over, but it’s definitely helpful to repeat “ama be good” over Archduke’s handclaps.
jaime puente-tortorelli
van hong
oyinda yemi-omowumi
03 July 2016 When do you reckon we stop growing? Because atm I’m looking at my hands and they’re so small compared to the people around me, compared to my mother. I wonder if when she was 17, she had small hands like me, or ears.
Ears never stop growing, do they? Old men on the bus always seem to have large ears protruding out of their heads, drawing attention away from the tufts of grey hairs slicked back. Will my ears grow large that? They’re very small atm.
playlist by oyinda.
abondance matanda
sophia yuet see june 2016 photo journal.
hyde/park
queer/picnic thinking abt last summer:
and i was in good company, alone, at peace with myself. i didn’t even notice what i was eating, except i think it was either healthy or irrelevant. i was recovering from heartbreak and reappearing into reality. simmering in the sun. kind of exercising. supposedly revising but actually just watching the first few seasons of the L word. / settling comfortably into queerness, past the pain and reaching further than love. / every image and memory of that time seems to be overexposed, filled with light.
panda
illustrations by
angie anzai
Nadia Rebello
The following few photos were shot on disposable film and are a small collection of memories and significant times with significant people.
I’ve felt extremely caught up lately in the amount of work I’ve been weighted down with. It’s hard to keep up as I’m sure we’ve all felt one way or another and disposable film for me, is quick and effortless to grab some snaps along the way. I’ve mainly only ever shot digital and disposable film but recently purchased a Nikon F90x which I’ll be experimenting on with manual film photography. I’m super scared but excited to grow as someone who takes photos purely to capture significant moments and has an intrigue in feminine x minimalist aesthetics.
If I’ve learnt anything recently it’s that you have to look after yourself. I’m not very good at it, but I’m getting better. Time management is a tedious thing; you can’t expect to have it together because other people do. Everyone will always only let you see what they choose — remember that it’s just the surface. If looking after yourself means failing a unit at uni because your mental health was declining, so be it. You can retake it. There are insufficient chances in this world; hand them over with discipline instead of comfort, take them with comfort and less discipline.
jasmine simone 6/12-19
break fast tumeric root womyn ramadan no smoke love yourself hate yourself kill because fear reflecting dreams/visionaries pyramids and red dirt to hell with metal sunsets the dire desire flesh and bone (the series on starz) sex/eros. aesthetics/humans animals/society corporeal disappears forget what you liked just like the youth forests and eyes burning red south crazy man controlling you “wherever you must go in this lifetime, be there.” said someone before me, i’m sure
you tucked tongue an gums. i crie you ate th treads the
i smoke way too much and i know it. i know my cravings are inanimate until i give them life but i have little umph to fight temptation ‘cause real life sux thoughton6-11
am mys ?
green onions shiitake mushrooms red bell pepper 1 garlic clove & red cabbage brkfston6-12
d my bones under your nd mashed my heart into your ed a thousand moons, and hose too. - the beast who e earth at night
:(
ami mysel f?ami mysel f?
mourning and cooking and kinda quiet thoughtson6-12
i self
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groove the pain away
~~~soundwaves
wavesounds.
too deep - dvsn about him - alex isley hootie hoo - outkast you don’t know - jungle pussy walk on by - isaac hayes tupelo honey - van morrison green & gold - lianne la havas i want you (she’s so heavy) - eddie hazel holy matrimony by azekel house by m&o (feat. donnie trumpet) think twice - erykah badu superfy (interlude) - paolo nutini jesse james - scarface liquor sto’ - earth gang gentleman - fela kuti zombie - fela kuti tell me - ryli fax - d.r.a.m. fdt - yg
This summer, when I saw a picture of me standing amongst so many talented womyn, i felt like I belonged and stared until I didn’t anymore. People tell me I’m pretty but my family tells me I act like an alien. My mannerisms are strange and I don’t know how to stop myself from rambling about my obsessive thoughts repeatedly whenever I meet new people.. I think it scares them but I guess that’s ok.
Kassandra (K.) Piñero part 2
June and July were some of the happiest months of my life, but like everything I experience there’s always an emotional problem somewhere. My disdain for wypipo has been multiplied tenfold and I’m trying so hard not to let it take over my life but I also don’t care if it does. I Am Tired Of Looking At Them.
In June, La Liga invited Sula to table at their fundraiser. The day before I was supposed to go I caught an anxiety attack and almost bailed but I’m so glad I didn’t. I met Mari, Ana, Fefi, Jamie, Nicole, Sandra, Jenoris, and so many other PoC and my heart swells with love for them all. I hope they like me too. Sometimes I get worried that no one does because I can be so intense sometimes. I cried a lot that weekend in June but it felt so good and it was all so beautiful. These are the memories that will stay with me my whole life long.
Pura Sabrosura lasted until 3am. I sat outside with Robin because I was too shy to dance but the train ride to Fefi’s was peaceful. Everyone ate leftover tacos on the carpet and I fell in love with life again.
Lots of close friends showed up to the Sula Picnic in Central Park, the people who were there all got along so well and I was reminded how carefree life can be sometimes. That special feeling you get when you’re at peace with everything around you. NYC is part of that beauty even if the city is disappearing.
When I met Ana, I was in love with her up until the day she left. She’s beautiful and she’ll probably read this but I don’t think it will be weird because I don’t mean it in a weird way. Her soul was one of the brightest I have ever seen. She gave me a print out of an essay by bell hooks about love as an act of resistance and i felt this was fitting. I read it on the train ride back from the city. Sometimes I still think about her voice.
I don’t think I’ve ever consumed so much Arizona and cheesecake and dumplings in my life but I have no regrets about it. July came. Betty Zine Fest was amazing. I met more talented PoC and experienced an inclusive zine fest for the first time. I can’t explain it but I was happy again. It seems like the first time in my life that has been my default emotion. I can barely remember what has happened now. I regret not journaling about it but all I can think of is ZINES ZINES ZINES and how I want more of them. I have never been more against academia in my life than I am now and it’s because I see so many people I consider successful but they are not the mainstream definition of success. I hope to be like them one day. I guess I am on my way there. I spent time on the high line watching sunsets a few times this summer. there have been so many worth just standing around and watching. It reminds me of when I was in love but in a way that doesn’t make me feel sick anymore.
There is so much more I want to share. I just want to remember the feel of subways late at night and my aching feet and sore throat from hours of conversations and that day in the MET in June and the way the light hit everything so perfectly. The way the herb stores in chinatown smell. Mourning for a lost New York I’ll never get to live in because gentrification has stolen my home right from my hands. Almost crying on subway platforms. The fear I felt walking through Pride.
My long, veiny arms embracing the new people I love in hellos and goodbyes.
francine thompson
The scaffolding The punctured scaffolding hispunctured abdomen in hiseight abdomen different in eight places. different places. But her affliction But came her affliction in the form came of in a memory. the form of a memory. One that would One boil that herwould bloodboil deep her into blood her deep old age. into her old age.
jaime puente-tortorelli
She lets her pain Shegrow lets her until pain shegrow cannot until contain she cannot it. contain it. I tell her to beI more tell her like toabe water moremill. like a water mill. Flowing with Flowing healing and withpain healing in equal and pain portion. in equal portion.
issue 10 / july 2016
a zine for & by people of colo(u)r
sulacollective.com