Minature Dioramas Stella Lei

This piece contains sensitive topics: - Suicidal Thoughts

The Art of Derealization

t is the feeling of floating but falling where all your anxiety is caught in your chest but you are somehow watching yourself. It is the idea that every action you have taken every word you have ever spoken every thing you have ever written is meaningless. It is ripping out pages in blank notebooks because the ink won’t run the ripping your hair out because it gets on the sink the ripping clothes off the rack because nothing feels good anymore. It is the thoughts of jumping the thoughts of running the thoughts of pinching the thoughts of eating. You are not yourself, you are everything and everyone but that. How can you be an individual when someone has felt exactly how you have and written about it better? When you are never the best at something but never the worst but not bad enough to be with the worst but not good enough to be with the best. You never know it is happening but you see the signs. Hating what you love and having days that are bad for no reason and feeling nothing. But you say maybe it isn’t that this time maybe it’s just a bad day maybe it has gone away for good and you’ll never feel it again. And then you wake up one day and that feeling is gone and the hurt and pain come back and even though you know to feel is better than to not the not is so much easier. Even though you wanted to die at least it distracted from the living.

Student Silence (Advice from a Teacher)

Olivia Chu

Make noise, be loud, bold, let your voice be heard; don’t be a wallflower, we have enough of those already, the world needs leaders; you are soft spoken, don’t let dismissal by others of your quiet tone discourage you; yell if you have to, if it’s what it takes for your voice to be heard by others; you have things to say, so say them; But what if I’m uncertain of what to say; speak with an open mind, listen to others, their words are just as important; look for your future, find it, start to live it; I’m a bit young to be thinking so far ahead, aren’t I, the future isn’t your adulthood, it’s what you make of yourself, now, in the future, and a revival of your past; find people you can rely on, and who can rely on you; be sure of yourself, don’t let others tell you you’re wrong without giving you the chance to speak; you have many things to say, so say them, do not be afraid, But I am afraid; and so what? say it anyways; women are far too often dismissed without a chance of voice, of heart, especially of mind; do not let them make this of you too, do not become another single narrative for them to write in their cis, het, white, rich, male, history textbooks; make some noise; make sure that if any page in that history book pertain to you, it will not be about your silence; I won’t.

HangmanHangman Kyle Hoang Charcoal

They started laughing over something. Something that I couldn’t see nor wanted to see. Something so… small. The But never smaller than how I felt whenever I walked into the game room. Big people, big noises, big laughter, Game cries of victory and groans of failure. The crowd around the pool table could intimidate any outsider, especially those without an assigned place Room in any of the gatherings. My shoulders were hunched, curled inward to my chest, my phone held in a tight grip, arms clung to my sides. I awkwardly shuffled at the sidelines, unsure of where to stand, unsure of the facial expression to make, unsure of how to act. Yet every time she looked at me, I mustered a smile. Faded pink hair, cut at shoulder length. A vibrant shirt tucked into black boyfriend jeans. She was a part of the game, one of the rising players. As they cheered for her, she didn’t blush, just smiled modestly. Blue eyes met mine as she got closer to victory. No one ever spoke over her. The laughter bounced off the walls. The air reeked of it. I didn’t want to laugh, I had to, though. I was a part of the crowd no matter what. I laughed, and she looked at me briefly. I laughed almost as long as they did. My smile quivered, but I continued because my friend across the table smiled brightly. And I’ll be happy for them. Even though I can’t be happy for myself. Jordan Jacoel