SS 24 Vol. 25 OUT OF BOUNDS
MIRAGE: THE ELUSIVE IN-BETWEEN LINES ON A MAP: BORDERS DIVIDING HUMANITY WHO ARE WE, WHAT ARE WE DOING, WHERE ARE WE GOING DOLLGARDEN
Excerpt from “Lake Sprite” (page 66)
out of bounds
/aut-o(v)-baun(d)z/ adjective
(of a place) outside the limits of where one is permitted to be
Last fall/winter, we released our “Metamorphosis” issue where we celebrated rebirth and growth. We broke out of our shells and ventured away from familiarity and childhood, towards self-discovery in a new, ever-changing world. Last week, we hosted our fashion show “Mirage: The Elusive In-Between” in collaboration with the Loft. We found ourselves caught in the in-between of rebirth and true growth.
With “Out of Bounds,” we have reached our final potential: we know who we are, we aren’t afraid to speak out and disrupt the norm. Out of Bounds captures what it means to be different, to push the boundaries, and break out of them entirely. People who do so often are ostracized for their differences–and yet, they forge on anyway and revolutionize culture as we know it. Out of Bounds honors the artist’s past and celebrates the independent spirit, particularly how it relates to our generation.
With student movements across the nation protesting university complacency in genocide in Palestine, the concept of pushing boundaries has never been more poignant. It has become controversial to exercise freedom of speech and stand against human rights violations. On May 6, police in riot gear descended on the peaceful Gaza Solidarity Encampment stationed beside Library Walk, arresting over 40 students and using force against protestors. Students stand at odds with UC San Diego administration, with police, and even with general public opinion. We are reduced to radical disruptors–all for speaking out against war atrocities.
We are making history. People will look back one day and wonder what truly happened during the spring of 2024 and how we ever allowed students to be brutalized in the name of order and politics. Trend Magazine is proud to provide our spring issue as an archive for the student voice at such a monumental point in history.
In addition to capturing student activism, this issue also delves into the boundless quality of time, grief, and pain. We explore the nuances of Generation Z authenticity, the blur between dystopian and reality, the arbitrary quality of borders. We explore the unconventional, the unknown. We seek out the snippets that make each and every one of us human. We find ourselves in nature, in reconnecting with the earth.
As the academic year comes to a close, we marvel at how much Trend Magazine has grown–thanks to our incredible Trend team and all of our supporters along the way. None of this would be possible without you. Thank you for your vulnerability and your willingness to engage in a creative space. Thank you for your tireless commitment to art and preservation of our artistic space at UC San Diego.
As your editors-in-chiefs, we are so proud of our team and this art collective we have built together. This community and this magazine has truly been the highlight of our time at UC San Diego. Thank you for bringing your visions to life. Although it feels bittersweet to move on, we cannot wait to see what comes next. Push boundaries. Reject conformity. Be the change you hope to see in the world.
EDITORS-IN-CHIEF
Gianina Fan
Vince Hilahan
EXTERNAL
Maggie Blaisdell
Ryan Freudiger
Diane Ji
Niko Perez
Nimisha Singh
Yuehan Xiong
GRAPHIC DESIGN
Renee Agatep
Jackie D’Amato
Jaime Hayer
Isabelle Liang
Ashley Nguyen
Varsha Sampath
Sandy Nguyenphuoc
MARKETING
Dilan Adhikari
Emma Burward-Kunde
Antonella Crawley
Leanna Gower
Yu Ishii
Reece Kelly
Jasleen Sahota
Ishani Solanki
PHOTO
William Doan
Sabina Jozwik
Laura Liang
Maya Rosado
Tiffany Shao
Aidan Sidikpramana
Eva Zheng
Mia Elliott
Natalie Marrewa
Venice Poggi
Hayley Simpson
Evan Wang
WEB DEV
Mateo Ignacio
Uyen Tran
Ann Yang
WRITING
Alexandra Citra
Grace Morton
Samantha Phan
Ryan Pocinich
Merav Price
Sophia Regier
Chloe Soribello
Yalini Thillaikumaran
Borders.
The word can mean many different things. Sometimes, when I am painting with light brushstrokes, I feel the need to separate the splashes of different colors and shapes with a black line. In art, borders have a palpable effect—when it comes to realism, it introduces a sort of harshness, making the piece less realistic. After all, real life does not have borders; fruit is one with the bowl it sits in, a river blends seamlessly into its bank. Borders take out the nuance in realism, replacing grays, lights, and shadows with blocks of color. I find that this phenomenon can be used to observe borders in other situations. They remove the naturally occurring transition—instead placing an artificial wall in between two things that are meant to touch. I implore us all to ask: how and when were the borders that surround and control our lives created? And what purpose do they serve?
As a child, I was fascinated with geography. I loved looking at atlases or globes and memorizing the names of different countries. During road trips, I would insist for my parents to wake me up when we crossed the California border. I simply took for granted the strange, arbitrary shapes that we live in. The 2016 presidential election then changed my sentiment completely. When Donald Trump championed his border wall, I quickly realized that national borders are neither arbitrary nor inconsequential. That line meant something- that I had been born on the north side meant everything. It meant that I did not
have to risk my life trying to climb barbed wire fences; that I did not have to travel in the dead of night to avoid border patrol snipers; that I did not have to leave my home and everything I know behind for mine and my loved ones’ safety. These borders have a strong effect on the psyche of the American people—we often feel removed from the rest of the world, even those who are a mere 100 miles to our south. Residents of San Diego often feel more connected to folks in Kentucky than we do to folks in Tijuana. Why? Is it due to the simple fact that we share a passport?
American isolationism is a very real problem—our culture prioritizes individualism and has a history of discouraging collective action, mutual aid, and community as a whole. “Pull yourself up by your bootstraps!”
“However, we must not forget that there are names and faces behind every new statistic. Each person killed has a family and friends; goals and aspirations.”
American exceptionalism ensures that the average citizen, no matter how desolate, impoverished, or injusticed they may be, holds a certain pride in being American. And that may be the reason why our populace suffers so much from this false sense of superiority: a combination of bravado, ignorance, and false comfort. Since October 7, 2023, the
world as we know it has shifted. Pro-Palestine advocates tried for years to talk about the plight of the Palestinian people—to which most people would respond with feigned ignorance, real ignorance, or straight indifference. That has all changed completely in the last months. Due to the extensive protests on college campuses and in most major cities, practically everyone is aware of the war between Israel and Hamas and the now 8-month long genocide of the Palestinian people. However, I have still seen many people ask: why bother getting involved in an international conflict happening thousands of miles away? Why should we care?
It is easy to be desensitized to violence. We are so used to it: police violence, border violence, gang violence, domestic violence. However, we must not forget that there are names and faces behind every new statistic. Each person killed has a family and friends; goals and aspirations. On May 26, 2024, Israel bombed a tent camp in Rafah, a city in Palestine bordering Egypt. Refugees were forced onto the border, being led to think that Rafah was a safe zone from the war. However, all land crossings through Rafah are being entirely controlled by Israel at the moment. It is incredibly difficult and expensive for Palestinian civilians to escape the warzone. Mohammad Al-Haila, 35, was on his way to buy goods from a local market when the bombing occurred. Haila, being displaced from Gaza, told the Washington Post: “It felt like my body was freezing from fear… We were not able to identify them until this
morning because of the charred bodies. The faces were eroded, and the features were completely disappeared.”
Haila lost seven relatives- four of which were children.
Ahmed Al- Rahl, 30, was preparing for bed with his family when the attack happened. “No one knew what to do. Children who were with their families in those tents rushed to us, asking us to save their parents who were burning… I didn’t know what to do to help people as they burned,” he said. He saw “dismembered bodies, charred bodies, children without heads, bodies as if they had melted.”
The borders put in place by our word leaders are not serving the people they keep inside. Palestinian refugees have nowhere to go, and the borders controlling their lives are actively endangering them. Mexican refugees are being detained at the southern U.S. border, separated from their families and at the mercy of border patrol. It is important for us, as Americans, to look beyond the political borders that control our movement. Any one of us could be born in Gaza- we were just lucky to be born within the ‘right’ borders. We must look to preserve our connection with humanity, regardless of which nation we belong to.
photography
MAYA ROSADO stylist
MIA ELLIOTT
model
Writing by Gianina Fan
I’m getting older. Soon I’ll cross the stage and close the chapter that has been my last four years at university. It’s ter rifying. It’s exhilarating. What’s to come?
It’s a fickle thing, this life we live–all a game of chance. You’re you because of the merging of two particular gametes out of a million different possibilities. And your parents met under chance circumstanc es; maybe they grew up in the same town, or maybe they sat next to each other in a uni versity they both happened to attend at the same time. Maybe they passed each other on a train.
Now that I have this life…what do I do with it? It’s slipping away from me at every moment. I’m not who I was a year ago. Not who I was a month ago, a minute ago.
It drives you crazy, getting old.
Who I am today in this moment is shaped not only by my experiences but by the people who have passed through my life. No matter if we have known each other all our lives or if our sleeves brushed on the street. I am a jigsaw puzzle of all that came be fore. My mother gave me an artist’s touch. My father gave me willpower. My sister gave me my favorite color, blue. Cyrus gave me a love for the make-believe, for storytell ing. Nicki gave me an affinity for oranges. (I love you. I’m glad I exist.)
I miss yesterday. I miss sliding in the muddy grass of my middle school field in my bare socks with Cyrus in the rain. I miss sitting in grocery store parking lots tear ing apart a baguette with Lilly and Audrey. I miss cramming into Sophia’s first-year dorm to listen to Olivia Rodrigo’s debut album ‘Sour’ and sending voice note ratings to Natalie. Our favorites were ‘deja vu’ and ‘jealousy jealousy.’ I miss trying to get Cher Lloyd’s “Want U Back” on Sandy’s Spotify Wrapped by queuing it every possible moment she gave us aux.
I miss the bleary midnight to 4am moving adventure into our suburbia home at the
end of our second year. We stayed out so late we got Mcdonald’s breakfast to end the night. I miss the delirium of returning to our campus apartment for one last night, only to realize we were locked out. A boy we encountered at the main door climbed into the building and let us in. I miss the warm smell of incense that marked our first night in our new home the next day.
I miss building gingerbread houses that just would not stay upright with Natalie, then again a year later with Ana (our infrastructure improved the second time around). I miss sitting on the floor of the bathroom the early morning of my 21st birthday–having just thrown up and trying to play it coy–with Sophia, Marlene, and Natalie huddled around me. Fernando took a picture–it’s one of my most favorite photos.
This house holds so many memories. How do I let go?
It drives you crazy, getting old.
I miss yesterdayt. But I also miss right now. How I feel in this very nanosecond–I’ll never feel again. I feel an intense longing for the present–but how can that be if I’m living it? How will I ever truly live in the moment if I fear its impermanence?
That’s the thing about time. It is always passing, unbound by any forces of nature. I fear its loss, I fear my time running up any day now. I keep mental snapshots with pure desperation, but that won’t last forever. I can’t remember what I ate for breakfast, or what I wore yesterday. But time is the one constant in my life and yours–and maybe that’s comforting.
I’m getting older. And I forget that my parents are too. How can I forget that with every milestone, they reach one too? That I have all my life ahead of me and theirs is winding down? We are all living this life for the first time together and what a precious thing to hold onto and never let go.
It drives you crazy, getting old.
photography EVA ZHENG
styling VENICE POGGI
makeup ISHANI SOLANKI
model CELINE MOON
昔, 寒い国に茂作と美濃吉という, きこりの親子が住んでいました。ある寒い雪の日, 二 人は山へ行って木を切っていましたが, いつのまにか, すっかり吹雪になってしまいまし た。仕方なく, 二人は近くにあった小さな 小屋に泊まって, 吹雪がおさまるのを待ってい ましたが, いつまで たってもおさまりません。とうとう, 夜になってしまい二人はすっかり 眠り込んでしまいました。どのくらい時間がたったでしょうか。むすこの美濃吉は, あまり の寒さに目をさましました。外は, まだ吹雪で, 風がごーごーとなっています。小屋の戸 がはずれて外の雪が吹き込んでいます。すると, そのとき, 真っ白な着物を着た, 色の白 い美しい女 がすーっと中に入ってきました。女は, お父さんの茂作の上にかが むと, ふ ーっと白い息を吹きかけました。すると, あっという間にお父さんの体は, 白くこおりつい て, 眠ったまま死んでしまいました。美濃吉は, 心の中で”雪女だ!”と思いました。雪の降
る寒い夜に, 人を凍 え死にさせるという恐ろしい雪女です。美濃 吉は, 逃げようと思いましたが, 体が動きません。雪女は, 美濃吉 に近づいて, その顔をじっとのぞきこんでいましたが, こう言いま
した。”お前は, 美しい顔をしている。まだ若いし, 助けてあげよ う。ただし, 今夜 のことは, けっして誰にも話してはいけない。” 雪女は, 静かに雪の中に消えていきました。美濃吉は, そのまま 気を失ってしまいました。朝, 目が覚めると, お父さん は隣で死んでいました。美濃吉は, ひとりで暮らすよう になりましたが, 雪女の話は, 誰にもしませんでした。
それから, 一年たったある冬の日, 美濃吉の家に美しい女がや ってきて, こう言いいました。”雪で困っています。どうか一晩だ け泊めてください。”美濃吉は, かわいそうに思い, 泊めてあげま した。その女は, お雪という名でした。話しているうちに, 美濃吉 は, お雪がすっかり気に入ってしまい, 夫婦になることにしまし た。何年かたち, 二人の間にかわいい子供も生まれました。ある 冬の夜, 美濃吉は, そばに座っているお雪の横顔を見ながら, ふ と昔のことを思い出しました。”お雪, わしはお前によく似た美し
い女に会ったことがある。”
お雪は, 顔を上げて美濃吉 の顔を見てたずねました。”
どこでその人にあったので すか?””あれは, 何年も前の ことだ。山で吹雪 にあって, 一晩小屋に泊まったことが あるのだ。そのとき, 雪女に あったんだ, そうだお前は その雪女にそっくりだ。”す
ると, お雪は, 悲しそうな顔 で, こう言いました。”どうし て話してしまったのですか。
雪女に会ったことは, 誰にも言って はいけないといったではありませんか。”お雪 は, すっと立ち上がりました。”どうして, 知っているんだお雪。まさか, お前は...” お雪は, あのときの雪女に変わって いました。”そうです。私は, あのときの雪女で す。もうあなたと一緒にくらすことは出来ません。”そして, 静かに戸をあけて, 雪 の中に消えていきました。”待ってくれ, お雪, ゆるしてくれ。”雪の中から, お雪の 声だけが聞こえてきました。”あなたのことは, 忘れません。子供のことを頼みま す。さようなら。”美濃吉は, 外に飛び出し, 雪の中を探 しましたが, お雪の姿はど こにも見当たりませんでした。ただ, 白い雪が降り続くばかりでした。おしまい。
Today, I awoke with blood on my sheets and I remember Eve’s curse. I drag myself out and strip down my bed while I think of the Serpent whispering in her ear. I run soap and cold water over the spot and imagine her reaching for the fruit.
I go downstairs to start a load of laundry that I hadn’t planned on doing today as she takes a bite of the forbidden. I’m sitting quietly with a cup of coffee that has gone cold and a half-eaten bowl of cereal, picturing the scene that I have heard about so many times.
I remember drawing on coloring pages on a Sunday morning so many years ago while a kind volunteer spoke to me and the others in our little plastic chairs, warning us of the Fall of humanity. I remember wondering how one thing must have led to another and how their mistake could have anything to do with me.
I don’t wonder about these same things anymore. These days I feel I understand Eve, or at least better than before. Now I think about what that fruit must have tasted like.
To eat from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil must have been a delicious endeavor. She could not have felt fear, after all, how can a woman who has only lived in a land without sin truly understand the consequences that her actions would have?
We often blame her for our pain without stopping to consider hers. She must have felt so betrayed. She had no reason to doubt the Serpent’s words because she had no understanding of truth. Trust is a funny thing: you often don’t realize you had it until someone has broken it.
Then you are left to feel foolish and alone, picking up the pieces of your mistake. I wonder if she carried that guilt with her, if she lay awake at night sometimes wishing she had just done things differently.
Would she have still taken the fruit?
Perhaps the pains we carry on earth are what make it so beautiful.
Maybe she inadvertently made the right choice after all.
Maybe this was always supposed to work out this way.
photography
stylist
HAYLEY SIMPSON model
WILLIAM DOAN
models (top left, right)
models (left to right) BRANDON TRAN TAMANNA SREENAGESH
model
models (left to right)
VIVIANA ESPINO
Excerpt from
Catalog Shoots” (page 96)