UNC S REN
Spring 2018
About the Cover Hannah Krówka is the photographer of the photos used on the cover as well as the professional photos of the Scheme Team on the following pages. She is a senior at UNC with an Anthropology major and minors in Medical Anthropology and Theater Design. She’s also a major health nerd and hopes to pursue joint degrees in both Public Health and some form of clinical medicine. When she’s not hanging lights at Playmakers Repertory Company, she’s outside somewhere taking pictures of the beautiful and glowing people around her and exhaustively commenting on the inevitable beauty of the sky/ lighting/ moon.
Carley West drew the Siren home-inspired image on the cover. Here is what she has to say about her inspiration: My cover art came from my difficulty and desire to define what “home” meant to me. I knew that I wanted to focus our cover art on the feminist fist symbol because it can be so empowering and it is so on brand for The Siren, but I wanted to really play with it and try to represent many ideas of home. I started by sketching some common household items like potted plants and toiletries, because these things are pretty common for us all. When I was trying to decide what home meant to me, I kept coming back to my grandmother’s kitchen. I grew up in my grandparents’ house, and a lot of time was spent in my southern grandmother’s kitchen. Images of kitchen wares went into the design to represent these traditional ideas of the home. Then I began to think of what home meant to me now, and how I would begin to create a home for myself after graduation. I included more technology, beer and wine, and cosmetics to represent my need for a space of self-care. I also wanted to include the vibrators as representation of the home as a place for safe sexual expression, something that I am very passionate about. The various pride flags included were for the symbolic home created by being open and accepting of everyone in the LGBTQ+ community. To me, home is about comfort; somewhere you can go and be unashamed and inspired. It can be a physical place or a community, real or imagined. I wanted to create a cover that was very “home” to me but might also be relatable for readers who are still trying to decide what home is for them.
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The
Home
Issue
Cover Info 1
Banderas y Fronteras 17
Letter From the Scheme Team 3
c.w. poem 21
Magazine Contributors 5
Home is Where the Heart is and Family is in the Heart Too 22
e. h. poetry collection 7 a queer southerner 8 excerpts from salt: the essence. 9 The Best of Both Worlds 13 o.n. assorted poems 15 Home Isn’t With You 16
l.b. poem 23 Homesickness 24
What We... Are Reading 26
Are Listening To 27 Have Got Our Eyes On 29
pc: Hannah KrĂłwka
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Siren Scheme Team 2017-18 Dear Reader, What a whirlwind of a year it has been, politically, personally, globally, and within our homes and communities. From Beyoncé’s recent unapologetically black Coachella performance to the #MeToo movement making waves in the media and the courtroom (@ Cosby’s recent guilty verdict of sexual assault), these past few months have been a storm of emotions. While discussing possible themes for this issue, we kept coming back around to ideas and concepts of home: what is a home, who makes up a home, can we choose our homes, is home where we feel safest? Is it a place, or a people, or both? With these questions in mind, we started writing in an attempt to begin to search for an answer to where our own personal homes are. With this sentiment in mind, we hope that you enjoy our collection of essays and poems that we have written for you. With much love and solidarity, The Siren Scheme Team April 2018
Emily Hagstrom is a fourth-year Politcal Science and Public Policy double major with a minor in Women’s and Gender Studies. She is Siren’s Senior Print Editor. She has spent time working with the Carolina Women’s Center, Women AdvaNCe, the Orange County Rape Crisis Center, the National Women’s Law Center, and the Feminist Majority.
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bruna lima; poeticamenteflor
Rachel Maguire is a fourth-year Psychology and Women’s and Gender Studies double major at UNC with a minor in Latina/o Studies. She has been with Siren for the past three years, and currently serves as the Design Editor. A content creator, designer, and advocate for all things queer and feminist, Rachel has dedicated her time in college to violence prevention and response and making spaces online and on UNC’s campus more beautiful, representative, safe, and supportive, She aspires to become an advocate for survivors of sexual violence post-graduation.
Olivia Neal, Siren’s Content and Style Editor, is from Greensboro, NC, and recently transferred to UNC from NYU. She is a double major in English and Women’s and Gender Studies and a Creative Writing minor. Her academic interests lie at the intersection of language and activism, and in how we can use creative arts to advance a greater good and share our stories. Olivia wrote and self-published a book of poetry last year, titled dial tone season, available for purchase on Amazon, and would like to publish more books in the future, both fiction and poetry. She is also interested in reading queer fiction, specifically in the young adult genre. She got her start in writing by competing in poetry slams at local music festivals, and she has a passion for celebrations of art and community. She will be the Print Editor at The Siren for the 2018-2019 school year and is excited to share her love of writing and feminism with anyone on campus who’s interested.
Alina Sichevaya (UNC ’20) is Siren’s current and incoming treasurer. They are an economics and strategic communications double major, and when they graduate, they want to put their skills to use working for feminist activist groups. Alina is a writer and contributes to Siren’s online blog by analyzing pop culure through a feminist lens. When they’re not studying, they can be found playing video games, reading, or trying to finish a story for once.
Allory Bors, Siren’s Community Builder, is a graduating Public Policy and Women’s and Gender Studies major. They are interested in pursuing work that destabilizes oppressive structures by valuing community over alienation, lived experience over disembodied knowledge, and accountability over apathy. They enjoy carefully made playlists, heart to hearts, thinking about their queer ancestors, and overusing the word “nuance.”
pc: Hannah Krówka
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Magazine Contributors Jinna Hatfield (The Best of Both Worlds, page 13) is a sophomore Public Policy and Women’s & Gender Studies double major. She identifies as a mixedrace woman with Chinese and European roots. Jinna is a part of MASH Club [Mixed AAPI Students’ Heritage Club] which strives to promote interest and awareness about diverse mixed Asian and/or Pacific Islander experiences and multiculturalism. She also has performed and choreographed tap numbers with Carolina Tap Ensemble and Blank Canvas Dance Company.
Laura Brady (poem, page 23) is a senior at UNC majoring in English with both an Education and Women’s and Gender Studies minor.
Carley West (various art & poem, page 21) is a senior at UNC graduating with a Biology major and a Studio Art minor. Romantic and dangerous like a scented candle.
Can be found drowning in a carton of Extreme Moose Tracks with one hand in a tub of Utz Cheese Balls.
Angel (Home is Where the Heart is and Family is in the Heart Too, page 22) is Black and Haliwa-Saponi from a rural area in NC and they love writing and music! They are a first-year majoring in Computer Science with a minor in Italian.
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carley west
Caroline Farrell (glass woman, page 16) is a sophomore studying advertising and studio art at UNC. She loves watching movies, taking art classes and being an intersectional feminist.
Eesim Oon (Banderas y Fronteras, page 17) is a UNC Class of 2016 graduate currently residing in Madrid, Spain. Aside from studying languages, cultural identities, and public health, she also spends her time modeling, watching professional soccer, and wrangling small humans.
Jennifer Na (the salt; sister poems page 9)is a junior nursing major with minors in Anthropology and Food Studies (official in Fall 2018). When she’s not running her food insta, @jennifeats, she can be found fighting for reproductive and criminal justice.
Senior. Sarcastic. Sunshine. Self-love. Samba. Elle Kehres (Home Isn’t With You, page 16)is a senior broadcast journalism major, born on Guam and raised in L.A. She preaches mental health advocacy, dreams of one day owning her own greyhound and is happiest at the beach with a good book. bruna lima; poeticamenteflor
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Summer sunshine moves me forward Heavy February breeze Stare up and close my eyes Involuntarily moving with the Heat Coursing its way South Focus on Purple House Ridges that look like night lights Writing poems On garbage cans And the back of crumpled receipts I dare you to take A bite out of This This Country they don’t call Country I call Home
Sitting with something so long I think I can only grow to hate it I have only seen love spoil with age
e.h. pc: Hannah KrĂłwka
a queer southerner Rachel Maguire I exist at many borders. PAST:
I was Catholic but not spiritual. I was an atheist and rejected spirituality,
FUTURE: I am an atheist and am reclaiming and rediscovering my own spiritual self. I am bisexual, a sexuality that has been spurned by both the straight and queer community I have learned to love my sexuality despite this I am queer and Southern. This one’s a doozy. I rejected my Southern roots for so long, never imagining who I am could exist within the South, but my roots extend deeply into North Carolina. I now embrace my roots. I am here and queer and Southern And hateful southerners cannot deny me my identity any longer I was raised on religion and sweet tea just as much as my homophobic neighbors I am a southern soul borne from a Northerner and a midWesterner trying to figure out for myself what it means to have a Southern identity pc: Elise Holsonback
excerpts from salt: the essence., a collection by JYN (she/her/hers) cw: disordered eating, sexual assault
TABLE OF CONTENTS dumpling 10 messages from the group chat, “sista sista *sista�
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tue 12
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dumpling home is the smell of Sunday afternoon dumplings (that made the neighborhood stink) the sound of wooden rolling pins clanking against the floured surface of a worn cutting board scored with emphatic cleavesExcavate this artifact and you’ll find the lived history - of family meals and arguments each indentation a trough, channels for water to flow, for flour to mingle in the crevices- of new and old creations an heirloom - like a white household’s cast iron - seasoned (but actually) with each use the power of the knife often yields discipline and destruction, many artifacts destroyed by conflict and resolution through a WHACK, and thus, crack. But today - today this board is used as a surface For compressing rounds of dough into circles so thin to be Stuffed a jiaozi bursting at the seams Translucent wrapper teasing glimpses of the masterfully concocted substance beneath the meticulously crimped dough - elastic skin holding it all in secrets - recipes and scandals and trauma dipped, dressed, drenched - in black vinegar and chili oil and garlic Pungent - marred by manipulations of assimilation and expression - and assaults that my hair is ugly, too fat, not quite, and my no doesn’t matter You can fill me with chives or lies but Life - like a jiaozi I give life, take caution as you bite - steaming innards give way to tantalizing tastes of my complexity and resilience as my juices dribble down your chin try as you might, you can’t wipe me away like a bad aftertaste - I linger and of your 10,000 tastebuds- which do I activate? sweet, sour, bitter, salty - or the ever-elusive umami? or rather- do i scald your tongue and render them all useless? I wonder if I am to anyone Home
carley west
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messages from the group chat, “sista sista *sista” I asked [sister 2] if I could write about how she taught me how to insert a tampon followed by, “Yikes well I currently don’t have anything else written” “will I be inspired by then? or will I have to resort to reading my poem about jiaozi?” [sister 1] so graciously replied, “Inspiration will come your way” “Like the wind, it always flows” to which [sister 2] replied, “Just like the blood from [name]’s period” from diapers to feminine hygiene products to first drunk snapchats received make believe adventures in the backyard, road trips to Disney and more recently, Airbnb or farewells to Dubai, reunions in chapel hill and many meal stops in-between this friendship is - confession, consolation, congratulations, counseling through trauma and illness and frustration over the state of things [sister 1] often says, “I’d die for you” but for them, I’d live
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bruna lima; poeticamenteflor
carley west
tue Dear mom and dad I’m sorry - for FaceTiming you - at 11 pm … on a Tuesday just to say “I’m telling this to you because I love you- but IM SOOOO FUCKING DRUNK RIGHT NOW” Dear mom: thank you for saying “Don’t drink. Be safe. Go to sleep.” while dad chuckled in the background. I took your advice - well, One mixed drink with 2 shots of vodka (triple distilled), pomegranate juice (bc the internet said the antioxidants would prevent a hangover) and watermelon Perrier - 1 Uber with a Lady driver (IM OKAY I PROMISE WE’LL BE SAFE- ITS A LADY DRIVER!!!! AND HER NAME IS LADY- true story - I tipped her well and gave her 5 stars after) - many drunken selfies - one embarrassing FaceTime countless should’ve never been said texts to the right person in the wrong state of mind - many episodes of projectile vomiting (IT TASTES LIKE SUTTON’s HOTDOGS!!!! COMT INHIBITORS CAUSE ORANGE URINE. MY VOMIT LOOKS LIKE THAT!!! I DONT FEEL ANNYYYY NEUROPATHIC PAIN) and yet ANOTHER drunken text to the aforementioned person in response to him expressing concern for me vomiting: “I’m fine lol tbt to when I was bulimic!!!!” a change of pants - a graciously given car ride by the birthday girl back to my dorm - and 3 flights of stairs later - I went to sleep. AND woke up at 7 am to drive back to Charlotte which took 5 hours because I stopped at 4 gas stations to vomit and nap - oh and I’m sure this would make you proud, it was pretty impressive - vomiting into a Harris Teeter bag lined Lazy 5 Ranch bucket while driving 80 on the freeway - eyes glued to the road nostrils burning from how the hell did that become an orifice ??? so I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m sorry I didn’t turn out like you expected But I’m grateful that you’ve been there to support me- and be at home 200 miles away - ready and armed with Gatorade and a freshly made bed and a recycled lecture And parents: I thank you for giving me the space to fuck up - and I know I already texted this in the family group message but I’ll regurgitate it for good measure: “So I have learned an important lesson After vomiting 3 times last night and 6 today, I am never going to get drunk again” to which my mother responded “Good.” “Are you ok now?” yes - yes I am.
carley west
bruna lima; poeticamenteflor
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The Best of Both Worlds Jinna Hatfield
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art: Madi Whalen
As I look around the room in many of my Women’s and Gender Studies classes at UNC, I often notice how few women of color are present, especially Asian-American and Pacific Islander (AAPI) women. This concerns me, because I believe that AAPI women have much to contribute to feminist discourse. Our experiences living in the United States of America highlight interconnections between racism and sexism. By coming together to share our stories, we validate each other’s narratives and educate people outside of our communities. When we speak out about the challenges we have faced, we contribute to making the movement more intersectional.
When I look back on my own childhood, I realize just how significant a role stereotypes played in shaping my identity. As one of the few students who was not 100% white at my school, I stood out for being mixed-race and having an Asian parent. Being halfwhite, half-Chinese, adults would often tell me how lucky I was. Having traveled to China multiple times, understanding Mandarin, and possessing multiracial features, they’d often say things like, “You’re the best of both worlds”. But it never felt that way…especially when I overheard classmates mocking the shape of my eyes, or making fun of the way my lunch smelled, stating that I had only done well in school because As I look around the room in many or of my Asian ancestry. I often felt like the “token Asian of my Women’s and Gender Studies girl,” and thus, the target of negative stereotypes that predominantly white classmates had about Asian classes at UNC, I often notice how my people. As a young girl who desperately wanted to few women of color are present, es- fit in, I began to internalize the negative views of my peers. Though my family constantly remindpecially Asian-American and Pacific white ed me that I was just as “American” as any of the other kids at school, nothing changed my feelings Islander (AAPI) women. of alienation. It seemed as though being Asian and The label “model minority” has often been used as a blan- being American simply could not co-exist together. ket, obscuring the many challenges Asian-American com- My Chinese ancestry always seemed to categorize me munities face in the United States. It claims that we should as different from my peers, and as a result, became be thankful for being so successful, that we are lucky to something that I felt ashamed about. have done so well in a United States that was never meant Adults would often tell me how for us. Not only does the label make invisible the financial disparity present in the Asian-American community, it lucky I was...understanding Manhas also been used to justify racist slurs and other forms of darin, possessing multiracial feaanimosity directed at Asian-American people. For those of us with parents who immigrated from Asian and Pacific Island countries, we face the challenge of living in a nation that appropriates certain aspects of our parent’s cultures, while looking down on us for being “too foreign.” There is the difficulty of finding strong, well-rounded Asian-American and Pacific Islander women in movies, television, and other forms of media. It’s even harder to find characters who are not fetishized or sexualized. There are the constant stereotypes pertaining to how AAPI people are supposed to look, what we’re supposed to wear, what we’re supposed to eat, who we’re supposed to be in relationships with, and what jobs we are supposed to do. The label “Asian” and the stereotypes that go along with it often hide the wide diversity of cultures that exist in Asia. As a result, it can be confusing to know exactly what being “Asian-American” means in the United States of America. Photo of Jinna taken at Arashiyama (Storm Mountain) - a district on the western outskirts of Kyoto, Japan, New Years 2018.
tures, they’d often say things like, “You’re the best of both worlds”. But it never felt that way…
It has taken me a long to time to finally feel proud of my identity as a mixed-race Asian-American woman. I have learned to cherish and respect aspects of myself that I had ignored for much of my childhood. I have learned to replace shame with empowerment. We need more AAPI women sharing their stories, bringing their experiences to feminist organizing and advocacy. Using the perspectives that we carry, we can help break down racism, sexism, and other forms of oppression in our homes, communities, and our country. This is a call to all of the Asian-American and Pacific Islander women out there who desire change; your voices are valuable and they deserve to be heard.
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assorted poems by Olivia Neal roots & branches I may be grown but it still takes a village to raise me right. somebody’s still gotta pick me up, wrap me in cloth and teach me how to breathe. how big do you have to be before you can stand up without a hundred hands keeping you steady? if there is such an age I haven’t reached it yet.
this is the good poem. the one where the floodwaters recede back from the riverbank and the children play in the mud and we watch them steal back their tangerine smiles. we lay our wet cloth on baking grass and steam rises from the slow waters. we fix our broken chairs and our leaking roofs and we fix each other. this is the poem where we lay down the heavy baskets full of what the storm clouds left behind. so much grows on wet soil that we can’t tell where the river rose to that summer and soon nobody remembers that it rose at all. we harvest rice and berries and we eat until our fingers are stained red and we wade back into the river to wash them. we don’t fear it anymore. at night we take a rough stone and scrape through weeks of sorrow until our skin is new again.
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home isn’t with you elle kehres For as long as I can remember, my Mom has always put an emphasis on family. “Home is where two or more of us are gathered,” she said. There is nothing more important. I find that kind of ironic considering she flew 6,086 miles across the Pacific to live away from her family for 18 years. But she had my father, and there were two of them—so I guess she was still home. Eventually, my mother’s family grew to include my brother and I. And the four of us rattled around our house singing our own praises. But you see, my family doesn’t tend to stay in one place for very long. Some call it “adventurous.” I call it “restless.” We moved as a family around the globe from Guam to California but, as my brother and I grew older, we began drifting apart. College and work and restless feet happened. So where exactly is “home” when I’ve split off from my parents? From my brother? From my extended family? Is it wherever my parents are—as there are still two of them gathered together? But, I can’t stop thinking about how unreliable that is. Basing one’s feeling of home on the hopes that a couple will stay together—keeping that physical home intact. How do you define a home when you never stop wandering? When your bed is never the same? The pillows that cradle your face so unfamiliar. When sometimes you wake up in the middle of the night and can’t remember where you are? Lost in the different streets left with the same stark feeling. A never-ending déjà vu. When family isn’t always the most reliable?
glass woman; caroline farrell
I turn to friends most of the time. But even then they change like the seasons—coming and going like the cars that pass me by on these lonely highways. Growing cold like the cup of tea I never can seem to drink in time. Yet, there is something to be said for this cacophony of friendship. For the never-ending trail of people drifting in and out and in and out of your life time and time again. Strengthening your vagabond family—having someone to wander with, if only for a fleeting moment. It’s almost peaceful in a way. It’s taught me how to roll with the punches—build my family from the ground up—spread my branches and learn to change with the seasons. So, I’m sorry Mom. Home for me is not with you, nor where our house stands, nor where I find myself dreaming at night. For me, my home lies with the ocean. With her rolling tides and tranquil blues, she’s been a constant presence since the day I was born. And as the people in my life remain in a constant state of ebb and flow, so does the ocean. It’s soothing—grounding. Maybe it’s an island thing. Growing up on the water tends to leave its’ mark. So when I find myself in a new place, near or far to where I was before, I know I can always look to the sea to find my true home— One that has always lain within myself. And while I may not always find myself near enough to taste her salt on my tongue or feel her winds sweep across my cheeks, I always carry her in my heart. Or in the words that will forever tattoo my side: We all come from the sea, but we are not all of the sea. Those of us who are, we children of the tides, must return to it again and again, until the day we don’t come back leaving behind only that which was touched along the way. And I know—I know—I will always come running home to her again.
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Banderas y Fronteras [Flags and Borders] Eesim Oon
“I Pledge Allegiance, to the flag of the United States of America” The Super Bowl, The World Cup, the Olympics, military parades—all days we proudly fly our flags and sing our national anthems as proud progeny of our nation. But what does it really mean to be “the republic for which it stands”? Can one flag, one national dress, really cover us all? Both first generation Asian American immigrants, Gene Kim and I are both committed sports fans. Sports, an aspect of culture often very closely tied to national identity, has often forced both of us to evaluate national symbols and identities and just how well they really represent us. Born in Malaysia, raised in North Carolina, and currently living in Spain, I certainly had a wide variety of flags and symbols to choose from. Gene and I decided to see if we would be able to use national symbols to patchwork our identities, editorial style.
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Born in the island town of Penang, Malaysia, and raised in the American South in Durham, NC, the homogeneity of the community forced me to recognize (and continuously repeat) my country of birth. It wasn’t until I went to UNC that I finally felt comfortable taking on the Chapel Hill vs All Y’all” identity.
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Lacking a connection to traditional American sports such as football and baseball, I turned to soccer to connect with my Malaysian father. Spain’s 2010 World Cup win was the beginning of another incredibly important aspect of my identity. A passion for Spanish soccer (pictured here Real Madrid) turned into a passion for Spanish language and culture. After graduation, I was finally able to follow my dreams and move to Spain, where I work and study a Masters in Translation and Interpretation.
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The cheongsum is a traditional dress for Chinese and Chinese diaspora populations. Most often worn during Lunar New Year, it represents new beginnings and ethnic identity regardless of where one resides. After being identified for my ethnicity for my whole life, I had never owned any American things until this flag signed by my friends was gifted to me right before I departed to live in Spain. 20
I used to think I didn’t have a home when my mother left earth physically and my father mentally when my bed stayed too warm, lines from the sheets embedded in my skin when I let the bath water turn cold, knees and breasts resting above the water line when I stared at the ceiling of my dorm room, my restlessness squeaking the plastic mattress. then I drove through a hurricane, pushing my car through slick sheets of slanted rain your apartment was warm and smelled like cinnamon and gain I left socks balled in your covers, blonde hairs stuck to your pillows a hair tie on the bathroom counter, pink razor behind the shower curtain you didn’t tell me to take them with me, remind me to pack them before I left and I knew I was home. carley west
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Home is Where the Heart is and Family is in the Heart Too Angel I often hear the phrase, “home is where the heart is” But is it? I thought of it to be merely cliché but it is more than that Home is constantly wandering, trying to stay afloat a place that is supposed to be physical Such as family and how another cliché, “family always sticks together, no matter what” I thought the same about family except the family one for me is false Family is constantly wondering, trying to accept the fact you are related to certain people So I ask myself, “How is it that two things that are inextricably connected together so different from another?” And I now think the answer is: home is a feeling, a sense of being comfortable, a sense of vulnerability Whereas with family, there is a façade of peace but inside there is turmoil and that is physical, a sense of being shielded from the truth, a sense of duty But I realized home can also be physical And family can also be a feeling For instance, I am connected to certain people who are not family by lineage, but they provide what a family generally means to American society They hear me out And as for home being physical, I can recall scents of southern cooking at the Burger Barn in Warrenton and the sight of the ever-sprouting oak trees in Creedmoor Despite this all, I still am disconnected with home as physical And I am disconnected from family being your bloodline I did not always think this way, being the product of American society and its never-ending societal taboos, I thought my lineage was family and home was my residence or place of origin As I progressed from a budding, curious young kid to a thoughtful, reticent young adult… I saw the truth that being descended from Haliwa-Saponi people centered in Hollister and Warrenton and Black people from Creedmoor and Oxford Is not truly what family is And making residence in Creedmoor, Oxford and staying sometimes in Hollister and Warrenton Is not truly what home is As an activist and person, I had to sever the ties - the lies I was taught, what I was conditioned to believe by society and reveal the truth that both of the things - family and home are intangible I found honestly that both family and home are my heart Home is where the heart is and family is the heart too
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Some days it’s easy And later days bring challenges But in spite of it all, You find the sun. Glistening through your pores It radiates through your whole body, You are soaked in it. It follows youThrough the caricature of a steep mountainEven as the jagged path Marches unflinchingly uphill. Birds there Chirp their own language, A subtlety: One you speak fluently. Does quietly tiptoe around, And pausing to listen, Other days, Rustling loudly and without fear. I see you in it all As life’s scene unfolds, Where you teach me to Climb. Laura Brady
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Homesickness Olivia Neal
This time two years ago, I was living in a blanket fort. It was massive, sprawling across the entire length of the living room in my dorm suite. Made up of sheets draped across every chair I could find, the inside featured an impressive collection of blankets, empty pizza boxes, and soda cups.
But now that home is not really a place anymore, it’s not a longing to be somewhere else, just a feeling of need. I was living in New York City while I went to NYU, which had been my dream since I was fourteen years old. On the eighteenth floor of a building overlooking Union Square, I could barely hear the sound of the tourist-filled street below. The city was, in some ways, exactly what I thought it would be: loud, vibrant, and exciting. But something wasn’t quite right. I was homesick. I convinced my suitemates to let me turn our living room into a blanket fort so that I could create a sanctuary in a city that felt alien and unforgiving. When I was growing up in Greensboro, I was always a homesick kid. Halfway through overnight camp, I begged my counselor to let me call my mom in the middle of the night because her perfume on my stuffed animal made me miss the familiarity of home. On a trip to France when I was 16, despite the stunning beauty of every new place I visited, something in me just wanted to be back in my bed in North Carolina. So of course when I moved to New York, it was a big transition to make.
Now that I’m growing into adulthood, “home” has taken on a new meaning. It’s no longer about one particular place, or a person, or even a family. Home is a feeling — so what does that mean about homesickness? That feeling I had in New York of wanting to be somewhere safe was not really about place, but rather comfort. And for me, comfort meant driving down a road I had driven down before, surrounded by people who had loved me longer than I had loved myself. So I moved back to Greensboro. Once I settled after my time up north, I decided to apply to UNC. It felt like the best place for me to create a space for myself, while still not too far from the place that I grew up. Somewhere that could become a new home. Somewhere I could grow to feel safe. Every once in a while, I still get a tinge of a feeling that could be called homesickness. But now that home is not really a place anymore, it’s not a longing to be somewhere else, just a feeling of need. It’s a sign that I haven’t had enough moments of care, warmth, or pleasure. Here at UNC I have met people who give me that sense of comfort and shelter that I have always wanted. Home has taken the form of purpose, of moments of solidarity, of people who never fail to make me feel accepted. I’m not longer homesick, because I have found joy in things that stay with me, even after I’m gone.
bruna lima; poeticamenteflor
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carley west
What We’re Reading I bought the book Queen Sugar ages ago after seeing a few episodes of the Duvernay-directed TV series on Oprah’s OWN. I finally came around to reading it this year and it quickly became an addiction. The story is about a mother who drops her life in California to move to the sugarcane country of Louisiana and take over her recently passed father’s farm. The book has beautiful intersections of race, class, and gender. Just a few of the topics that it tackles are farmworkers’ rights, toxic masculinity, stereotypes of poor black people, and the role of Christianity in the southern black community. For all the romance lovers out there, there is even a wonderful romance that had me yelling for at least half the book! However, it is not a defining part of this character and just another sector of her life, just like her work and family. We see her success and also her mistakes as a mother, farm owner, and sister which makes for a real and complex character. Though the TV series is based on the book, if you’ve seen the show, the book hasn’t been spoiled. What I’ve seen of the show has been very different than the dynamics of the book but both are amazing in their own right. I recommend this to both those who are familiar with the story and those who are not! ~ Marissa Butler ~
The Feminist Utopia Project came out in 2015 and I wish that I had found it then, back when I was a budding feminist graduating from high school. But now that I have, it has transformed the way I see activism, philosophy, and creativity. The book is a collection of short stories, poems, and essays that portray an ideal feminist future, each highlighting different aspects of a just society. The beautiful visions created by each of the writers give me hope and reminded me that in order to achieve a better world we have to first imagine what it will look like. ~ Olivia Neal ~
I use social media browsing as a form of self care when I’m stressed or annoyed. I find Instagram to be the easiest because you can often avoid harsh words and just enjoy images. Gabriel Alcala’s feed is full of illustrations featuring bold lines and flat planes of bright colors. His works are beautiful, thoughtful, and soothing. I’d like to thank him (and countless other artists) for posting their works online to be browsed for free. If you ever want to get lost in some colors, scroll through @gabalca for a while. ~ Carley West ~ carley west
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What We’re Listening To Fall Out Boy was the second artist I truly feel in love with, the first being Paramore, and their music always brings back a certain type of middle-school-teen-angst-nostalgia. Their new album Mania is not a disappointment, and I give it 8/10 stars. The album was originally scheduled for release in September of 2017, but the release date was pushed back to January 2018 because the “album didn’t feel ready”, in the words of lead vocalist, Patrick Stump. ~ Rachel Maguire ~ I discovered St. Beauty while scrolling through the “For You” section of my Apple music. Their album Running to the Sun is a beautiful mix of soft feminine singing and strong beats, with a peaceful hip hop style. It’s a great album for riding the bus but also for singing passionately in the shower. If you enjoy Sza’s Ctrl and Noname you’ll love St. Beauty. Definitely highly recommend for someone who likes or is looking for a chill, empowering soundtrack. ~ Carley West ~
My ‘Discover Weekly’ playlist on Spotify lead to my discovery of Gloria Groove - a Brazilian drag queen who also sings, composes, dances, raps, and acts. Gloria’s song, Império, is a bop that I haven’t been able to take off repeat in weeks. Her sound reminds me of Junglepussy. ~ Rachel Maguire ~
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carley west
I feel like I’ve personally watched Hayley Kiyoko transform from a Disney actress of Lemonade Mouth fame into a lesbian icon. Her song “Girls Like Girls” quickly became a cutesy pop anthem for women who love women everywhere, but her upcoming debut studio album, Expectations manages to be even gayer. The music videos from each single frpm the album feature Kiyoko herself flirting with and kissing various girls, overlayed with neon color schemes and eccentric fashion choices. I got to meet her after her show at Webster Hall in New York and I told her how much her work meant to me as a queer woman, a moment I will never forget. If you’re adding songs to the soundtrack of your next gay love affair, I suggest checking her out. ~ Olivia Neal ~ Hayley Kiyoko is truly our lesbian jesus. ~ Rachel Maguire ~
Janelle Monáe is my bicon. Her song, Make Me Feel, is exactly how I feel about being bisexual. Listening to her song“Pynk”, makes me gayer than I thought possible. With lyrics such as “pink, like the inside of your [wink], baby,” and “the tongue going down (maybe)”, Pynk is explicitly about queer ‘women who love women’. “Pynk’ is a brash celebration of creation. self love. sexuality. and pussy power! PYNK is the color that unites us all, for pink is the color found in the deepest and darkest nooks and crannies of humans everywhere...” - in Janelle Monáe’s own words. Hey newest album, Dirty Computer, features all of her amazing recent singles as well as completely new tracks. You should definitely check it out! ~ Rachel Maguire ~ I want to marry her and have her kids and support her in all of her endeavors ~ Marissa Butler ~
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What We’ve Got Our Eyes On Long story short, this university is not “home” for everyone. Title IX guidance from the Trump Administration Betsy DeVos has rescinded guidance that was previously used to promote an equitable process for survivors of sexual assault in educational settings and hold schools accountable for violence prevention and response. Look out for decentralized monitoring, higher burdens of proof for survivors, more protections for perpetrators, and less resources for survivors. Get informed on this issue, and be ready to hold your university accountable and fight the Trump Administration on this. Believe we can win, because even if we don’t, we need to show that we’re still fighting. We need to show that we care about equity, safety, and freedom from violence in education and beyond. For information on how to get involved, join Project Dinah and check out knowyourix.org. Silent Sam Do not forget about Silent Sam. Do not forget that it represents this institution’s racist history. Do not stop putting pressure on our legislature, our Board of Governors, and our administration to take it down. Take some time to participate in the Sit In & send some emails. Do your part.You can find out more about the effort to take down this racist statue at the UNC Students of the Silent Sam Sit-In Facebook Page. DACA, or Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals Trump decided to phase out this Obama-era policy with no solution for undocumented immigrants who arrived in the country as children, otherwise known as Dreamers. This leaves the fate of all Dreamers in the hands of Congress. So it’s time to mobilize. Call your Representatives and Senators and ask for permanent pathways to citizenship not just for Dreamers, but for all undocumented immigrants. You can follow the incredible work of brave young activist Dreamers across North Carolina and find ways to get involved at this link: ncdreamercoalition.wordpress.com. ~ Emily Hagstrom~
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art: Madi Whalen
Our Mission The Siren is a student-produced publication at UNC-Chapel Hill that advocates an intersectional feminist analysis of our environments, both individual and institutional. Our feminism strives to confront and acknowledge gender inequity, misogyny, white supremacy, ableism, transphobia, classism, ageism, imperialism and other systems of oppression. We provide readers, members, and our communities a platform to share their experiences. Why “The Siren?” In Greek mythology, Sirens were enchanted creatures sporting the head of a woman and the body of a bird. With their irresistible songs, the Sirens lured sea mariners toward land and rocky graves. We learn in “The Odyssey” that the Sirens’ songs, while deadly, were also full of wisdom. Hearing this, the hero Odysseus decides to try his fate by tying himself to the mast of his ship to hear and learn from the Sirens’ songs. He is then empowered to change his destiny. We at Siren want to help change our future for the better as well. At first our message, like that of the Sirens’, may evoke fear. The terms feminism, women’s rights, gender equality, gay rights and civil rights may cause many people to turn a deaf ear, like Odysseus’ sailors. But if you take the time to read our stories, you’ll find our songs full of wisdom and experience, too. We wish you good reading and hope our songs might inspire you as well.