on change and dimethylsulfoxide

Prose by Sheena Jiang Art by Brian Lee i’m often angry at the idea that anything can be changed. that life changes–that i change–whether it is in the blink of an eye, or slowly, piece by piece, over a number of years. of course, there is nothing inherently evil about change. from common knowledge (and

on executive (dys)function

Nonfiction by Sheena Jiang Art by Alex Hoang I’ve often bemoaned how bizarre it is to lack (or more realistically, have a large deficit in) such an essential neuropsychological function. But, if I’m being honest, I rarely ever think about what I’m missing out on.  Biologically, executive function is not so necessary. That’s why it’s

anchor

Poem by Millicent Sharman Art by Monica Feng My mother hands me cong you bing and I learn to take the layers for granted. Half-hearted punch thrown at my playground bully and I panic to wonder if my back was ever forced against her door, Baseless threats on her breath and I’m smelling burnt sugar;

An Age of Consent: Wor(l)ds to/for This Strange Body

Nonfiction by Olivia McNeill Art by Margaret Xun “But I do feel strange, almost unearthly. I’ll never get used to being alive. It’s always a mystery. Always startled to find I’ve survived.” (Steinbeck 378)  “So now, here, I give you my own text-body-tissue-hymen-map to touch/be touched-by, in the real. Now, here, I give you this

Metaphor as Medicine: The Power of Figurative Language to Aid Survival and Healing in Madeleine Thien’s Dogs at the Perimeter

Essay by Louise Cham Art by Keira Innes In his book Lived Refuge: Gratitude, Resentment, Resilience, critical refugee studies scholar Vinh Nguyen notes that “[f]or many refugees, matters of life and death hang on a single narrative” (xvi). As a determining factor for obtaining political rights and protection lies in how their lived experience of

For Your Safety

Multimedia by Andrea Sebastian Welcome aboard. Your flight is under the command of an experienced Captain and Flight Attendant. We remain unable to understand why you are flying out to your ex-fiancé again, but thank you for choosing us as your airline. Especially now, we earnestly request that you acquaint yourself with the following emergency

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Second Street to the Right

Prose by M. Chiao Art by Maxine Gray We were the eyes in the windows as the car rolled into the barangay. Peeking through our curtains and staring at the sleek metal reflecting the sun, we watched as it squeezed into our small street like a wooden block shoved through the wrong shape. The white

because your grandfather is dying

Poetry by Stella Xia Art by Paula Mohar truthfully i am barely out the cradle myself  i have no authority to speak on such things cleaving of spirit from flesh reclaiming of fire from man singularity to which everything eventually returns, damned by the sagging gravity of time instead i will tell you about the

Karen Magnussen, 1 Week Later

Poetry by Beckett Stanger Art by Margaret Xun I start going on walks in October. Fog covers the valley  Night after night. It clears my head. I sit and talk with Friends. Songs calm me down. I tell them about you,  Fighting off self-loathing. It is not working. The air is  Ripe with decomposing leaves.

it was the cold

Poetry by Jeff Oro Art by Adri Marcano We’re tired tourists sitting around a dinner table drinking a slurry of orange juice and vodka. Easy on the OJ.  You ask me for a sip of mine,  even though you have yours. I watch your lips kiss the glass under the sheen of the chandelier light.

Filter – revisited

Art by Grace Ko This artwork was originally created in homage to a film called ‘Perfect Blue’ by Satoshi Kon; a sickening tale about a young female idol’s experience in the entertainment industry. The film’s commentary on the sexual exploitation of women in the media was articulated through obscure and volatile imagery that captured an

When Snow Falls into the Caribbean Sea: The Intertwinement of Colonial and Personal Histories in Jamaica Kincaid’s Garden

Essay by Gurleen K. Kulaar Art by Adri Marcano “What to do?” asks Jamaica Kincaid (11). Throughout her autobiographical-botanical text, My Garden (Book):, Kincaid contends with the happiness, vexations, and “series of doubts upon series of doubts” (14-15) she encounters in her garden, grappling with settler colonial legacies as well as personal nostalgias embedded in