I grew up in a house next to the house next to the alley on the south side of a street on the northwest side of the city. Out front is a mighty tree, rich with age, and a slow growing sapling. Ugly brown vinyl siding envelopes the house. The porch is painted white, covering the textured brick that makes up four posts, two on either side of the stairs. I used to sit on the ones closer to the street when I was younger and pretend I was a gargoyle. The room upstairs at the front of the house is mine and has been since 2019. 

We had just dropped my brother off at college. When we got back, my neighbor and I dragged my belongings across the hallway. I tore down my brother’s pennants and put up my posters. The trifold windows illuminated the heavy wooden desk. The stained glass window threw rainbows on the closet walls. The room & the bed & the next few years were bigger than before. 

At the window on the right, I open the glass, lift the screen, pull my ratty desk chair over, swing my right leg through the frame, prop my left arm on the chair, boost my left leg through the window, then crawl until I can swoop my head out. To the right is Cicero, a major north-south street in Chicago with a constant stream of cars. I try to count the spacing between buses going in either direction – if there is a pattern, I wish to learn it. Middle aged men bike down my block. Back when the Family Fruit Market lived behind the alley, I’d see arms full of groceries for the week. Now it’s a Dollar Tree, and my mom calls the city to complain about their overflowing trash cans on the sidewalk. I always go inside feet first. 

On my sixteenth birthday, I walked with my friends to the Art Institute after school. We giggled as Ava applied gloss to our puckered lips in the bathroom. The hallways expanded endlessly as we trailed through the exhibits. I was drawn to the empty Chicago stock exchange trading room off to the side. The glossy wooden floors, mesmerizing detailed ceiling, and octagonal marble posts. My brother and I had played tag in there, chasing each other in tight circles until our little legs grew tired. At that moment, I felt so old and couldn’t remember what it was like to be so small. On the train ride back that evening, I sat alone in the furthest seat of the last car watching the skyline shrink behind the ongoing tracks. 

It was my last day of the summer before making the trek to college for the first time. I sat, bent over, trying to get my cat to drink some water, as he clung to the last bit of his life. My ride was out front. In the backseat, I tuned out my friends, tracing the streets and houses with my eyes. On the black brick siding of a church, white paint wrote ‘You belong here’. I wondered if they were talking to me. The lake had warmed up by now, gentle waves crashed against the concrete ledge. Blue Angels did flips in triads to prepare for the Air and Water show, creating a relentless ruckus. I had been treading water, dunking my head under intermittently, and staring at the skyline, trying to absorb it. 

I have found myself withholding love for other places so as to not lose the love I have for that room, that house, that city. This is the only aspect of my life where my love is finite. My unique stubbornness is loyalty for a promise I don't remember making, and it is loudest when I feel comfort somewhere else. I know I will go back to Chicago, but I want to do so in triumphant admittance that there is another life for me there. One where I can go to real bars and rent an apartment off a different train stop. I just need my parents to keep that house, and for everything to remain exactly the way it is forever, and also for them to never die. I joke that my room should be made into an exhibit with red velvet rope blocking off its perfectly preserved state. 

Only recently, though, I’ve started to wonder what kind of torture it would be to walk those streets again with age. My college returns have been bittersweet, coated in nostalgia. On a winter visit back, I took the bus to the Village Discount at Kedzie and Irving. Empty chip bags blew down the alley. Cars shot up exhaust as they turned onto my street. No blue, only gray. I walked past the magazine store I used to love going to as a kid when I would rummage through the lower shelves. At the bus stop, I listened to wooden drum sticks strike plastic buckets turned upside down and held between thighs. The beat was quick and loud, but seeped in sadness. 

On the ride back, seats were filled with high schoolers. Backpacks shoved between feet or slung on one shoulder. I used to be you. At first it’s exciting to remember my tumultuous teenage years and the stories I’ve racked up, proof of an interesting life. Then, suddenly, I’m an aging embarrassment trying to hold onto my youth. It is not enough to go back to that place and remind myself of the past, I must create something new.

Written by Clare Vogel

Edited by Ella Romano and Elisabeth Kay

Music taste is often seen as a reflection of identity, and I genuinely believe my Liked Songs on Spotify capture who I am perfectly. My collection mostly consists of music that I heard somewhere (in a movie; a store; a TikTok; one of my siblings’ playlists in which I Shazamed the song instead of asking them the name of it, etc.) and needed to save to my library so that I could remember its existence and listen to it later. 

To help explain how my Liked Songs reveal a little about who I am, I have chosen ten random songs from my Liked Songs playlist (starting with the most recently added) to comment on and share why they have been added to my library.

#  Title           Artist                     Duration

1  Candy                                                       Mandy Moore                 3:54

Unfortunately, Spotify no longer lets you see when a song was added to your Liked Songs album; however, I believe I added this song around the beginning of this year. I was watching a clip of an IMDb interview with Ayo Edebiri, and the interviewer asked her what classic 90s or early 2000s track was her personal theme song. Edebiri replied with “Candy” by Mandy Moore, because she “felt like there was no way you could be sad when listening to the song.”

2  Genesis                             Grimes     4:15

I heard this while watching a movie called Before I Fall starring Zoey Deutch. I became addicted to the song, and I would play it in the car constantly with my fifteen-year-old brother, Teddie. When I listen to “Genesis” now, I always think of driving him out to and picking him up from his friend Lukas’s house two townships over. 

3  C.R.E.A.M. (Cash Rules Every...)         Wu-Tang Clan     4:12

This song reminds me of my nineteen-year-old sister, Ellie. We were obsessed with this movie about an online game of truth or dare called Nerve when we were younger, and “C.R.E.A.M. (Cash Rules Everything Around Me)” by Wu-Tang Clan plays during a scene where the main character Vee is dared to get a tattoo. I don’t listen to this song very much anymore, but when I do, I always think of my sister and that movie.

4  Gilded Lily         Cults                 3:33

“Gilded Lily” by Cults was a really popular edit song on TikTok – I don’t even know how long ago it was. The song felt euphoric to me. When I was sad, I would just listen to it on repeat because it was comforting. I think, subconsciously, listening to sad music when I’m already sad helps me validate my feelings. Doing this also allows me to fully experience my sadness, which has its pros and cons.

5  I Got The...-2006 Remaster                      Labi Siffre                 6:35

This is a great Labi Siffre song. I discovered it during one of my family’s homemade pizza nights because my dad likes to listen to his music while he cooks. Out of all of the songs that he played that night, this one stuck out to me because Eminem sampled it for his song “My Name Is.”

6  Right Down the Line           Gerry Rafferty     4:28

I added “Right Down the Line” to my Liked Songs collection after I heard it in an episode of Season 2 of HBO’s Euphoria. I really liked how it made me feel, and I always get the urge to dance when this song plays.

7  Stardust Chords           Greta Van Fleet     4:57

“Stardust Chords” is a part of my Liked Songs library because an ex-boyfriend of mine loved Greta Van Fleet. In an attempt to impress him, and to relate to him more, I felt that I needed to like the band, too. So, I added a few of the band’s songs that I liked to my library and called it a day. 

8  First Suite in E-Flat Major, Op. 28...        Gustav Holst, North Texas Wind...     4:50

I used to play the French Horn in my high school’s Wind Ensemble (the best of my high school’s four different bands, not to brag). I no longer play, but sometimes I wish that I did because I loved making music. Anyway, when we played pieces that I really liked, I would add them to my Liked Songs playlist. Listening to the songs actually helped me learn my parts and figure out how I was supposed to blend with the rest of the band.

9  Flightless Bird, American Mouth           Iron & Wine                 4:02

The first time I ever watched Twilight, I fell in love with this song because it reminded me of autumn. I later found out that Kristen Stewart specifically requested this song to be in the film. Even though the series is a little stupid, I love it because it is the fall season as a film, in my opinion. 

10  Space Song                       Beach House                 5:20

Space Song by Beach House is my favorite song ever and my comfort song. I don’t remember the first time I heard it, but it was probably sometime in 2020 or 2021. Since then, anytime I have been asked about my favorite song, I reply with Space Song. I think it’s perfect, and I never ever get sick of it. 

Public Playlist

maggieaknox · 10 songs, 46 min 6 sec

Written by Maggie Knox

Edited by Wendy Moore and Elisabeth Kay

I care. 

I care A LOT actually. I am so passionate about so many different things that it makes my heart ache. Sometimes I am not sure why I feel so deeply and why I choose to when I always anticipate tremendous amounts of emotional turmoil. However, I don’t see a reality in which I would want to be careless: I couldn’t imagine a life more dismal than one parched of intensely-had-emotion. 

The first time I was made to feel pathetic for caring was in the seventh grade. I had written an essay for my history class titled something along the lines of “The Women's Suffrage Movement.” I had put my blood, sweat, and tears into this piece and felt proud of the linguistic effort. I have always, and will always, hold a strong investment in women’s issues. Then, my teacher told us we had to present our pieces to the class, immediately sending a shiver down my spine. I felt embarrassed: why did I feel embarrassed? What was so frightening to me about sharing something I had put so much effort into with my classmates? 

Well, as they often say, trust your gut. I stood up, shaking like a leaf in the wind, and watched as every boy in the class giggled at me. They gave each other looks, shared a whisper into each other’s ears, and silently mocked me with their grins. Even though I stood about five inches taller than each of them, I felt the tiniest I have ever felt in my life. I proceeded to feel just as tiny, now in physique and character, for the following years of my high school career. 

It wasn’t until I graduated high school that I rid myself of that shameful feeling. What I had once dismissed as fact, that it was embarrassing to care as much as I did, I let go. I realized that choosing to care silently because you cannot bear the thought of what others think of you isn’t passionate: it is compliant. Passion is a beautiful quality, and one that I love to share with others and vice versa. I love telling people about my affinity for Broadway plays. I adore hearing a book lover's argument about why Colleen Hoover is so awful. Any space in which there is an open conversation to be had about something someone cares about is a space I want to be included in. And to circle back, especially in the political climate of today, I care so deeply about the struggles women face that I refuse to keep my mouth shut. I cared in seventh grade and I care now: the only difference is now, I choose to be as loud as I want about it.

Written by Ella Romano

Edited by Renee Arlotti and Julia Brummell

To be a woman is to inherit an awareness of being watched. 

I believe that there are very few women who haven’t second-guessed their presence in a room. It starts young – that hyper-awareness of space and sound and how much of it you’re allowed to occupy. You learn to become fluent in the language of making yourself palatable: shoulders softening, voice lilting down at the edges, a careful rationing of conviction.

Your passion must be tempered, and your enthusiasm looks better when it's weathered. The safest way to exist is to perpetually inhabit the space between too much and not enough. 

How does it feel to live lukewarm? 

To fold up your limbs and curve in your shoulders (smaller and smaller and smaller) until you melt into the window seat of the public transit. To become the master of the measured response, the strategic understatement. Ambitious (but not threatening), confident (but never certain), successful (but always with a self-deprecating footnote). 

How early do we become the teachers of our own constraints?

The cruel irony is that even this curated tepidness isn’t enough – because “lukewarm” isn’t really what anyone wants from you. They want you in constant pursuit of adjustment. You’re still expected to read the room even though you’ve been forced to live between the margins. An inevitable purgatory. 

Everybody wants to be The Cool Girl, and nobody wants to be The Crazy Girl, but we’ve all been both to somebody. 

What does it really take for a woman to be “cool”? 

Can we ever truly be effortlessly cool? Because it sure seems to take a lot of effort to dilute yourself thin enough to exist in that limbo. 

Interested but never eager. 

Unattainable. 

Mysterious. (Are you really mysterious, or has the world scared you out of being openly and obnoxiously passionate about the things that make you happy? The things you find important?) 

Why do we bend over backwards to appear indifferent? What are we protecting, and what are we losing in the process?

These next few years, it’s detrimental to remain vibrant, and angry, and joyful, and empathetic – alive to everything that makes us human. 

Occupy space and fill it until it overflows.

Written by Delaney Pipon

Edited by Emily Hudak and Julia Brummell

On Tuesday morning, the sun’s rays pulled me out of bed. I woke up at seven, an unusual occurrence to say the least. The child in me ran around my apartment like it was Christmas Day, making a breakfast of eggs and fruit instead of skipping the typically forgotten meal. I took a shower and set aside time to do my makeup, feeling more put together than most days. I rummaged through my dresser for my Ruth Bader Ginsburg socks and quickly took a picture of them to send to my family, voting blue in Virginia, Indiana, and Kansas. Due to November’s unusual 80-degree weather, I picked out my favorite basic green short-sleeved shirt and a pair of Lucky Brand jeans. Lucky…

On Wednesday morning, the sun hid behind gray, looming clouds. My tears from the night before crusted my eyes shut, hiding reality out of view. I woke up feeling the need for a hug, an unusual occurrence to say the least. My feet dragged me to the kitchen for a cup of chai and later to my dining table to write in my journal. But my words seemed to be hiding… grieving. They were angry… sad… numb. Music seemed like the only way to reach out to those missing words. I reflected on the lyrics of Durand Jones & The Indications’ “Morning in America”:

And I think of my grandmother

How she told me to be strong

It's morning in America

But I can't see the dawn

I wanted to be strong so badly, but the doomscrolling weighed me down. Instagram stories once flooded with pictures of “I voted” stickers and blue hearts had changed overnight into reposts announcing that a felon would be taking office. The same criminal who got elected one morning in seventh grade, altering my world. And more importantly, the world of so many others. At 12 years old, I felt powerless. What could a middle schooler do to reverse this morning? At 20 years old I feel powerless. What can a college student do to reverse this morning, one repeating itself eight years later? 

I’m not sure what I will do yet, but today I grieve, like so many others, with hopes of waking up tomorrow a little stronger. I hope the strength will grow each morning, so I can show my childhood self that I won’t give up even when the system suggests otherwise. I hope to see a woman in office one day, fighting for a just world.

~ A young woman grieving for her younger self,

November 6th, 2024

Written by Nina Southern

Edited by Cate Fennell and Julia Brummell

We’ve all been there: “They had a bad childhood.” “This bad thing happened to them once.” “They just have mental health issues.” Like bae, yes they do…yes they do have mental health issues. And so do you, but I don’t see you making it everyone else's problem (yikes). 

Regardless, I know that feeling of wanting to “fix” someone, all too well. I thought that if I loved them enough, they would trust me to open up about their feelings. That if they opened up about their feelings, they would change. I also made the mistake of assuming that if they knew that how they were treated as a kid was wrong, they wouldn’t do it to me. WRONG! Actually it became an excuse to continue that bad behavior. Oops! 

But don’t worry you guys, I’m here to tell you how to actually change someone in only 10 super easy steps. We can start from scratch too, so you can still participate if you have a partner. Let's call this person…uh…Jamie. Now, Jamie is your dream person. While you think about who your dream person is, I’ll start listing off some attributes that you can choose from:

-Mysterious 

-Plays guitar 

-Has a cool sense of fashion 

-Athletic 

-Family issues 

-Business major 

-Likes trucks 

-Funny 

-Sarcastic 

Okay, boom. Attributes done. Now what about appearance? 

-Hot 

Okay, we’re done now. So, how this will work is we are going to pretend that you guys are already friends. They’ve opened up to you a bit about their past, which explains why they can be a little mean or closed off sometimes. And of course, these little pieces of information draw you in. Why? Because you’re special! They opened up to you. So basically, if you can get them to open up to you fully, by loving them unconditionally, you can convince them to change and be a better person…because by loving them you are creating a safe space for healing. Duh. So how do we start this process? 

Step 1: Become Their Best Friend - Obviously you can’t just jump right in. We have to play the long game if they’re going to be our forever soulmates, right? We have to get them to trust you: that is our biggest goal here. But what does this look like? How do we become their bestest friend in the whole wide world? Well, you have to analyze what exactly they value in the people they surround themselves with. But most importantly, what are they lacking? Do they feel neglected in some areas? Do they feel unheard? THIS is where you become that space for them. Say things like: “How are you feeling today?” or “How did that make you feel?” or “You did not deserve that.” Be their dream girl early on…they don’t know it yet but you are!!! So once you become their best friend… 

Step 2: Withdraw - Now this step can vary. If they already know they like you back and have made a move, that’s great! But for the girlies who need to give them that extra push: withdraw.

Now that you’ve given them all this attention, in order for them to want you, you have to make them realize what they had all along. You have to make them realize that they are missing something when you aren’t there. Now this doesn’t mean you should abandon them; remember, we still have to maintain their trust. However, Jamies can be a little slow sometimes, and that’s okay. So withdraw, make them realize how lucky they are to have you so that they want to be with you. Sometimes people don’t realize what they have until it’s gone! 

Step 3: Bask in the Honeymoon Phase - If you’ve made it to Step 3, congrats! It’s probably taken you a long time to get here, as we’ve used the slow burn method. This is the time before any conflict arises, so enjoy it!!! The fact that they like you romantically at all is amazing, and you feel so so special. Are they taking you out on dates or getting you flowers? They don’t even have to! You can even say that to them, because you are lucky to even be in their life at all- bonus points if they express that to you! Regardless, this stage doesn’t last forever, and it’s definitely one of the most euphoric ones. But NOT as euphoric as when you change them, because we have not lost sight of our goal quite yet. We are looking for that deep emotional bond, which we don’t have quite yet. In this stage, you know that their bad or unhealthy habits exist, but it’s easy to ignore…because we’re gonna be able to fix them eventually. Change doesn't happen overnight! Which leads us to Step 4. 

Step 4: Figure Out Your Needs - Now that the honeymoon phase is over, you’ve started to realize what your needs are in particular. Because everyone’s different right? And we now know that the saying “if they wanted to, they would” isn’t quite true; if we haven’t communicated our needs to them yet, how are they supposed to know? This is where we show our consideration and showcase our healthy relationship habits. If we can show that we’re a stable partner, they will trust us even more. Also, bonds become deeper after some healthy communication. Let’s say that we ask Jamie to post us on our birthday, which is coming up! This leads us to Step 5. 

Step 5: Compromise - Oops…Jamie said that they don’t use social media like that. Or simply put, they’re just not that kinda guy. This may sting at first, but don’t let that get you down! Trying to change who someone is, is not good. We love Jamie for exactly who they are, remember? This is where we can compromise with Jamie to at least post us on Valentine's Day or our anniversary (Jamie can choose!). We wouldn’t want Jamie to feel like they’re not good enough for us, because they are more than enough. We also can’t stand the thought of losing them. Birthdays aren’t that important anyway. 

Step 6: Work On Your Unhealthy Habits - Jamie is now upset, as they feel like you’re asking too much of them. You’ve stressed them out. Unfortunately, you’ve continued to “find things” to complain about regarding their behavior. We all know that you’ve done way worse at times! You try to explain to them that it makes you sad when you’re always the one making the plans, or when they made that one comment about you (bonus points if it was in public!), or that their new girl best friend is being really friendly with them (you are the OG girl best friend!!!)...but Jamie remains convinced that you are putting too much pressure on them. To make matters worse, when Jamie leaves the room or stops talking when you are trying to tell them about how they

made you feel, you get upset! Girl, you can’t do that! You have to remain calm at all times…and be mindful of how you’re communicating. 

So follow these steps: use “I” statements. Avoid saying “you always do this” or “you never do that.” Using definitive words like that may cause Jamie to get defensive- and you probably would get defensive too if Jamie said that to you. You probably already have! We can’t be defensive, that ruins the trust. And whatever you do, don’t rush them into communicating with you. Being pushy, controlling, jealous, and needy…are all unhealthy behaviors. Remember, you’ve also made lots of mistakes. Be patient and let Jamie come to you. Your past mistakes might be another reason they’re not great at communicating, even if Jamie is just now telling you about that! We always knew that they had trouble with opening up, so we just need to be patient and understanding. What is in our control right now? Our actions. So let’s hold ourselves accountable and change for the better, for Jamie! An apology is only as valid as the change that follows it. We also need to understand that Jamie might have an avoidant attachment style. 

Step 7: Understand Their Needs As An Avoidant - Now, this step may not apply to everyone. If this doesn’t apply to you, feel free to skip to Step 8. For those of you who are still here, it’s time to do some research girl! Now, we already know that they had a bad childhood, or maybe they were even cheated on in the past. Regardless, they probably have a hard time being vulnerable! We already knew this beforehand, and that’s why we tried so hard to become a safe place for them. We have to be different. It may be confusing as to why we are suddenly no longer a safe place for them to share their feelings with us (because we were once before!), but that is why we just have to try harder! The slow burn is still burning! Slowly! Anyway, when you do your research, you’ll find that avoidants often need space during conflict. Conflict activates their “fight or flight,” and since they were shamed for having emotions as a kid, it’s hard for them to open up as an adult. Taking space can look like them leaving the room for a bit or taking a break from texting or being on a phone call. You should accept that sometimes, they may never come back after they take space, and that is simply because you’ve overwhelmed them. If this is true, reread Step 6. 

Step 8: Recognize That They’re Still Healing - They have flaws for a reason and we love all of Jamie, not just the good parts. That’s what love means, it’s a choice. And we choose Jamie. At this point, you can still presume that because they were treated badly in the past, they would never do that same thing to you. Jamie can recognize that it was wrong when it happened to them, so why would they do that to you? Duh. They talk about it all the time! You’re a safe girlfriend. Regardless, they still need time to trust you fully to fix their bad habits. But luckily, you’ve communicated to them in a healthy way that their unhealthy habits hurt you. And this time, Jamie actually said they would change! They even offered a solution that you have been pitching all along! They apologized for hurting you, which is a GREAT sign. You are so close to changing them! 

Step 9: Be Patient - Now, healing is not linear! This period definitely feels like a long…long…long time. Jamie will not change right away, and that’s okay. Change takes time. Your patience will show Jamie just how much you love them! You guys are gonna be together forever, and you’ve come this far! Right? At this point, you’ve probably been together for at least a year, maybe even way…way longer! Yet unfortunately, you get frustrated when Jamie repeatedly lets you down. You’ve started to notice just how long it’s been since they said they would change…and they still haven’t. You’re confused why Jamie said they would change…a while ago, and yet you always seem to end up back at square one with them. And that’s where we convince ourselves…that certain needs of ours really are too much! And that’s okay, let Jamie tell you what they can actually provide for you. Let them come to you, and tell you what they’re comfortable with doing. They can tell you how you’ll feel loved. It’s the only way this relationship is going to survive and you don’t want Jamie to leave you, do you?! 

Step 10: Leave Jamie - Wait…wait a minute who wrote that? *door creaking* Who just walked in? Who are you? *evil laughing* Wait..ah..*bonk*...AH…AHHHH…………………………….hi guys! I’m logic. Now you may be thinking, why the hell did I write that? You’re in love with Jamie, right? Girl I know you are. I’ve watched you obsess over them for years at this point. You’ve been obsessing over them…yet I see you crying all the time? What was that? Did you say it’s because you’re not good enough for Jamie? Girl…PULL. YOURSELF. TOGETHER. If your dedication, patience, and loyalty to that person for YEARS doesn’t prove that you’re good enough for them, I don’t know what will. How many times have you told Jamie to change? How many times have you told Jamie that their lack of effort hurts you? You’ve done everything right…you’ve changed your unhealthy communication habits, you use “I” statements, and you’re as considerate about their feelings as you could possibly be…but is Jamie considerate about your feelings too? How long ago did you tell Jamie to change? What was that? A YEAR??? BITCH WHAT ARE YOU ON RIGHT NOW! Look, you can love someone and know that you deserve better. You deserve someone who puts in effort back! Are you content with who Jamie is right now, or who they might be in the future? If you’re not ready to hear this, make note of this date in time. If they haven’t learned how to communicate in a healthy way, taken you out on a date, or done the things they said they would, in 6 months from now…you’ll have your answer. 

[6 months later]…don’t let the breadcrumbs fool you girl! You can’t change someone who does not want to change - xoxo.

Written by Mia Stack

Edited by Ashley O'Doherty and Julia Brummell

I’ve been an introvert since I was young and tended to have a small amount of close friends. Normally I would stumble upon someone who decided they wanted to be my friend, which made it easy for me to be their friend; it was like someone plucked me like a flower from the vine growing on the brick. 

This worked for a while, but I realized I wanted more friends after I began college. I watched as everyone else developed friendships and became closer to each other. Meanwhile, I developed one-sided friendships; I was so busy watching I forgot to reach out and talk to people—a key part of making friends.

 I can manage to talk to people, but I struggle to make those deep connections because I never did as a child. I understand the basics—talking, joking, hanging out— but I’ve allowed myself to be a wallflower for so long that it feels unnatural to advance my connections with people from surface-level to meaningful. It’s almost like a form of self-sabotage; I subconsciously keep myself from becoming close to people so I don’t have to worry about whether or not they want to be my friend. 

Occasionally I have random bursts of confidence. Something in my brain clicks and I can be an active participant in my life, not just an observer. I’m suddenly capable of having casual conversations with people or hanging out with someone outside of my friend group. 

Other times everything feels extremely forced. I want to talk to people, but at the same time, I just want to stay a silent observer, making the conversations seem forced and awkward. These interactions typically lead to me crying in the shower afterward because I overanalyzed what I said and now feel incapable of human interaction. 

I’m trying so hard to grow out of the habits I’ve been so complicit with, but it feels like I’m stuck to the wall I’m growing on. I had no problem being a wallflower when I was younger, but now it feels like my vines are wrapping around me, holding me hostage and slowly suffocating me. I know I have to do something soon, the longer I stay in these habits the harder it will be for me to escape the wall. 

Sometimes I feel like I can stretch the vines I’m hanging on far enough to connect with people, making everything feel natural. But it doesn’t take long for the vine to become taught, causing me to return to the comforting familiarity of the wall. Maybe someday I’ll be able to break off from the vine holding me captive to the wall, but part of me fears I’ll be a wallflower for the rest of my life. 

Written by Leigh Marks

Edited by Isa Gattamora and Elisabeth Kay

When I was growing up, I would always tell people I was born in Seattle. I had this innate need to be different and cooler than everyone else, and the West Coast was definitely more special than the Midwest town from which I was born and raised. But it didn’t feel like a lie. 

Have you ever felt so connected to a place you never really belonged to? That’s Seattle for me.

My parents lived there while they went to grad school at the University of Washington in their 20s. They got married, packed up their lives in South Carolina, and road-tripped across the country to their new destination. Neither had lived on the West Coast before that, nor would they again. It was a blip in the matrix, so why does it occupy so much of my thoughts?

I went for the first time when I was 3 years old for a wedding. That trip is the very first memory I have. I vividly remember what our rental house looked like; seeing my grandma in her light blue robe making us breakfast; singing “Living on a Prayer” by Bon Jovi, but accidentally saying “Living Upstairs” instead (this became a family joke in the subsequent years); my temporary pink bike with training wheels adorned with roses; my brother almost riding his bike off the side of a cliff, only to be saved by my Dad; going to the Space Needle and the mini carnival/theme park surrounding it; a trip to a pool with my cousins, aunt and uncle. Sometimes I think that I made these memories up—that they came to me in a dream and seemed so real that I just committed them to memory. But my parents have corroborated. Seattle was just that important. It was crucial.

It feels like I existed there in a previous life, beyond just my few trips there. My ache to go back rattled me enough that senior year of high school I applied to my parent’s alma mater for undergrad. They didn’t even have the major I wanted, I just longed for the Puget Sound and the Public Market and Mount Rainier. I think, if I decide to go to grad school, I’ll reapply. Or I’ll find a job there. I think it would be antagonistic to my character if I didn’t try in some capacity.

I guess I won’t ever know if I’d be doing it for myself or to chase some pipe dream of understanding who my parents were before I came along; to gain context for how I ended up here, with this life and these experiences. It must relate back to some time before my existence; some natural phenomenon of life.

I’m not sure how common a feeling this is—for someone to have their own Seattle. Maybe it’s a person or time for you. Maybe it’s a feeling. As humans, there’s always something we’re chasing. I think the only real question is if it’s worth it. I hope it is. I hope I reach Seattle.

Written by Leighton Curless

Edited by Leigh Marks and Elisabeth Kay

I have always struggled to be content with my age. 

However, I have never really been able to pinpoint why. I understand my closest friends, possessing older siblings and eager to grow in age, watching their brother or sister access opportunities before them while they’re stuck in their childhood bedrooms surely wasn’t exciting. But I don’t have an older brother or sister; the only elder comparison I have in my life are my parents, and I am not particularly sure I want to be 60 years old just yet. 

When I was 7 years old, with freshly divorced parents and a newbie to my large public school, I only wanted to be 10, maybe 11, if I felt particularly antsy. The thought of being in the fifth grade exhilarated me. I wanted to have crushes and date boys: by date, I mean ignore each other in the hallways and swiftly break up two weeks later. I wanted my mom to finally hand me the American Girl Doll, The Care & Keeping of You book, and shortly after, buy me a training bra from Justice. I wanted my dad to stop embarrassingly making me sit in a booster seat: the front seat seemed to be a utopia. 

Then I turned 10, and six months shy of my 11th birthday, being 13 was the object of my desire. I wanted braces so badly that, in a hypochondriac fashion, I convinced myself that I could feel my teeth aching. Something about having a metallic smile felt sophisticated. I didn’t only want an iPod Touch, but it was essential, like my ability to breathe air. Even more so, I needed to go to the local mall with ONLY my friends (bringing a parent would be too humiliating), enter PINK Victoria’s Secret, and buy the trendiest $30 hoodie in my line of vision. I wanted to have my first, real, absolutely romantic kiss, Pride & Prejudice style. 

And then I was 13, and my teeth stung because my orthodontist was trying to “move things along quickly.” Now, being 18, a real, true adult had all of my attention. I would finally be a woman, whatever that meant. I could reject my hometown, go to college in a land far, far away, and learn to be my own person. I could form serious opinions about the world and buy a lottery ticket while I did so. Maybe I would even get a piercing without telling my mom and feel incredibly rebellious. I might go to parties with my friends, stay out all night, and wake up with eyeliner streaked down my face. It wasn’t necessarily what I would be doing or who I would be doing it with; it was the freedom I yearned for.

Now, I am 19, just on the cusp of being 20, no longer a kid or preteen, and it’s hit me: I don’t want to be any older than I am right now. Each stage of my youth went exactly how it was supposed to. I had fake boyfriends at age 9, I ritualistically purchased overpriced brand-name clothing at 14, and I picked a college a state away from home at 17. However, it is only now that I have learned to relish the value of being exactly where and who I am. I am anxiously awaiting who I will become in my twenties, but learning to savor where I am now, 19-something years old. 

Written by Ella Romano

Edited by Cassidy Hench and Julia Brummell

The soft light of a familiar sun rises above the invisible line in the sky Man has created. Delicate shades of orange and yellow dance on my wide windows. I don’t stir. I don’t, until a soft chirp breaks the silence. There is another one. And with a dramatic crescendo, a throbbing, visceral ringing sounds beside my head; it travels like a racehorse into my eardrum and gallops into my brain. My eyes slowly peel open,  it’s morning. The sun sets off on its journey westward as I slink out of bed. Stumbling to the mirror, like I do every morning, I observe the hollowness of my face. There is a deep black and purple bruise stretching from right below my bottom eyelashes until right below my emaciated eyebrows. I stare until my eyes disintegrate into the black void, spreading like a virus. A large black divot replaces my nose. It has an odd shape, like an upside down heart. I caress my new facial arrangement, feeling the thin, brittle bone on the pads of my fingers. The flesh evaporates. Finally, bringing my fingers to my mouth, I expect to feel the warm sensation of my lips; but like grapes, they shrivel into my skull. My hands, vibrating with the sensation of human bone, jump to my scalp. Whatever hair I have left is  thinning quickly. It falls like water from my head as the hair follicles tighten, close, and vanish. I feel it again: smooth cold bone. What has happened to me? Diving to the ground, I try and collect my hair, but it’s all gone. Was it ever even there? Instantly, my face tightens, my brow bones furrow and the heaving sobs begin. Taking my sleeve, I go to wipe my tears but it’s bone dry. I don’t have eyes anymore. I am skeletal.

Written by Madeleine Kania

Edited by Sienna Hudon and Elisabeth Kay