Introduction
Foreword
Dearests,
Where do we fit in the world? What spaces do our bodies, minds, and actions occupy?
As we went through the submissions for this issue to curate a narrative, we asked, what are all of them saying simultaneously? Beneath a lot of these reflective pieces, there lies a strong undercurrent of angst. And it comes across unintentionally, or perhaps intentionally for everything is interconnected, a reflection of and conversation with the world.
The world is rife with manmade cruelty. russia’s war in Ukraine continues; it has been over 800 days. We cannot escape the genocide happening in Gaza, where lives are reduced to numbers. We cannot unsee protestors demanding basic human rights for Palestinians being manhandled by police forces. Not to mention university administration calling on police to brutally handle peaceful student protestors. This cruelty also sinisterly manifests in the cowardly game of definition, where people-in-power in various institutions refuse to call the genocide for what it is: a genocide.
Angst is a difficult term; we often think of it as a teenage phase, a misstep where our mind is confused in wanting more/better/other. Angst is scary; angst is consuming; angst is unpredictable. This issue disillusions us from these associations. Angst runs deep in all of us. It gives space to a difficult-to-define layer where frustration, mourning, disillusionment, love, and longing meet. It gives a loud voice to reach for empathy and true partnerships where they feel lacking or false. In wildly looking for spaces to belong, we might find agency despite/within our family histories, heartfelt and heartbreaking conversations, and perhaps even safety.
This angst reminds us of the sentiment that has intensified in us as cruelty unfolded. In an issue with so many pieces touching on the human condition, it simply does not feel right not mentioning the grotesque human condition inflicted on Palestinians by the Israeli occupying forces.
As you flip through this issue, we invite you to contemplate the world around you. As you spread a picnic, think of those you’ve loved and love now; as you drop your chin, look – perhaps they soak through your skin in tattoos; as you turn your cheek halfway to an early spring sun to taste nostalgia; as you move and wriggle your body, take your hands and press them firmly in a hug around yourself.
Angst is about being desperately human. It’s good to be angry.
Where do we fit in the world? What spaces do our bodies, minds, and actions occupy?
As we went through the submissions for this issue to curate a narrative, we asked, what are all of them saying simultaneously? Beneath a lot of these reflective pieces, there lies a strong undercurrent of angst. And it comes across unintentionally, or perhaps intentionally for everything is interconnected, a reflection of and conversation with the world.
The world is rife with manmade cruelty. russia’s war in Ukraine continues; it has been over 800 days. We cannot escape the genocide happening in Gaza, where lives are reduced to numbers. We cannot unsee protestors demanding basic human rights for Palestinians being manhandled by police forces. Not to mention university administration calling on police to brutally handle peaceful student protestors. This cruelty also sinisterly manifests in the cowardly game of definition, where people-in-power in various institutions refuse to call the genocide for what it is: a genocide.
Angst is a difficult term; we often think of it as a teenage phase, a misstep where our mind is confused in wanting more/better/other. Angst is scary; angst is consuming; angst is unpredictable. This issue disillusions us from these associations. Angst runs deep in all of us. It gives space to a difficult-to-define layer where frustration, mourning, disillusionment, love, and longing meet. It gives a loud voice to reach for empathy and true partnerships where they feel lacking or false. In wildly looking for spaces to belong, we might find agency despite/within our family histories, heartfelt and heartbreaking conversations, and perhaps even safety.
This angst reminds us of the sentiment that has intensified in us as cruelty unfolded. In an issue with so many pieces touching on the human condition, it simply does not feel right not mentioning the grotesque human condition inflicted on Palestinians by the Israeli occupying forces.
As you flip through this issue, we invite you to contemplate the world around you. As you spread a picnic, think of those you’ve loved and love now; as you drop your chin, look – perhaps they soak through your skin in tattoos; as you turn your cheek halfway to an early spring sun to taste nostalgia; as you move and wriggle your body, take your hands and press them firmly in a hug around yourself.
Angst is about being desperately human. It’s good to be angry.
Yours,
Miss Chia & Miss Panasenko.
Miss Chia & Miss Panasenko.