Tupperware Lunches

When I was younger and my parents asked me to clean my room

I’d stick a plastic spoon in my mouth

and shove everything—

crumbled up pieces of unfinished poetry,

dried up markers with lost lids,

garments of clothes I refused to clean,

Tupperware of school lunches I refused to eat—

under my bed.

A lover of instant gratification.

I have a bad habit of befriending bad habits.

Of building homes within them,

and feeling foreign without them.

Always cold, always tired, always hungry.

These, I etched into my DNA:

            brown eyes,

            straight hair,

            and chronically starving

            pretty.

But I am older now,

and there are other things to clean.

I am older now, and I realize there are other things to be:

intelligent,

loving,

            to myself, especially,

curious.

I am older now, and how good it feels to be alive and warm,

and fed.

Written by Gayle Badrina

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Pancakes to Nuclear Weapons

Holidays that fall on September 26^th range from National Pancake Day to International Day for the Total Elimination of Nuclear Weapons. A few oddly specific and peculiar holidays include Mesothelioma Awareness Day, Lumberjack Day, Johnny Appleseed Day, a variety of food days, and more. These holidays mark September 26^th as a day of foods, bonding, and the elimination of nuclear weapons. Casual holidays make mundane Mondays more amusing.

On September 26^th, the choice between dumplings and pancakes comes easy, as people decided to celebrate both on the same day. Not only do National Dumpling Day and Pancake Day share this day, but so does National Better Breakfast Day. This leads to the conclusion that the better breakfast consists of pancakes accompanied with dumplings. This September 26^th, 2022, marks the third annual National Pancake Day. Lumberjack Day originally marked this holiday, but eventually bloggers Marianne Ways and Colleen Venable added Pancake Day. Then, this holiday gained popularity and flopped its way into people’s hearts.

Additionally, people celebrate International Day for the Total Elimination of Nuclear Weapons. In contrast to Pancake Day, this holiday strives for global change. Its main goal consists of educating, raising awareness, and disarming the threat of nuclear weapons. This holiday seeks the elimination of all nuclear weapons to one day create a nuclear free world.

September 26^th holds a variety of holidays ranging from flat round foods to global change. These holidays demonstrate the range of topics and food items humanity deems worthy of celebrating. Along with the previously mentioned holidays, this date also lifts Family Day and European Day of Languages. Today, enthusiastically greet others with, “Happy Pancake, Dumpling, Family, European Languages, and Anti-Nuclear Weapons Day!”

Written by: Rachel Caña

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The Love I Feel for You

I watch you every day. I watch you drink your morning coffee, watch you make breakfast, watch you brush your teeth while grumbling about it being Monday. I watch you make lunch, I watch you make dinner, I watch you make a snack and I silently hope that you’ll share it with me. I watch you live life.

            A couple of years ago, you stopped leaving every day. I didn’t know why, but I didn’t care. You stayed home all the time! You could love me all the time! You seemed stressed, though, and I did my best to comfort you. I didn’t want you to be sad, but I didn’t want you to leave either.

            I remember the first day I came here, but just barely. I think I had a life before you, but I can’t quite remember. It almost seems like I’ve lived in this house forever, slept on these floors forever, played in this backyard forever. I think I had brothers and sisters once, and sometimes I miss them. Then I see you reaching down absentmindedly to scratch my ears while you talk to the people in your computer, and I forget.

            I hope you know how much I love you. You must, right? I wait for you to wake up because my favorite thing is being with you. I don’t know what I did without you, and I know you feel the same way because you tell me all the time.

            I hardly remember life before you, and I think it’s because my life didn’t really begin until you brought me home. As I curl up beside you, kissing your face goodnight, I hope you know that this kiss means so much more. It means thank you. Thank you for being my world. I love you. Throw the ball more for me tomorrow. Goodnight.

Written by Caroline Johnson

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a love letter to my ocd

i hate you. 

i hate the way you control my life. 

i hate how you invade my every waking thought. 

how you pervade my dreams. 

i hate what you take from me.  

experiences. 

joy. 

excitement. 

i hate what you give me.  

fear. 

obsession. 

confusion.  

you deprive me of sleep,

of living in the moment,

of enjoying the life God has given me.  

every night i take an antidepressant, 

trying to keep the monster called “what if?” from eating through my mind. 

and yet. 

i love you. 

you’re a part of me. 

you’ve always been with me.  

you remind me 

of so many things. 

how fiercely i love. 

how devoted i am. 

how i desperately need to trust and be held 

and dwell in the arms of the Almighty. 

you remind me that i am small 

and i can’t do it 

and i need an all-powerful God to do it for me— 

something i always forget. 

you teach me Bible passages, 

pages upon pages of prose that soothe my soul. 

you bring me great hope 

even in the midst of great sorrow. 

you take a lot 

but you also give a lot 

and for that 

i guess 

i say 

thank you. 

Written by Caroline

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A Lie’s Promise

I shouldn’t trust words so much

Tricky little things skewed and bent to look beautiful 

But when a perfect phrase is uttered… 

One breathed with meaning and heart… 

It’s hard to ignore 

Your silky sweet, honeyed words draw me in 

And I fall into them like a warm embrace of hope 

“I’ll always be there for you.” 

“You have the best smile.” 

“Careful, I might steal your heart.” 

“I’ll make time for you.” 

“Promise.” 

Promise… 

I should have made you swear 

Naïve to the treachery of love, I was caught up in your spell 

But truth’s bitter tonic can break even the strongest of enchantments 

I am no stranger to fabrications and falsehoods 

To bending the truth just enough 

I know everything comes to light eventually 

Because I too am a wordsmith 

I create vivid fantasy with a pen stroke

Words gilded in gold, my own promises hidden under a sugar coated lie   

Beautiful, tempting words 

None of which I can trust 

Not my own and certainly not anyone else’s 

Because like any good author, I confuse fact and fiction 

Written by Naomi

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She Likes Solitude, She Thinks

She loves solitude.

the idea of it, at least.

She wishes she could stay in her room,

but the sun never stays in the sky long enough,

the moon always give way,

and the people go on living

though her throat contracts in pain,

from pleading for it all to pause

just for a moment,

and let her catch her breath because,

she goes through each day,

face toward the pavement,

watching her feet rapidly move one

before the other.

heel, toe, heel, toe.

she knows these steps, she walked this path

a hundred times and

she will walk it a thousand more.

The familiarity provides some momentary quiet

until

she remembers she never quite liked

stability—no, she meant

predictability.

She has been predictable her whole life,

refining her unsolicited talent of fading into the background

to witness other people,

to legitimize their existence.

So where she becomes tangible

hides between the creases and folds of her unwashed bedsheets.

So narrow and fragile a space

it slips through the urgent and chafed

palms of Reality.

She finds

her thoughts too big,

her heart too big,

the world bigger, still

and she feels so small.

Written by Gayle

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Love in Doing and in Being

Love in doing and in being

Little words with great, big meanings

Swimming, laughing, running, breathing

Understanding, loving, seeing

Quiet seconds hold everything

The greatest pleasure, harshest sting

If you knew what your purpose brings

You could accomplish anything

Yes, formed from dust but filled with light

A glorious and humbling sight

A unique, precious life to live

Enough without the additives

So, don’t buy the things to fill the void

Don’t unearth the things that you destroyed

In simple things, the here, the now

Is where your happiness be found

You’ll find it, love, I promise you

When you realize this simple truth

The little things seem much less fleeting

Love in doing and in being

Written by Gracie

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The Continuous Struggle

At the onset of all my mental health struggles, I truly believed that it would only be a season of my life. I’d get through the worst of it and eventually close that chapter. As if mental illness exists as a virus we simply need to flush out of our system. Now a sophomore in college, my mental health journey only continues to ebb and flow. I go through some days perfectly fine. I act productive, eagerly engage in relationships, and just function as a “normal” human being. Other days I find myself waking up, already weighted with melancholy, not fully convinced I ever truly knew myself. It can be the most jarring experience to feel on top of the world one day, completely shattered the next, and not know why. Unsurprisingly, the nature of most days rests in between those extremities. I can carry myself well but stay reminded of all the ways my past mental health struggles still permeate. On days like that, I hesitate to start meals or linger by my reflection for a fraction of a minute too long. I cancel plans because even though I woke up feeling okay, the thought of being around people now makes my heart beat too quickly and my breaths come out ragged. I sit to play the piano and find my fingers uncontrollably shaking. I let drafts of Instagram posts pile up over months, and debate, for hours, over the right captions or the correct order of photos. I overthink the most cut-and-dry situations and interactions feel completely helpless in convincing my brain that I don’t have to believe every thing I think.

At the start of every year, I choose a Bible verse and a word to focus on. This year, I chose “Abundance” as my word. As a college student, I find myself on the precipice of endless possibilities and feel an almost intoxicating amount of excitement regarding it. I knew, however, that when we think of “abundance” we tend to only fantasize the positives. We assume that abundance only means good things. That a full life equates one without hardship and error. Amidst all the mental health struggles I faced, I wanted to see God’s hand in them. To witness his sovereignty and authority in every aspect of life, not just the mountain tops. Yes, happiness and contentment are worthy and beautiful end goals to possess, but we shouldn’t feel guilty for experiencing something incongruent to them. 

As both a Christ-follower and psychology major, I now see the tension between the church and mental health more vividly than most. The neglect of psychological health continues to persist in today’s world, in both the sacred and secular spheres, and my frustration with this reality only continues to grow. For my fellow Christians who fight battles in secret, I want to remind you that your experiences and emotions deserve validation and conversation. No correlation exists between the strength of our faith and our mental stability. Believing that God turns his face from us when we go through difficult seasons minimizes and distorts not only our identity, but God’s as well.

This past semester, one of my professors introduced to us the idea that happiness and contentment existing as the “normal state” of human beings might prove incorrect. At first, some might find this proposal offensive and pessimistic, but I can’t think of a single biblical reference that disproves it. Maybe back in Eden, before Adam and Eve ate the forbidden fruit, that idea stood on steady ground, but not now. Romans 8:22 reads, “We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time.” While I believe that God wishes for us to live our days with laughter and peace, the world that we find ourselves in harbors suffering and brokenness. However, I consider us blessed that we hold the ability to go through turmoil; it means we know something greater exists out there for us to experience. Something Heavenly. 

Now, every time I feel overloaded with serotonin I praise God for that moment of complete bliss, and every time I get hit with extreme heartache I praise God for steadfastness through it and his promise to return to us and redeem it. 

Written by Gayle

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Walter Mitty

Once, I met a boy, who tried building an electric longboard to travel the perimeter road of Iceland; a new-age Walter Mitty. He knew exactly what he wanted.

Miles into the wilderness, in Larue, Texas, sits a ziplining park, where a person can get hooked up to a series of cords allowing them to fly several hundred feet on a wire. The owner’s mop dog with black dreadlocks lumbers behind each employee, and even he wears a ziplining harness. Mason, an employee of the establishment, worked every day helping people get over their fear of heights, and when he went home at night, he changed from a zip-lining guide to a mechanic. The perimeter road of Iceland spans 828 miles, and this whirring two-by-four would make it the whole way if he could control it. With an average max speed of 15mph and a prayer for good weather, he could make it around the entire ring in less than a month. He told me that one day he decided on becoming Walter Mitty, soaring down the rocky and volcanic roads of Iceland on a borrowed longboard. So, he described how he built at his little machine, getting grease on his hands and plugging away at a makeshift engine. I asked him if he was so inspired by the part in the movie that he would play the song where Walter Mitty skates down the slope of the nearly unpronounceable Seyðisfjarðarvegur mountain. He laughed and showed me an entire playlist of José Gonzáles, the writer of many of the songs in the movie.

There remains a part of me that wants adventure, and it battles with the part of me that wants to grow a garden, that I may develop roots like one. I would miss the little comforts of my own comfy chair next to the precious books I have collected over time, the mason jar I drink from, the notes from loved ones on the wall, the kaleidoscope I bought in Jerome, the stuffed animals passed down from my mother, the stray pencil markings on the table where I do my homework, the spray setting of my own shower, the squirrel I must keep away from the tulip bulbs every year, my favorite bench in the park, and the guarantee that wherever I go, the mug that my friend Aidan gave me for my  birthday still sits in the second shelf of the cupboard. I would miss those things were I to chance it on my own. Mason knew exactly what he wanted. He wanted to cut ties and fly down mountains, feeling rain on his skin and cold numbing his fingers. He planned on a new hostel every night, new faces every day, and a new sunset every evening. He found thrill in the form of discovering himself in the lonely wasteland, harking to the wind and crashing seas on the towering cliffs. I want to feel a similar adventure, to find a lake somewhere and sit for a while, or to see a flower I have never laid eyes on before. I would love to roll the dice and take what chance offers in the way of unexpected friends, rainstorms, late nights under the stars, forgetting my toothbrush in the last motel, and gas station snacks. But oh, how I would miss the comfort of home.

“Time to step outside. House on fire, leave it all behind you. Dark as night, let the lightning guide you.” -“Step Out” by José Gonzáles

Written by Gracie

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Haunting Memory House

I opened the door and yelled, “Sam!” A familiar-looking children’s room greeted me, and a tiny bed rested in the corner. The walls displayed paintings of animals, and the floor hide itself underneath many toys. Most of these toys seemed passed down; I knew because they used to be mine. A tug on my arm commanded my attention. A small child stood in front of me and commented, “You look a lot like my sister.”

Minutes before, I followed my little brother, Sam, into an abandoned house in our neighborhood. He wanted an adventure. However, when I went in after him, I stood alone in an exact replica of our home. At first, it looked like a coincidence, but then I saw our own family photos on the wall. All the lights remained off, and not even a sound could be heard. After the shock, a rush of worry grabbed me. I questioned, “Where is Sam?” Then I rushed to his room, but he was not there.

Inside stood a young boy with a striking resemblance to him. I ignored his comment about me looking like his sister and walked towards the center of the room. Light exploded from the window and brightly lit the room. I smiled because seeing his room like this again gave a warm feeling. Suddenly, I heard the door close. When I turned around, the younger aberration of Sam left, and the door stood shut. I went and put my hand on the doorknob. I forced the door open. Then the scene completely changed.

Beyond the doorway stood the same exterior, but everything else shifted. I glanced behind me, and a regular-sized bed rested in Sam’s room. The walls were painted in uniform colors, and the floor no longer hid. The house aged, and so did he. Abruptly, a different figure of Sam sprinted from downstairs into his room. He hurried out with a backpack and hollered, “Goodbye, sis!” Then I realized, my perspective shrank to better fit my memories with the era of the house. This abandoned house still confused me, but for the time being, I just wanted to explore.  

Sam’s room looked exactly as I remembered, with many posters on his walls, and his keyboard always turned on. The living room between our two rooms held our old furniture. I placed my hand on the table that Sam and I accidently broke and laughed. I had not seen it this way in years. I peeked inside my room. It also presented a picture from the past. After I took a few steps inside, the door behind me flung shut. When I rushed over and opened the door, the scene changed again.

The table we broke was replaced with our current one. An eerie feeling ascended my spine. This was not my home. It looked remarkably like it, but I still knew the truth. I continued forward back to Sam’s room. When I entered his room, the previous smiles were rewritten. It was empty. There were two boxes at the side that had not departed yet. Then I heard his voice behind me, “Excuse me, sis, I need to move those now.” I moved out of the way for him. He left with the boxes, and the room turned bare. I stayed in the room, waiting for something to happen.

I feared what the house would show me if I opened another door. Eventually, the desire to find the real Sam took hold of me. I braved opening the door once again. After the squeak of the door hit my ears, I rushed through the house searching for him. I passed through many doors; each time it changed the house to previous states I had seen it in before. Then I saw another younger version of Sam. He stood in front of the entrance to the house carrying several bags. I rushed over to him and begged him not to leave. He smiled at me and repeated the same reasoning I heard earlier today, “I can’t stay here forever. I need some change. I want an adventure.”

I followed him outside. However, when I opened the door, it transformed into an old dusty slab of wood. Then the rest of the house followed. The layout completely changed, and cobwebs filled the interior. I saw the sun begin to set, and then called out for Sam. He appeared behind me, and enthused, “I have cobwebs all over me.” I replied, “Consider them a souvenir from our last adventure together.”

Sam smiled and explained, “I won’t be gone forever. I’ll see you again sometime in the future. The setting will just be different, and I’ll be older.”

A smile returned to my face. I ushered him out of the door, and we walked home. He finished packing all his remaining bags in the car, and hopped in. I gave him a hug and said goodbye. I did not know when my eyes would see him next, but I still closed the door.

Written by Rachel

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