Volume 09

1905
ART & TIMELESS FASHION
Volume 9 // Experiences
Fall 2015 // Volume 7

Cover Photograph by Jennifer Carrillo
Cover Design by Mariah Romero
volume 9

9

EDITORS
Darnell Thomas
Mariah Romero
DESIGN
Mariah Romero
PHOTO
Marco Rivera
Saul G. Hodgers
Jennifer Carrillo
Jo Herrera
Rebeca Gonzalez
Jennifer Rapinchuk
Raya Jade
WORDS
Anaiah Lupton
Ana Stina Rimal
Zoe Baillargeon
Darnell Thomas
La’ Charles Trask
Mariah Faye
Marisa Esquer
Brantlee Reid

FOOD STYLE ILLUSTRATION
Andie Fuller
Susy Alfaro
Edwin Theodore
Darnell Thomas
Mariah Romero
Keynan Johnson
India Hearne
Lydia Abernathy
Alex Conkins
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CONTENTS
life
10
13
19
23
30
37
41
A Collection of Experiences
Becoming Mr. Trask
Meditations at Bandelier
Paper Tigers
Culture Oddity
Five Steps to Experience Better Skin
Female Grooming
style
46
48
61
74
83
93
101
Abernathy
Hodgers
Carrillo
Herrera
Gonzalez
Rapinchuk
Rivera
good eats
111
115
121
123
Hpnotiq with a Twist
Hot Prawn and Mango Salad
Elderberry Latte
The “Healthy Shot”

Illustrations by India Hearne

A COLLECTION OF EXPERIENCES
Anaiah Lupton
I am nine years old and my family has taken us to the
beach during off season. We soon discover that our assets
are only benefited to a certain extent as we combat monumental
amounts of thick seaweed. The seaweed is dark
and brushes against my thighs like a serpent. My hair is
a wild mess of tangles, fused together by saltwater that
dances down my back. The Velcro latching my board to
my left ankle is caught in the seaweed and pulls me under
water. I am left with a decision. To wane into the urge of
swallowing the greenish, luminescent water, allowing it
to encompass me and nurse me to sleep, or exhausting
myself to the shore. I garner my strength and swim. I lay
panting on the shore and am suddenly disappointed with
my choice. I look behind me at the sea and wish I was under
the water, cradled into the sleep my body desperately
longs for. I often think of this moment and how it rep-
10

esents the idea of “It gets better”, and the
notion of hope and life going on in a positive
direction implying that if I just swim far
enough and hold my breath longer, maybe
someday I won’t feel like I’m drowning.
We spent the entire duration of the party
trying to find our friend and taking turns
waiting to use the restroom. Simultaneously
we are becoming less sober and you mention
that most of the parties we attend involve
us wandering through a sea of conversation,
dancing and drinking while looking for a
friend. You note that perhaps we aren’t really
looking for anyone, but looking for a way to
fill the time before we can go home and fall
asleep and talk about the party in the morning,
feeling like we have robust social lives
and that we are cool.
My grandmother is driving me to school
on her way to work. We ride together every
Tuesday morning. We turn left at the
greenlight of the intersection not far from
my house. We are met with a rush of people
around an accident that just occurred only
moments before. The ambulance and paramedics
have not arrived yet but he is sitting
on the ground next to his car and his abdomen
is covered in blood and he is crying.
My grandmother doesn’t say anything and
she takes me to school where I spend the remainder
of the day crying and questioning
if I should be crying. This human empathy
seems instinctual and necessary but I feel
embarrassed and the more I explain to my
teachers what I had seen I realize by their
expression that they envy my innocence.
We have been friends for years. We have all
of the same classes. Moaning and groaning,
we mutually respond to the grief from our
assignments. We yearn to be outside as we sit
uncomfortably, legs crossed, in our wooden
desks. We are laying on your bed and the
window is open, allowing the crisp January
air into your bedroom. You show me your
favorite song and I am moved and a deep
emotion is evoked within me and the idea of
the song makes me not feel so alone. I used
to believe that this connection was exclusive
to an eros love, beyond a platonic relationship.
I realized that the feeling of being alive
was not equal to, but greater than the feeling
of being in love. I didn’t know I could experience
this level of intimacy and love with
a friend and feel truly, and utterly known;
even if only for a moment.
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12

BECOMING MR. TRASK
An Interview with La’ Charles Trask
Written by Darnell Thomas
La’Charles tells us a little bit about your fit journey.
For as long as I could remember I’ve been overweight. From a young 4th grader
to a Freshman in college. It wasn’t easy and I can’t stress that enough, losing
weight took hard work. My own personal philosophy on being “overweight”
is, if I was able to sit down and eat every pound, I was going to get up and run
every pound off. The journey started the beginning of highschool with quick
fix diets and premature workouts but the real results didn’t show until college
when I finally woke up and realized, it’s not about losing weight it’s about creating
a new lifestyle for yourself.
What made you want to turn your life around to become healthy?
There were several things leading up to this, but one major phone call gave me
that spark to change for the better. I had went to the doctor and found out I
was about 130lbs. overweight, wow, I can’t believe I let myself get that big. My
father called me one day and we talked like we usually do about everything for
a hour and when we were about to hang up he says to me, “I’ve already lost one
child, I don’t want to lose you to this weight.” My world stopped. It was time
to Fix it!
Photography by Marco Rivera
Creative Directing by Darnell Thomas
Styling by Keynan Johnson
Modeling by La’ Charles Trask
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How much work goes into a transition like this one?
You have to want this for yourself. Nobody can make you do it because at the
end of the day it’s you who has to lay down with your conscience. As it being a
physical journey, Mental/Emotional awareness is needed. You have to figure out
why you excessively eat, for me, it was boredom. I catch myself eating when I
didn’t have anything to do and every year it seemed like a 20-35lb weight gain.
When you look back on your freshman year in college, what is
different about you now?
Good question. There’s 4 major things. Im FOCUSED. I’m CONSCIENCE.
I WANT IT. I WALK THAT TALK.
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15

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What is your your ultimate fit goal?
My ultimate fit goal is to be lean, I got to get this leading man body together
for the big screen. I’ve come a long way with losing 85lb, but these last 30lb
will be the death of me.
What advice would you give to someone who is trying to achieve
a healthier lifestyle?
The main advice I will give someone is that, it will get better. Some people
don’t understand that this isn’t just about food, it can be a disease that kills and
if you don’t figure out your “triggers” or the origin of the “bad habits”, for me,
I wasn’t living the happiest life I could be living. Starting off getting on that
treadmill was fuc*king awful, but when I put the time in and work the feeling
afterwards was the most rewarding. Keep trucking along because there’s nothing
like going into stores now and getting pants and shirts 2-3 sizes smaller.
17

Photography by Marius Schanke
18

MEDITATIONS AT BANDELIER
Ana Stina Rimal
Distantly, I hear a man reading a pamphlet from the Visitor’s Center to his
family. They inch their way closer to me as they explore the caves corresponding
to the pamphlet descriptions. “Dad! Read number thirteen,” the girl says.
She is young and awkward. She had tried to put her hair into a braid,
I can tell, but her knots are loose and falling. I imagine her asking her
mother for help and her mother saying from behind a magazine or a roadmap
or a web page about National Parks in New Mexico; “I don’t braid.”
The young girl is wearing bell bottom pants that are too short for her long
legs and I instantly empathize. It is girls like this that I want to run and hug,
girls that I decide are like me. I sit and stare.
There is a strange kind of bliss in the idea that no one wants to talk to me.
The cooing birds are not going to ask me how my day was. The ghosts of ancestors
who forged these caves are not concerned with my happiness. Lately,
I have felt overwhelmed by the pressure to be a wife to everyone; to communicate
with kindness, to be sweet, beautiful, sexual, nurturing and honest. I
don’t want to be those things, not right now. I want to be angry. There are
nasty crevices in me; caves, almost. They are filled with thorns and miniature
tequila bottles (collected from the street corners, the back of my car, the very
bottom of my trash can) and orange lines of crushed up pills and lesions and
dead dogs. These places, in me, ooze anger and resentment and scream in
mute. I keep looking for experiences and I keep finding myself in the same
experience. Some things are different but we are not different. The songs we
listen to in the car are different but we are not different.
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The walls of the caves are dirty and cold and uneven.
I feel afraid to touch them, to walk too close
to them. I feel afraid to be inside of them, as if I am
imposing on a sacred memory with my gaudy hoop
earrings and my cell phone and my anger.
I am driving to Albuquerque for the third time this
week. No one knows I am going, no one knows that
I have been going. I meet you at your parent’s house
and you ask if I want to go to the second-hand store.
You consider stealing something for me, I know, but
neither of us say anything. You feel like a loser because
you gave most of your paycheck to the bailbondsman
and to your daughter and estranged wife.
You have to get back to your parent’s house. You
don’t say anything because you feel uncomfortable
asking me for a ride. Compulsively, you ask me if
I like you. I drop you off and your mom calls to
make sure I am gone. I am really late for class and
my skirt is too short but luckily my teacher put on a
movie and it is dark and I have a long coat to cover
my bare ass.
I am sitting in cave thirteen. The mother of the family
sizes me up. My inclination is to smile, show my
well-learned docility, the awkward and welcoming
parts of myself that are just like that of the young
girl who feels too desperate and ugly to be unfriendly.
I refuse myself the impulse. For a while I sit until
I stand up and run away. The family, thankful for
my departure, proceeds to cave thirteen.
Your bite marks are different, they are more aggressive,
they intend to break my skin and I succumb to
them because the bite marks and the songs and the
angry muted screaming all fit together. They mark
me, all over, like red marks of infection, like soot on
the ceiling of ancient caves.
In the days since I left Bandelier, I keep imagining
the caves as a place that once held a community. I
imagine the person who sits in their room at night,
their cave in this case, and stares at the ceiling and
tries to find animals and faces in the texture of the
rock. I imagine them laughing to themselves about
something that their friend said earlier that day. I
imagine them lying there, thinking about what they
will do when their grandmother dies or if one of
their siblings dies and I imagine them crying in bed
right before they go to sleep, not because they are
sad, exactly, but because there is just so much to feel.
I imagine the person who feels the way that I do;
hungry and angry and desperate and stuck. I have
been thinking of all the people like me, who scream
in mute and glare at families on vacation, and I am
confident that there are many and maybe one lived
in Bandelier when it was at it’s prime - bustling with
voices and livestock and smoke from fires cooking
dinner. I imagine the little girl, who might not feel
angry and stuck and hateful now or if she does, feels
hopeful that one day it will pass, and I want to tell
her that it won’t - it will sit under her like a dormant
pus-filled sore waiting to flare and swell and
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pop. It is likely that she will be hurt and
raped and hit and lied to. She will make
promises she can’t keep and hurt the
people she loves and find herself sitting
in a cave, alone somewhere wishing she
didn’t have to be a wife and a friend and
a good person ever again.
The fear is different because there is
more to lose. You lost your house and
your family and your three dogs, two
cats, rabbit, and turtle. You now get
stoned and make shapes in the carpet
on the train, on the way to your parent’s
house. Sometimes I feel like you
want me to lose everything as well so we
will be the same. Your cheeks are always
pink and your breath tastes like permanent
markers. You put on your sunglasses
so I won’t see you cry.
21

Photography by Raya Jade
Creative Directing by Darnell E. Thomas
Modeling by Chaos Debault
Modeling by Nick De La O
23

PAPER TIGERS
Written by Mariah Faye
Hobbes Sunwood fed the stolen betta fish
from Pegasus Pet Supply he kept in his locker
in Palm Valley High. He sprinkled some
brine shrimp and watched his separated
beauties chase down their inching prey. He
saw himself as a betta fish while the rest of
his classmates were the sea monkeys floating
aimlessly in the water. He smirked to himself
and closed the locker door gently pressing his
palm against the powder blue painted metal.
The moment he turned around, Katie, the head
of the yearbook committee shoved her camera
lens in his face. The flash blinded Hobbes as
he cuffed the sleeves of his black leather jacket
and rubbed his eyes. The next thing all the
teachers and students knew was that Hobbes
lunged at Katie and shoved her into the row
lockers across the linoleum floor. So swift and
violent, her back made a dent in Tom Sendak’s
locker, instantly breaking her spine.
In most cases, the parents would show up at
the principal’s office, agreeing for their son to
get tested for an illness at a specialist thirty
minutes outside of town. In Hobbes’ case, it
was his brother, Archie, only a few years older
than him but legally his guardian after both
of their parents gave up on them. They are
known as the second-generation psychopaths
in Hobbes’ public school records.
Principal Hyde slid the developing Polaroid
Katie took of Hobbes across his mahogany
desk to Archie, sniffing his nose. Archie
cleared his throat and reached over to grab
the picture. “This girl clearly doesn’t know
how to work with instant cameras.” Was the
first thing Archie said about the picture. “She
just got the top of Hobbes’ face.”
“Look closer, Mr.Sunwood,” Principal Hyde
calmly said to him bottling up his past experiences
as Archie as a student. (That resulted
at an end to his twenty-five-year marriage.)
Archie raised the photo to his face as Hobbes
sat next to him with a sneer, bobbing his
somber eyes up and down. The tanks of betta
fish surrounded the edge of Principal Hyde’s
desk and a bowl containing Hobbes’ favorite
one in his lap; a blue and red Plakat.
“I don’t see what’s the problem, here, Hyde.
Hobbes looks fine.” Archie slid the photo
back across this desk.
Principal Hyde held up Hobbes’ overexposed
picture. “Notice his eyes, between the irises and
the lower lids, that, Archie, is called Sanpaku.
24

Do you know what that is?”
Archie gazed up at the ceiling and sarcastically pretend
to think to himself. “No,” He said after a few seconds.
“It is clinically proven that people with these look in
their eyes are not mentally fit for a social environment.
Adolph Hitler had it, James Dean had it, Charles
Manson has it…” Principal Hyde listed historic figures
assumed to have Sanpaku from the top of his head. As
he spoke, Hobbes sat straighter and straighter.
“You’re going to expel me just because I have this certain
stare? This is a dictatorship!” Tears began to fill
Hobbes’ eyes.

“You are expelled and expected to
bring all those fish back to the pet
store or else a warrant for your arrest
will be made.” Principal Hyde told
Hobbes. “You severed a girl’s spine,
what more do you expect?”
Archie helped Hobbes with his stuff
as they walked down the hall with
boxes in their hands. Hobbes carried
his fish and watched them all in
their little cups sway side to side in the
water. Everyone craned their heads as
Hobbes and Archie drift out of the
building like pale white ghosts. “Psychopath!”
Jack Matthews yelled before
the front doors closed behind them.
Around the corner, the Japanese man
who ran Pegasus Pet Supply waited
outside his shop with his hands behind
his back. His wife helped him as
Archie and Hobbes handed over each
fish still in their little tanks.
The wife grabbed Hobbes’ favorite
fish in the bowl from his hands
but Hobbes pulled the bowl closer
to him. “Brooks!” He insisted on
keeping his Plakat. Archie jumped
in front of the wife and his brother
with a handful of cash.
“Just let him keep this one.” He
told her. The Japanese couple went
back inside with the rest of the fish,
shaking their heads. Archie turned
to Hobbes.
“Are you fucking crazy?” Archie took the
fishbowl from him and tucked it under
his arm. “Come on, let’s go home.”

Back home, Hobbes sat in the dated
dining room with his fish on the table
as Archie talked business with a client
in the kitchen. “I heard your brother
got expelled today?” Manolo Moreno,
a vicious con man, lit a clove cigarette
over the kitchen island. Archie gave
him a measuring look as he toyed with
his Nikon camera.
“Don’t eavesdrop on our lives, Man,
and put that out. Don’t you know not
to smoke indoors?” Hobbes heard
from the kitchen and turned to them
with his face pressed against his wrist
and his fingers tangled in his hair.
“So are we ready to off the priest’s persona?”
Archie asked Moreno. Moreno
slowly nodded his head and stood up,
knocking his fist on the countertop. Archie
smirked and faced Hobbes. “Come
on Hobbes, get dressed in your finest
suit and grab your gun.” He told him.
Archie dragged Hobbes across the
lawn in their matching black suits
and moon chokers. Archie shoved
Hobbes in the backseat. Their brunette
hair fell over their faces as
Hobbes punched the windowpane
of Archie’s vinyl black Eldorado.
“How many more deaths do we have
to fake?” Hobbes flared his legs in
the air. “I don’t feel like killing one
of Manny’s personas off today!” He
crossed his arms with an unloaded
pistol in his hand.
Archie glanced over his shoulder in the
driver’s seat. “Jesus, you are a nutcase.”
He told him.

Hobbes spat in Archie’s face and Archie unbuckled
his seatbelt, they started to throw
punches at each other in the back of the car.
A neighbor watering their rosebushes outside
stood there with the hose in their hand as they
watched the brothers get into a backseat brawl.
Archie’s phone rang in his back pocket. He
punched Hobbes in the shoulder one last time
before he answered it.
“Go fuck yourself!” Hobbes yelled in the
background.
“Fuck you,” Archie said before speaking to
Moreno. “Yeah, what?”
“What gives?” Moreno asked over the phone.
He stood in his priest getup in the alleyway of
the church he’s been pilfering from.
“We’re on our way,” Archie hung up the
phone and pointed his finger at Hobbes. “If
you do this I will get you another fish.”
“Make that two.”
Archie drew a long sigh. “I don’t think you’re
getting the point, you can have how many
you want just go with the act.”
Moreno pretended to pray in the alley as Archie
made a sharp turn in his vintage Cadillac.
Moreno’s fellow priests watch him from
the back doorway out of curiosity of what
was about to go down. Archie parked just before
he could hit Moreno in the back with his
bumper, he did it intentionally.
Archie and Hobbes get out of the car with
their unloaded pistols and walked up to
Moreno. “I’m glad you could meet us here,
Father.” Archie motioned Hobbes to raise his
gun. Hobbes awkwardly pointed his gun toward
Moreno’s back as if he had stage fright
in front of the handful of priests watching.
“Like what you told us when we were choir
boys - you deserve it.” Archie said to Moreno
and that was Hobbes cue to pull the trigger.
A bomb made of instant cherry jello went off beneath
Moreno’s knees and exploded as Moreno
dramatically fell to the asphalt. Archie walked up
to him and kicked his back, he slowly gazed up
at the priests and nodded his head before he and
Hobbes dragged Moreno’s still body and stashed
him in the back of the trunk. They scuttled in
the car and drove off with smiles on their faces.
Hobbes watched Archie pass the parking lot
he was supposed to drop Moreno off at. “Hey,
that was where you were supposed to drop
him off?” He pointed back at the parking lot.
Archie laughed. “Who said we’re dropping him
off?” And at that moment, Hobbes and Archie
looked at each other with Sanpaku stares.
28

29

CULTURE ODDITY
Written by Zoe Baillargeon
Culture shock. The sensation is like that of sending a
rocket ship to the moon. Going from light to darkness
to light again.
You are the astronaut. You strap into your rocket,
ready for an adventure, to head into the unknown.
Passport? Check. Plane ticket? Check. Cards and
money? Check. Clothing? Check. Are you ready?
Ground control to Major Tom?
… I’m ready.
Commencing countdown, engines on. Check ignition
and may God’s love be with you.
Blast off.
After launching out past the familiar atmosphere,
waving goodbye to family, friends, pets, jobs, favorite
restaurants, and everything that was safe, you’re on
your own.
Can you hear me, Major Tom?
The first month of the trip is usually spent in a state
of fascination, amazed at everything new that is seen
and felt. You constantly communicate with loved
ones back home, relaying details of your trip. It’s all
so much.
Stars. Moon. Floating. Far above the world. Otherworldly
and transcendental. Bliss.
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But then, the cultural differences of the new
country start to affect you. They seem weird
and wrong. You start to feel uncomfortable,
Can you hear me, Major Tom?
The first month of the trip is usually spent in
a state of fascination, amazed at everything
new that is seen and felt. You constantly
communicate with loved ones back home,
relaying details of your trip. It’s all so much.
Stars. Moon. Floating. Far above the world.
Otherworldly and transcendental. Bliss.
But then, the cultural differences of the new
country start to affect you. They seem weird
and wrong. You start to feel uncomfortable,
scared, and angry. You are now entering the
moon’s shadow. Cut off from home. Everything
that once was so new and exciting is
now annoying and uncomfortable.
Can you hear me, Major Tom?
It’s dark. You feel lost. A little lonely, a little
scared. Not really sure what to do. The desire
to go back home, back to light and familiarity,
is strong and it pulls like gravity.
Planet Earth is blue and there’s nothing you can do.
The one hope is that eventually, in a few
months, light will return as your space capsule
swings around the far side of the moon and
the Earth and the Sun are visible again.
The dark side of the moon. That is culture shock.
It’s a term that I’ve heard thrown around
somewhat lightly by casual travelers, and a
term that, up until a few months ago, I used
to interpret differently as well.
For many people, culture shock is a feeling
of displacement and sometimes discomfort
in reaction to aspects of a different culture.
The reasons may vary. The taste or style of
food may be off putting. The mannerisms
of the locals may cross a personal line. It
may seem weird that people take siestas in
the afternoon, or that street dogs roam freely
and people regularly feed them and treat
them like pets without welcoming them
into their homes.
But as a rational human, you, the traveler,
know that it’s a temporary adjustment and
that by stepping outside your comfort zone,
you are on your way to becoming a more tolerant,
understanding, and worldly person.
You know you’ll be back to your normal,
comfortable way of life soon enough.
But that’s not the whole story. Culture
shock can be much more severe.
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I’ve been through culture shock before. But
never as bad as last year when I packed up my
life and moved to Chile. It wasn’t easy. But I
would be lying if I said it hasn’t been worth it.
The first phase of culture shock is called the
euphoria or honeymoon phase. Everything is
amazing. The food, the music, the clothing,
the locals. It’s wondrous, enchanting – you
feel as if you’ve just found the way your life is
meant to be lived. You drink it all in, loving
every second of the experience.
For me, moving to Chile should have been a
no-brainer. I had been there three times before,
even lived there for six months during a
study abroad in 2013. I was familiar with the
local vernacular (Chileans have a dialect that
makes communication hell for a beginner
Spanish speaker such as myself), I had eaten
the local dishes (and gotten over the prerequisite
food poisoning incident), become accustomed
to Chileans’ complete lack of sense for
personal space (they will get ALL up in your
business), and even scored a Chilean boyfriend.
There were many aspects of Chilean
culture I loved – their laid-back rhythm of
life, the local panaderias that perfumed streets
with the smell of fresh bread, the tradition of
having once (teatime) at night, the sweetness
of the Chilean people, and how different it
was from every other place I had been to. I
expected my reentry into the Chilean culture
to be smooth and uneventful.
On the surface, I was right. Nothing went
wrong. There were no nasty surprises. But underneath,
inside me, a much more strenuous
transition was happening. One that made the
move and the next few months after it hell.
After about a month, things started to get
on my nerves. Little things, like not wanting
to eat bread everyday (Chileans eat a lot of
bread) or that it was hard to find a decent cup
of coffee because
everyone drinks “I had entered the shadow
instant (what kind of the moon and lost signal
with Earth. Home – the
of INSANITY is
that?!) I felt cons United States where all my
tantly irritated
friends and family were -
and ill-at-ease and
was gone. I spent months
I wasn’t entirely
sure why.
in darkness, occasionally
coming up for air.”
I had entered the
shadow of the mo
on and lost signal with Earth. Home – the
United States where all my friends and family
were - was gone. I spent months in darkness,
occasionally coming up for air. Being
surrounded by all that blackness, feeling unable
to communicate, cut off from the people
I loved, struggling to find a job, feeling
32

worthless and wondering if I’d made a huge
mistake - that’s when the ugliest parts of me
came out to play. Isolation can make a person
bitter like that.
This phase of culture shock has been dubbed
the Irritability or Disintegration stage. Everything
is wrong. Everything is backwards.
You feel like an elitist, uppity jerk for being
so affected by things that you used to love
about the host culture, but you can’t help
it. You begin to idealize your home culture,
where everything made sense.
I’m not the only person to experience this
negative reaction (which is good, because
I thought I was going crazy.) According to
studies, the disintegration phase is a normal,
healthy reaction because it shows that
the traveler is really adjusting to the host
culture, as well as reevaluating and staying
connected to core values of self and home.
Many travelers go through this process. But
that didn’t change the fact that around this
stage, I spent a solid three months feeling
like a perpetual asshole.
It was hard not to, constantly finding fault
with the country that had opened its doors
to me. I polarized between anger and depression,
all the while feeling confused and alone,
even though I had many people around me,
especially my boyfriend, who cared and clearly
wanted me to feel comfortable. I kept my
grievances to myself, but I didn’t know why
they were grievances in the first place. Many
of the cultural differences I now hated were
differences I used to love about Chile on previous
visits. I felt ashamed of my feelings and
pushed myself harder to feel at home, which
only made it worse.
Though I’m past one hundred thousand
miles, I’m feeling very still…
This brings me to now, circa five months
into my trip and just now coming out of
the moon’s shadow. Things are better. This is
when my adjustment or reemergence phase is
occurring. Some days, I receive a faint beeping
signal that I am almost around the far side
of the moon. I see a hint of light on the horizon.
Making friends. A possible job. Easier
communication with the locals. Moving into
a new house. I go for the light but remember
what I learned about myself in the darkness.
I’m not fully assimilated and some aspects
of the culture still feel strange, but I’m rediscovering
my relationship to this country
and its culture. The two sides of me, the US
side and the Chile side, are slowly learning
how to be good roommates, how to accommodate
each other and celebrate each other’s
differences and accept the other without
judgement and with love and appreciation.
It’s a slow process that can’t be rushed. No
one can force themselves to feel at home
33

I CAN
ALMOST
SEE THE
SUN
NOW.

someplace they’ve just been plopped down
into. But I feel it working.
I can almost see the sun now.
Why it was so much harder to adjust to life
in Chile this time as opposed to other times
I’ve lived here, I’m still trying to understand.
Perhaps it’s that I’m now a college graduate
having to be fully independent for the first
time, trying to figure out my life and career,
which is hard enough in my home country,
let alone on another continent. Or that I was
too scared of letting go of my past and moving
forward after college. Maybe I missed
my friends and family too much and wanted
to go back to what was safe and familiar. It
could be all the above.
Whatever the reason, I think my spaceship
knows which way to go from here on out.
The part that is yet to come is going home.
For some people, this turns out to be the
hardest part. Essentially, it’s the same stages
of culture shock, but experienced back home.
But you’ve learned that your home culture
is maybe not the perfect haven you once
thought. You’ll go to that burger joint you
missed so much. You’ll laugh and hang out
with your friends and family at old haunts.
You’ll see movies sans subtitles or dubbing.
Everything you missed while away is suddenly
at your fingertips again and it’s wonderful.
But is it? When I move back to the States,
maybe I’ll miss having tea and bread with avocado
at ten at night. Maybe I’ll miss the chaotic
fish and food market on Saturday mornings.
I’ll miss the view of the harbor from my
house in Valparaiso. I’ll miss the local slang
that sounds so normal to me now. Maybe all
the things that drove me crazy when I moved
here will be the things I miss the most.
No place is perfect and as a traveler I’m constantly
looking for adventure while carrying
home with me. It’s not always easy. But it’s
possible that two places can exist within me,
both speaking to different parts of me, and
they can both feel right. Maybe the occasional
feeling that I’ve been torn in two pieces is
a good thing because it teaches me to stretch
and be flexible. Maybe I’ll never be whole because
the world is so big and I’ve stepped over
the edge a little and miss that thrill of placing
myself completely at the mercy of a different
culture. Maybe I’ll do it again.
I’ve yet to know.
But from any place in the world, the stars don’t
look so different today, because we’re all just
sitting in a tin can. Trying to live life, and at
same time, feel connected to home.
The End.
Thank you to David Bowie for Space Oddity,
which helped me step through the door
35

Illustrations by Alexandra Conkins

FIVE STEP TO EXPERIENCE BETTER SKIN
Written by Marisa Esquer
Taking care of our skin can sometimes be quite the mundane task. Instead of seeing a skincare routine as a chore,
we should see it as our time to spend with ourselves at the beginning and end of our day. These five steps to better
skin can help bring some much needed inspiration to any lacking routine.
1
To create an effective skin care regime, you need a strong foundation and that
means investing in a good cleanser! I think many people over look this step and
it is actually one of the most important factors to having good skin. My personal
favorite at the moment is Hera’s White Program Cleansing Foam. This
cleanser really does it all, from fading acne scars, preventing acne, softening fine
lines, and hydrating the skin; making it the perfect cleanser for all skin types!
2
After cleansing comes toning, toning is what is going to get off any leftover
residue that your cleanser might have missed and also balance your skin.
There are many toners on the market that include alcohol and that is one
thing I always try and avoid even for those with oily or acne prone skin.
Alcohol is an ingredient that is harsh on the skin. Instead if need something
more powerful, look for a toner that includes witch hazel or other less abrasive
properties. My pick is Iope’s Trouble Clinic Soothing Toner, it uses peppermint
extracts and panthenol compounds to soothe skin and restore skin’s
ideal pH balance.
37

38

3
Essence! A secret step that is often missed all together. An essence is what is going
to keep skin supple and soft. Apply after toner to prep skin for any addition
skin care products. Missha’s Time Revolution Essence has helped the overall
texture of my skin, allowing for my other products to be more effective.
4
The final step before moisturizer is an emulsion, there are so many different
types of emulsions out there for any skin concern. From fighting acne to
hydrating, an emulsion is like a lightweight moisturizer packed full powerful
ingredients to penetrate the skin. I like my emulsion to sooth and protect my
skin, to combat acne while also being kind to the skin that is not causing me
any trouble. One that does it all for me is the Iope Trouble Clinic Emulsion,
it works so well with the rest of my routine!
5
Now it is time to seal in all of the nutrients we put into our skin in the first
four steps! Moisturizer is the final step, no matter how simple or advanced
the routine, they all end with a moisturizer. Even those with oily skin should
not skip this step! For someone like me with skin that tends to be more dry,
a cream type product works best for me. The Aromatica Rose Absolute Vital
Cream is great because it is thick, without leaving me greasy. The rose properties
help with evening out skin tone and soothing sensitive skin. For those
with combination or oily skin, there are many gel based moisturizers that
work just as well!
39

FEMALE GROOMING
Brantlee Reid
My irritation worsened with each stroke of the blades against my shin;
inch-length black and blonde hairs felled for the sake of attraction. After
the deed was done, feeling ten pounds lighter and as if I had sold my
soul for pennies, my legs shone pristinely bald, reflecting rays and sending
signals to passing pilots, begrudgingly announcing my submission.
The occasion was a family vacation, one that, as always, required the tinge of
normality I possess to overwhelm any and all aesthetic unconventionalities as
society, namely my family, perceives them. The fourteen-hour drive was no exclusion
to the harassment, nor were the days preceding.
‘’Can you do me a favor for Florida?” my dad texted, and I humored him although
sensing the general path we were about to tread.
“What?”
“Shave your legs.”
“Pass.”
“I’m asking you nicely,” he said. “Will significantly lower the odds of a confrontation
and we just don’t need it.”
“Sure,” I responded, knowing that it would ultimately end in my reluctant
surrender.
My parents are not exclusively the issue here; we have all been conditioned to
view women’s body hair in a vile light. The shaving trend (she says in heavy spite
of a recently published article by Lewis Potton of Viral Thread, entitled “It’s
Official, Ladies Not Shaving Their Armpits is Becoming a Trend”) spawned, as
most deplorable things in America do, with the beauty industry, and at its core,
with commercialism.
40

The idea of hairless underarms wasn’t aroused until
1915, when the May issue of Harper’s Bazaar was
released, including an ad that detailed a grainy grey
image of a woman all-smiles as she debuts her bare
pits in sleeveless garb, the dress itself a radical notion
for the times. The caption: Summer dress and modern
dancing combine to make necessary the removal of objectionable
hair. A few years later in an ad put forth
by Ashes of Roses, the first sentence daringly states:
The fastidious woman day-to-day must have immaculate
underarms if she is to be unembarrassed. The second
line read: Sleeveless dresses, the thinnest of silk hose
and knee-length skirts make superfluous hair embarrassing.
Advertisements were so devious as to impart
these insecurities before the hair had the chance to
unfurl from the suppression of modesty; a consumerist,
profit-lusting ploy that the razor and depilatory
cream businesses perpetuated, and fashion magazines
propagated, eventually convincing women and men
that hairless skin was obligatory.
Two days post soul selling, we hit the road. Before
long, I was sprawled out, my laced hands a pillow
in lieu of the one I forgot. I was barely awake when
I felt my mom pinching my toes. “Brantlee. B. BB.
Shorty. Brant. Brant. Brantlee.”
“What mom.”
“Can you shave your pits for me when we get there?”
I sighed, “I’d rather wear a t-shirt the whole time,” which
encouraged her to ask, why is it such a big deal?
It’s not, and that’s the fucking point. I don’t grow
out my body hair out of spite for the establishment,
though that is an advantage I inadvertently reap in
consequence. It is not about an upcoming trend or fad.
It is not about pissing you off. It’s sort of about offending
elderlies, but above anything it is about my right
to shave or not to shave based on the sole and simple
principle that I don’t have to be bound to one or the
other because of my gender. I don’t remember asking
to be born and I definitely don’t remember choosing
to be a girl. I don’t remember signing a contract that
subscribed me to lady-likeness. I openly pick my nose,
announce my bowel movements in crowds, neglect
my hair for days. Deodorant has never been a top-shelf
priority, nor has pursing my legs when seated. I’m happiest
when I’m camping: dirty, cloaked in caked sweat
and campfire perfume. In the same vein, I run through
fourteen potential outfits before one suffices, and even
then I change at least three times more. I love the feel
of smooth, fresh-shaven skin against modal sheets, but
not so much as to repeat the half hour process daily, or
41

weekly even. I’m lazy. When I have enough time, or when whatever reason I’m shaving for is worth enduring the stubble
stage, I’ll shave. Personal grooming is a preference that all individuals have the right to make based on their personal motivations,
whatever they may be, and shouldn’t have to defend those personal decisions. I don’t go around asking people why
they shave or don’t. Why? Stay with me here, it’s about to get complicated: I don’t ask because it’s none of my business, not
my concern, and doesn’t affect my life in any way. Logic 101 for the bigots.

Unfortunately, my transition from “prim and proper” to au naturel was turbulent at best. I have caved and shaved under
the pressure of expectancy, been self-wary of the opinions of others to the point of repositioning my limbs to avoid
drawing attention to the outgrown hair. I have faced continual ridicule and prolonged stares and withstood it all only
to succumb in the shower upon second thought. Now I’ve reached the point of acceptance, refusing to be embarrassed
of a feature so innocent and humanly, innately present for whatever purpose it serves, which for now, is a tiny freedom.

EDITOR’S WISHLIST
Illustrations by Lydia Abernathy
DARNELL THOMAS
46

BERNIE FOR
PRESIDENT.
MARIAH ROMERO
47

48

PHOTOGRAPHY BY SAUL G. HODGERS
Modeling by Karina Gutierrez
Modeling by Hector Alegria
Clothing by Homero Cortez
Makeup & Hair by Neftali Camacho
49

54

56

58

59

60

PHOTOGRAPHY BY JENNIFER CARRILLO
Clothing Design by Mariah Romero
Modeling by Alex Chavez
61

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67

68

70

71

72

73

PHOTOGRAPHY BY JO HERRERA
75

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79

82

PHOTOGRAPHY BY REBECA GONZALEZ
Modeling by Brenda Castro
83

86

87

90

91

92

PHOTOGRAPHY BY JENNIFER RAPINCHUK
Styling by Mariah Romero
Modeling by Julian Williams
93

96

97

PHOTOGRAPHY BY MARCO RIVERA
Creative Direction by Darnell Thomas
Modeling by Shantanu Sagara
101

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105

HPNOTIQ WITH A TWIST
The days are getting longer, the sun is
shining brighter, and everything seems to
be blossoming. Now’s the time to share
a fruity drink with friends in the unused
patios, waiting for the spring days and the
fun. No better way to enjoy this fruity
season, than with a sweet but citric drink!
RECIPE BY SUSY ALFARO
Photography by Susy Alfaro
111

what you need
1 oz Hpnotiq (chilled)
1 tbsp Grenadine syrup
Soda
1 tsp lemon juice
Lemon twist

113

114

HOT PRAWN AND MANGO SALAD
with VANILLA BEAN VINAIGRETTE
Untraditional is the name of the game, pleasurable the
outcome. With a combination of different flavours such as
shrimps, mango and vanilla beans; this salad bring a new
experience to your palette. You’ll never see it coming, and
will definitely come back for more!
RECIPE BY EDWIN THEODORE
Photography by Susy Alfaro
115

What you need
Bed of Baby Spinach and Baby Kale
Sauteed Prawns
MANGO PESTO
Toasted Pistachios
Mango Brunoise (very fine dice)
Shallot Brunoise
Olive Oil
Salt and pepper
herbs of your choosing ( I used chives)
VANILLA BEAN VINAIGRETTE
In the same pan that you sauteed the prawns, while it is still hot, add equal
parts mango juice (or apple cider) and apple cider vinegar. I used about ¾
or a cup liquid. Reduce by half, then wisk in the vanilla beans, Olive oil and
season well. Pour the hot vinaigrette over the spinach and kale to slightly
wilt the greens. Place the prawns around the greens facing up and top with
the Mango Pesto
116

117

Photography by Andie Fuller
RECIPES BY ANDIE FULLER
Hello, Spring! It’s a great time for great new beginnings. The
newness of the season is upon us and it’s with much excitement,
a perpetually sniffly nose and cold hands that I just cannot wait
for it to come. Since we’re on the brink of saying so long to Winter
and embracing Spring with sweatered arms I wanted to share
some “healthy shots” with you.
At the end of last year I read this great quote from a natural
health food store, it said “The flu is not a season! It’s an inability
to adapt due to decreased sun exposure and water intake, combined
with increased sugar intake and stress. Create resistance,
create health!”
On a personal level I find this quote to be so true, it’s when I’m
not taking care of my body as I should that I’m the most susceptible
to catching a bug or just feeling crummy. Over the last
several years I’ve decided to really be more proactive in my health
and keeping a healthy immune system is like, so top of the list.
Here’s two recipes that I’ve gratefully acquired, one is from a dear
friend and one from a health guru in Sweden of all places!
Enjoy and be well!
118

ELDERBERRY LATTE
This is the recipe I inherited from Swedish health guru Elenore Bendel Zahn. Elderberry
syrup is great by itself so I was so excited to try it mixed into warm milk and
ginger! Elderberries are a shining star in natural medicine and are known to help
fight eight different strains of influenza, they are particularly good at helping to treat
coughs and sore throats. Elderberries are full of flavonoids and have a strong antioxidative
power, plus they to are full of Vitamin C. If you are looking to just add elderberry
syrup to immune system regime try 1 tsp every day for 2 weeks. Skål (cheers)
to good health!
What you do
Heat almond milk.
What you need
1 cup almond milk
1tsp fresh grated ginger
cinnamon
1 Tbsp honey
Add grated ginger and let sit for 2 minutes (to
infuse milk).
Add honey to milk and ginger mixture,
pour in elderberry syrup and dust with cinnamon.
1 Tbsp elderberry syrup
121

THE “HEALTHY SHOT”
It’s a strong one! It’s not going to be the best thing you’ve every tasted but it’s
so good for you! I swear it kicks in almost immediately and soothes any type
of sore throat I’m having. The show stopper ingredients are the garlic, cayenne
and lemon. Just one clove of garlic has 5 mg of calcium, 12 mg potassium
and 100+ sulfuric compounds, which are known to help wipe out bacteria
and infections. Cayenne supports your immune system with nutrients like beta
carotene and Vitamin C. And of course lemon who is full of Vitamin C and
bioflavinoids! So, bottoms up to immune health!
What you need
½ a lemon
1-2 Tbsp honey
1 clove crushed garlic
1 Tbsp apple cider vinegar
(optional)
1 Tbsp water
½ tsp cayenne pepper
What to do
Squeeze lemon juice into small glass
Using a garlic press, press garlic and add to lemon juice
Add as much cayenne pepper as you can stand (½ tsp)
and honey. Stir until well mixed
Add the apple cider vinegar and water
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