Chapter 4 Amigues

Finishing things is hard. I have always wanted to make an online zine like this and once I had all my submissions ready all I had to do was put it together and hit the send button. But that didn't happen. Life happened. Art/block happened and until I pushed through that I didn't want to part with the strange visions that this zine, its words, sounds and images was providing me. But I was being selfish. Lessons were learned. Now it's time to let the gang have its last hurrah.

My weird vision came true with the help of some exceptional and wonderful people on the Internet. I can't thank you enough for submitting (especially if you were a repeat offender!) I look forward to what weird shit we can do in this sick sad world together.

Until then me and the gang must shuffle off. I'll see you on the Internet,

Kris

by Tashay Gonzalez Ortiz

Antes de que llegue el atardecer,

Mientras el sol brilla como centro del universo,

Iluminando la tierra, sin idea de su significado asignado.

Girando lentamente, sin dejarnos sentir.

Antes de que llegue el atardecer,

Siéntate conmigo.

Por todos los momentos compartidos,

Obrando hacia algún momento de futura felicidad.

Recordando lo que dejamos a cambio de lo que llegara.

Siéntate conmigo.

Imagina cada punto de nuestra vida,

Empezando desde hoy hasta nuestro primer saludo.

Mi curso cambiado hacia el lado tuyo.

Pusiste tu mano en la mía, declarando nuestra amistad.

Recuerda el momento cuando todo cambio.

Eternamente dedicadas la una a la otra.

~*~

Tashay Gonzalez-Ortiz (she/her)

Loves dogs. Is usually crying.

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by Sara Perez Baez

“Want me to kill them for you?”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“Betrayal should not be overlooked!”

“It’s the end of the world, betrayal will become the new system while things settle down.”

“I hate how matter-of-fact you sound.”

“It leaves no room for disappointment. Let them go.”

“I would never betray you, Pilgrim.”

“Let’s hope we don’t encounter a situation where that statement is put to the test.”

They walk away, going deeper into the wasteland. They know nothing of what awaits

them, yet they keep on going with a quiet hope in their hearts that life will work itself out.

They keep going because giving up now would be unfair. They keep going, searching

for a new beginning.

~*~

Sara A. Perez Baez (she/her) is an English Lit. major with a passion for reading the stories that help make the world more interesting. Definitely someone who wouldn't consider herself a writer, but holds a special place for it in life!

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by Andrea Beatriz Arango

Bx waited

and waited

and waited,

until the moon and the sun and the earth

beckoned their children forward,

until their alignment lowered the tide

a full 8 feet lower than it had ever been,

and Bx could see across rivers

across oceans

across time.

They crossed at midnight,

all salted fur

and seaweed paws,

a noah’s ark of outcasts

running

- undoing -

what had been.

And when the night

pinkened into day,

when they stepped onto the island

a hundred miles away,

they let their soft bodies crumple

all glittering silhouettes,

and watched the tide

swell over

their trail of blood and tears

and old world

friends.

~*~

Andrea B. Arango (she/her)

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by Ericka Rivera

I didn’t grow up having many friends. In fact, I feel like most of my life has just been me being good at having many acquaintances.

I’ve always felt out of place. Always struggling to keep friends.

I felt divorced before I even knew what dissociation was or before my parents had even completed theirs. I wasn’t even “the weird kid” but I always felt unwanted or like there was something wrong. Like I was too much. Like I had to make myself small so that people would feel comfortable. I’ve always been loud. Maybe because I wanted so desperately to be heard and seen.

The truth is, I’ve only started to really understand what friends are as an adult. I’ve always been able to count my “friends” with my hands. People say I wear my heart on my sleeve because its too big. Except that makes no sense to me because I don’t wear my heart, I carry it. I carry it and give it whenever I can and no matter how many fractures form on it, I can’t seem to put it away or prevent it from getting hurt. Which is probably why its so heavy.

How many friends do I have? I don’t know. Often, I feel as though my friends are really just acquaintances. Because so many people leave. Because I’ve never had a best friend—not really—and I’ve never been anyone’s best friend. I may be some people’s very close friend, always on the border of being the first choice or the go to—the always-a-bridesmaid-never-a-bride kind of friend. I’m good at making friends for other people. I meet people and introduce them to each other and then they become best friends and I become the third-wheel or get left behind. The extra, so to speak. But it’s hard to really know, when the word “friend” is so blurred.

Maybe my definition of friendships is as skewed as my idea of love. Maybe all I’ve ever done is selfishly crave attention and be clingy. Maybe I’m that codependent. I don’t even think people ever consider how lonely it is being an extrovert. We’re charming and good at planning and conversing and making stuff happen. But it really just feels like being drowned out and swept up by a hurricane of expectations. Because we’re the ones that make the plans and look for everyone. It’s never the other way around.

I cherish my bonds. Although, I guess they’re not bonds when they constantly fall apart, break, fade…I guess relationships are more like leaves. They’re stable and lush for a time, but when Fall and Winter come, they’re swept away by the wind or wilt. And then you have to wait for Spring to come again, and hope this time whatever blooms, stays rooted in place. See, relationships are meant to change. But you want the change to be positive, you want flowers or fruit. You don’t want to have to uproot whatever you’ve planted; you don’t want to see what you’ve worked so hard to nurture die.

And maybe that’s the problem. Maybe I’m just not a tree. It’s much more complicated than that.

Except I can’t really shake the whole friendships as seasons thing. Because I just realized that I’ve always been gifted a friend during my hardest years.

In 2014, when I had spent a year back-and-forth being in a toxic and abusive relationship, when I had been depressed and lonely and lost, the universe gave me one of the best friends I’ve had while I worked at the worst job I’ve had. It’s been 7 years and I’ve been to his wedding, and even though sometimes we may disagree, or we don’t talk or see each other as often as we used to, I know that I can count on him. His friendship helped me more than I realized and got me up on my feet after I got out of that relationship.

In 2017 when Maria ravaged PR, when I was going through shit at home, when I felt absolutely hopeless and terrified, yet again the universe opened my eyes and granted me another person who I’d grow to cherish and love so much it hurts. We’ve known each other for 8 years but didn’t become close up until 4 years ago. He’s impacted my life more than he’s ever going to know or acknowledge. Its hard to imagine my life without him. But its also the most complicated friendship I’ve had. Because it’s mixed with trauma and feelings. Because his influence has shaped me in many ways, and it’s given me even more bonds with others. It’s hard having to separate myself from him because he means so much to me. And I don’t really know what’s going to happen. And it scares me that one day I’ll wake up and it will be as though he never existed and we’re strangers. I don’t want him to be just a memory.

So maybe that’s why in 2020, the universe decided to send someone my way again. It’s not to say that the friends I’d met and grown fond of from 2016-2018 are less important in my life. But this person came out of nowhere and pulled me into their lives and held to me as though we had known each other for years, during a time that no one was going anywhere, and the world was both stagnant and in chaos. And usually, this would have scared me. Because, like I said, I’m not good with recognizing love like that; she seems to love me so easily and quickly. And that sort of thing is scary because it doesn’t happen often. And I’d be lying if I said its not hard for me to know or express how I feel because it all happened so fast. But she listens to me and supports me, and it never feels like it’s a chore or an obligation or that she does anything to get something out of it. It makes me feel a bit guilty that I can’t seem to give the same amount of love she gives me, because I’m trying to give it to someone else. And I’m sure as she reads this she disagrees. Because I know this isn’t a measuring competition and people and hearts are much more complicated than that.

I don’t know how long these peach blossoms will bloom, or how long their petals will cling to these branches. Whether the ones that are beginning to wilt will mend and grow anew or fade away. But Spring is here again, and these plants won’t tend to themselves. So I guess whether I have to uproot weeds or grow new seeds, only time will tell which flowers are worth keeping.

~*~

Ericka Rivera Figueroa (she/her) Cosplayer extraordinaire

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by Janice Rivera

The ground hums.

(Don’t) rape me

Take my hand, survivor.

(Don’t) rape me

No longer holding up a flame,

(Don’t) rape me

We channel the sun.

(Don’t) rape me

Remove the chains from your voice.

(Don’t) rape me

This chant shakes the air,

Feel it.

(Don’t) rape me

You can no longer instill fear;

(Don’t) rape me

Now it is you, villain, who can’t speak.

(Don’t) rape me

We discover we were never weak.

(Don’t) rape me

Fuck your “no” could mean “yes”;

(Don’t) rape me

Fuck your selective hearing.

(Don’t) rape me

The drums beat louder

No is no is no is no is no.

(Don’t) rape me

Debilitating your power.

Deafening your excuses.

We’re coming for you,

And your toxicity,

And your systematic, theocratic, problematic ego.

The tempo picks up

You’re out of luck and out of time.

Reclaiming our own power,

We vibrate as one.

Our chant will now conclude

Once the parenthesis is removed.

Don’t rape me.

~*~

When she’s not procrastinating, Janice teaches English lit, reads, shops, cooks, plays video games, and most importantly, raises two kick-ass girls.