Issue 004: Editor's Letter

The year of missing people, a compilation of chats.

Dearest Reader,

I have spent the past few days reflecting on the changes in my life since the beginning of the year. I think going through constant cycles of growth is a never-ending process; I tend to split from my past self and not identify with her, almost as if we’re two different persons who are no longer in touch. With all what happened last year—so glad we get to call it that—I feel like there has been a growth spurt that increased the chasm between my current and old self. And with that growth happening—aside from the painful cringes that happen often every time I look through the past—I think it’s been a privilege to be able to undergo such a process. It’s a luxury to grow and become better, because this means you have the tools that offer you the room to grow. Every day, I try to learn how to stop feeling regret and embrace things instead. Feelings of displacement can also resemble growth, there are some places too big, others too small, and maybe this makes us grow wary of our size, of the space we take, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing either.

Growing up on the internet enabled us to mass-express without much thought of the outcome, because oftentimes, immediate and reactive responses only happen way afterwards. We would watch hundreds of images per day without much analysis, just spam on top of spam, and I think this sometimes detaches us from our reality. The internet did build its own little community, but one with walls too tall from actual human contact. I always think of how having an active online presence hinders my own growth as an individual. I feel like part of growth is being able to forget, but the internet tends to keep things within everyone’s reach as an eternal archive—whether that’s good or bad. All the ‘I do not wish to be perceived’ jokes kind of hold true, because how else are we supposed to experiment if we’re under constant surveillance? (When I say this, I do not mean harmful and bigoted expressions, because that’s not something that should be debated, anyway.) So I’m always hyperconscious of the things I post online—where I too often end up blowing up for some reason, and I end up feeling too seen (surprising for a Gemini to say, but it does feel uncomfortable at times). 

Existing as an independent online community, one that is split from big media corporations, also makes me reflect on how much we offer as a space that exists online. Reading Steyerl’s Spam of the Earth, I think one point that struck a chord is our craving for invisibility after getting so used to surveillance online. “We entered an era of mass paparazzi, of the peak-o-sphere and exhibitionist voyeurism. The flare of photographic flashlights turns people into victims, celebrities, or both” (168), this feeling, forcing us to be so out-of-touch with our reality either due to the savoring of attention or the withdrawal from it also offers room for analysis on the space we take as an online platform. Just because we exist online does not mean we get to mass-produce pictures, words, and more or less, false representations of ourselves. This does not mean censorship should be enforced as a solution either, I think self-awareness, one that is more constructively analytical than insecure, could help lessen the spam and the detachment from reality.

By trying to grow conscious of the space we take online, of the things we represent, I think we might be able to register how much less spam and more positive change we can create both online and offline. Our featured artist for this issue is renowned poet Safia Elhillo. I’ve read Safia’s works ever since I was a teen, and when I pitched her for an interview and a cover shoot, she requested it would be any time after morning, because she likes to write and detach herself from the internet during then. I think as much as we take inspiration from the internet, it can also be seen as a vehicle that hinders growth and creativity. Maybe because it’s so full of spam, or maybe because it offers less genuine human contact, which can honestly be detrimental for a creative. This issue talks about all this: feeling out of touch, especially during times like these, and embracing compromises that would perhaps provide little to what used to be. That being said, I hope this year offers you more growth and more concreteness. Maybe I’ll go through even more social media detoxes this year, who knows? Regardless of all this, I hope this issue surpasses the walls we were forced to put between each other last year, and I hope it offers you a taste of how sweet human contact used to feel.

Thankful for all the friends, the creatives within my space who inspire me forever, and those who were generous enough to let me learn. As this year begins to unfold, I hope you reach the unattainable, where there is nothing far away, and nothing you can’t touch.

Love, love, love,

Jood