Photography by Melis Paz Soldan
Dear Reader,
It is easy to remember the heat of your first crush. The nervous giggles that follow awkward spaces in conversation, the pressure of lips on lips of your first kiss, the swell in your chest that becomes the tingling in your fingertips — it is all so exacting, so sweet, so naive. Yet, it is just as easy to recall your first breathless, sinking crush: the tightness in your heart as your parents’ voices grow louder now, another headline from the Times telling you your future has no guarantee, the squeeze of palms on palms as it dawns on the lovers that they must let go.
This semester, BrainScramble’s unflinching creative team has teased and subverted the nuance that comes with Crush, telling us stories of the queerness that has saved them, the soda cans compressed to a pulp, or the life cycles of a decomposing leaflet. If BrainScramble has reminded us of one thing, it is that we must remember that light and darkness can exist in contradiction. Now, more than ever, we must not give way to the pressure. We must find the art, the love, the beauty, even when our hearts have been crushed.
This will be my last semester as President of BrainScramble Magazine. Even as a writer, I come up empty, time and time again, attempting to translate this feeling into words. I remember my sweat-slicked hands as I hit “publish” for the first time, sixteen and scared, but the eager beat of my heart rich with possibility. I can still feel the pressing weight of the world on my shoulders with every issue we launch, our ambition shaking my breath, the wish to be great stronger than the urge to be shattered. Even when it is hard, even when we are tired, I am sure of one thing. BrainScramble has been more than my first crush: it has been my first love. I hope it has been one of yours, too.
Yours,
Alyssa Zhang
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