Sutro 2023

Sutro Review 2023

SF State Journal for Undergraduate Composition

Cover Art: "Smile" by Han Le

Dear readers,

We’re thrilled to present the seventh annual volume of Sutro Review: SF State Journal for Undergraduate Composition, an academic journal written, edited and produced by SF State students. This year we chose the theme of Unmasking, revelations on identity and what lies beneath the mask.

The term 'mask' has been on an interesting journey in recent years. The mask has been clinical. It's been safety, literally protecting us from disease and death. Then, the mask became political, symbolic of a certain ideology or position. It was even considered by some to be antagonistic, conspiratorial. And now that the WHO has said the global COVID emergency is over, and most everyone has removed their literal masks, our intention with this issue--and with the 16 beautiful submissions of writing, photography and art we've published in it--is to honor this literal unmasking, but also to defamiliarize it, to make the act artful again and to restore its metaphorical meaning.

As always, we understand the value of artistic expression, and how lucky we are to be part of a community where all voices are lifted. Thank you to all who have submitted your work to us.

Thanks also to Tara Lockhart and Maricel Santos for being such champions of Sutro Review. We also want to thank all of the professors who promote it continually and encourage their students to submit. And finally, we’d like to thank the SF State University Instructionally Related Activities Fund for making Sutro Review possible.

We hope you enjoy the issue!

Faculty Advisor:
Caroline Casper

Editors:
Caitlin, Carina and Osvaldo

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Personal Narratives
Marcus Alexander Isidro – The Flavors of My Language
Nate Newman – A Walk
Ashmita Sapkota – Unmasking and Rediscovering Normalcy
Faye Mayer – The Light Switched On
Donna Pham – Am I a Filial Son or Daughter?

Reflections on Career Pathways and the Future
Mallika Mahendru – Love on the Brain: An Introspective Analysis of my Major, Identity, and Future
Zachary Espy – Refined and Tempered Like Steel

Critical Analysis and Investigative Pieces
Nia Wochnowski – The Urge to Define Beauty
Gabriella Melton – An OREO Cookie, a Yellow Wallpaper, and a Queer Handmaiden Walk Into a Comparative Essay and Find Common Ground in the Female Experience
Osvaldo Salazar – Born What Way? Trapped in the Portal of Perpetual Rebirth

Poetry
Caitlin Darke – Houseplant and wifi
Alexiz Romero – burning
Atzeli Ramirez – That One Year

Photography & Artwork
Han Le (Cover Artist) – Before Human, Don't Give Up On Me, and Mind
Zachary Greenberg – The Great Masturbator, Portrait of a Human with a Rhinestone Veil and What We Aim For
Grace Scerni – Take a Closer Look and Sweet

About the cover: "Smile" by Han Le (artist name HAAN): The phrase "Smile, B*tch!" might not be the most appropriate or respectful way of reminding someone to stay positive and to keep smiling, but this language is powerful. We've all been through a lot of changes and challenges, especially post-pandemic, so I feel it's always necessary to remind ourselves and our loved ones to appreciate life, find joy in the little things, and never forget that a smile can be so colorful. See bio and more art by Han Le in the issue below.

Personal Narratives

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Marcus Isidro is a first-year student at SFSU. This piece was written for Professor Sara Felder’s English 114 class where she asked students to describe how they first learned to read and write. Marcus decided to take a slightly different approach and instead tell the story of how he struggled to accept his language as a bilingual first generation Filipino American.

Marcus Isidro
The Flavors of My Language

When I was in grade school, I was the kid who could not shut up. Everyday, I stormed into class with a new announcement for my peers: “Hey guys, tingnan mo ito it’s so cool!!” or “Look at vis rock ang laki-laki o,” I’d say.

As a child I loved telling stories, but no one ever seemed to understand me. It wasn’t until I was eight years old that I finally learned why: I didn’t know how to speak English, at least not the English that my peers spoke. Not American English. My version of English was … “spicy,” as I liked to call it, a hybrid fusion dish of my Tagalog vernacular with an American twist. Traditional English was always so bland and boring to me. It had all these rigid lines and rules that seemed to chop the sentence in half, so I’d always find myself sprinkling hints of Tagalog into my sentences just to smooth it out and give it that extra flavor. Adjectives like gilig (the overwhelming feeling you get when you see something cute) or kilig (the feeling of exhilaration caused by an exciting or romantic experience) always found their way into my everyday speech because I felt that their English counterparts couldn’t do my feelings justice.

Like, what other word am I supposed to use when I see something adorable?

In my opinion my way of speaking worked perfectly fine. I loved it. It always felt like my tongue was a hot plate of food; who knew what flavors I was going to let out. But, I suppose Mrs. Cuaderno disagreed because, one day, in the middle of 3rd grade math, I found myself ushered out and taken into a special classroom with only about three other kids. I was in what was called “English as a Second Language” class or ELS. Every Wednesday we would meet in that room studying flashcard after flashcard, analyzing the phonetics of each word. I hated it. It was all so repetitive and pointless to me. “I already know how to talk!” I said. But they didn’t listen. I had an “accent” they said. My Filipino inflection was muddying my words beyond recognition. They wanted to improve my English, to make it proper, to cut my native tongue.

My version of English was “spicy,” as I liked to call it, a hybrid
fusion dish of my Tagalog vernacular with an American twist.

As our lessons continued, I grew insecure of my voice. Day after day, I was told that the way I spoke was wrong. In class I became quiet, scared to embarrass myself, scared to let my tongue slip. The shame I felt for my own language was unbearable. The words I once loved began to sound so ugly to my assimilated ears as I began to hear the choppiness of our syllables and our broken diction. I stopped speaking Tagalog at school, and then at home, and then eventually – I stopped speaking entirely. The kid who used to keep the class rambling on past the bell was gone. But my English was finally correct.

Now that I’m older, I understand the injustices my school inflicted upon me, how its internalized racism and forced acclimation caused me to hate myself and my language. To this day, I still struggle to find the confidence that they stole from me, to rediscover my voice, to learn how to love telling stories again.

A few days ago, I found one of my old childhood books, Araw sa Palengke (day at the market). Inside it told a story of a little Filipino girl as she explored all the different foods of her local market. Her anecdote was simple yet so beautiful, it felt like her words were dancing across my tongue as they ushered in all these flavors of nostalgia. It had been so long since these words touched my lips; I missed them. Tasting the spices of my language again for the first time in years reminded me of its beauty and just how bland my palate had become.

I hated how much of my culture I had lost throughout my childhood, how so much was stolen from me. Inspired to reclaim it, I poured myself into Filipino media in shows, music, and books. I immersed myself in the flavors of my culture. As I repeated the phrases I heard in my favorite rom coms, and as I butchered my way through the native comic books I’d found online, I felt a part of myself returning. I could finally taste my words again.

Today the confidence I have in my Tagalog is nowhere near where it used to be, but this is something I continue to work on every single day. And as I speak to you now, I’m proud to be Filipino, to speak my native tongue, and most importantly I am proud to tell you my story.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Nate Newman is a 3rd year at SF State from Rancho Cucamonga. He is a member of Phi Kappa Tau where he is supported by his brothers to pursue his interests. He wrote this personal essay in his creative writing class in the fall 2022. He was inspired after a nearly eight hour shift at Chipotle in Stonestown, on an extremely steep walk uphill to his home in San Francisco.

Nate Newman
A Walk

I got off the train at the bottom of my steep San Francisco street. My house sat triumphantly at the top. It was far too late, in my opinion, to be getting home on a Wednesday. After going to school and working all day, the last thing I wanted to do was tear my quads walking up to my house.

As I reluctantly started up the mountain, a song came on through my headphones. It was upbeat with lyrics that could be either happy or depressing as hell. When I hear great music like this, I always imagine myself in some movie-like montage, and my perfect future plays before me. This time, I saw myself graduating college, getting my teaching credential, getting a job teaching English at the local high school, and moving into a house with my girlfriend. It was a modest house in the downtown area of some city I couldn’t name. I don’t know how we afforded it, but somehow we made it look really nice.

I’d come home from my teaching job to my woman waiting for me at the dining table. She’d tell me all about her job and how happy she was to be working so close to home. I’d tell her about my students and how excited I was for them to graduate and grow up. Then, we’d make dinner together. There was always enough food for us to have leftovers for the next day or two.

We’d debate about which show or movie to watch, eventually settling on something that she’d already seen but I hadn’t. She’d gush over her favorite parts, and I’d surprise myself when I enjoyed it; like really enjoyed it, not just in a way that humored her. Then we’d get into bed and talk until we fell asleep, just like we did in college.

One day, after we were married, I came home and there was a white piece of plastic resting in her spot at the table. It had a big blue plus sign on it. She walked into the room with tears on her face. She was smiling. And I was smiling too. That night we talked until the birds sang. We were super tired the next day, but we didn’t mind.

The baby was beautiful. We were completely obsessed with it. We would argue about the best way to handle raising it sometimes, but the anger never lasted long. We’d always come back together at the end of the day. Eventually, that kid grew up and became their own person. They moved out and my wife cried, but we both knew it was always going to happen. They did well in college even though they flunked their first semester. We sent them lots of money, which was okay because we could afford it and couldn’t help ourselves anyway.

Many years later, my wife fell. It happened out of nowhere and it really scared me. The doctors said she had a stroke and that she would probably have another one soon. I took her home and laid her on the bed. A couple months went by and she was okay. It was stressful, but she was doing better. Our kid had grown and had their own family and they all came over for Thanksgiving. The food was delicious. My wife didn’t like turkey, so we made chicken instead, but everyone still loved it. My wife was telling us a story from when she was a young girl when she suddenly started stuttering and slurring her words. She was confused; we were too, as we watched her eyes roll back in her head. Her body shook so violently she knocked her silverware onto the floor. I will never forget how her head slumped down onto her plate. I was picking mashed potatoes out of her hair when the paramedics loaded her body into the back of an ambulance.

She didn’t come home with us. In fact, she never came home. Only in spirit. We put her in a casket and watched her descend into the earth as though we hadn’t shared a lifetime together. As though she hadn’t meant the world to me. As though we hadn’t been robbed of our future, our old age together.

Did I just imagine all of that? It bothered me that I would never know
for sure. Was that my future? Was that my fate? Or was that a
fantasy?

The house I once shared with my wife was a lot bigger without her. It felt cold, like I was living in someone else’s home. It was so quiet. I came home to silence, nobody telling me about their day, nobody to help me make dinner, nobody to talk to me until I fell asleep. I lay awake most nights looking past the ceiling and waiting for the sunlight to shine through my blinds telling me I needed to get up again.
And then, one day, it happened to me, too. Though I didn’t get a second chance like she did. I was standing in my living room watering a plant when I first felt the tingling in my pinky. Then came a pain in my chest, the worst I’d ever felt. I kneeled slowly to the ground. I laid back on the carpet. The pain worsened, my vision flattened and got darker. Lights turned to shadows and then… nothing. I was dead, and yet I was crying, somehow. I felt the carpet against my neck, the coarseness of the wool turned harder and slightly wet.

“Are you okay?” a voice asked.

I sat up quickly. I was in the middle of the street not far from my house. My neighbor was looking at me with concern. A completely different song was playing in my headphones now. I got up and wiped away tears I didn’t remember crying. “I’m okay. Thank you,” I said. Then I walked up to my house, confused as hell.

What had happened to me? Was that a dream? Where was my wife? Where was my kid? Did I just imagine all of that? It bothered me that I would never know for sure. Was that my future? Was that fate or fantasy?

I looked up at my house, the house where I'd half-cracked books I’d never finished, cereal boxes opened and then left out to to get stale, a sink which was home to the sorry silverware that waited days to be washed, and a couch someone threw up on (after drinking too much), so we just avoided that cushion.

I thought about my wife and kid. I had just lived a full life in a matter of minutes, and that life was perfect. It felt so strange to know exactly what I wanted to do and where I wanted to be. It was sad, too. I walked through the front door and was immediately offered a room-temperature beer with a thumb-sized hole punched through the bottom. “Shotgun with us, Newman!”

“I’m good. I gotta get some work done,” I lied. My roommate held the beer out a little longer, but let me go after he saw my face.

I went to my room and sat on the bed. I couldn’t deal with all the stupid little steps of life. Every assignment felt useless. Every class felt like a waste of time. Every single second felt like an obstacle; an eternity I had to wait for and get through before I could be where I wanted. How could I do anything but pack up and head for that life right now?

I got into bed. And as I listened to the sound of my friends partying, I waited for sleep or sunlight. It was all I could do. The world would tell me when I was ready. Then I heard a soft whisper in my ear, “Be patient. I love you.” The voice felt familiar, but when I looked, nobody was there. I was alone. Just me. I said, “I love you too.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Ashmita Sapkota attended her first semester at SFSU at the same time that the world was hit by the Covid-19 pandemic. As an introspective individual, Ashmita was intrigued by the transformative effect of the pandemic on people’s lives, especially on the lives of students. The concept of unmasking, both figuratively and literally, inspired Ashmita to write about what she was experiencing–students struggling to rediscover normalcy and support each other during those challenging times.

Ashmita Sapkota
Unmasking and Rediscovering Normalcy

I never thought that my life as a student would be this challenging. As a freshman, I was excited to explore the new campus, make friends, and participate in various activities. However, everything changed when the pandemic hit. Suddenly, I was confined to my dorm room, attending virtual classes, and struggling to stay motivated. At first, wearing a mask was a new experience for me. I remember feeling nervous and self-conscious about how it looked on me. But as the pandemic persisted, wearing a mask became the new normal. I wore a mask everywhere I went, whether it was to attend classes or to run errands. It was a constant reminder of the pandemic and the uncertain times we were living in.

As the months went by, I began to feel isolated and disconnected from the world. I missed the physical presence of my friends and the buzz of student life. The virtual world seemed to be a poor substitute for real-life interactions. I longed for the days when we could freely hang out, have fun, and enjoy our time together. The pandemic also took a toll on my mental health. I found myself struggling with anxiety and depression, and it was challenging to cope with these feelings. Sometimes, I felt like giving up, and it was hard to stay motivated and focused. The pandemic seemed to have robbed me of my enthusiasm and zest for life.

But as vaccines became more widely available, and restrictions were lifted, I began to feel a sense of hope. I was excited to unmask and see my friends' faces again. It was a small but significant step towards reclaiming our lives. I remember feeling nervous and excited as I stepped out of my dorm room, without a mask for the first time in months. It was a surreal experience. The campus seemed to come alive again, and people were milling around, laughing, and talking. It felt like a reunion of sorts, and I was grateful for this moment. I met up with my friends, and we hugged each other, feeling the warmth of each other's embrace. It was an emotional moment, and I realized how much I had missed them.

As we walked around the campus, I noticed that people were still cautious, and some were still wearing masks. It was a reminder that the pandemic was not yet over, and we still had to be careful. But it was also a reminder of how resilient we were as a community. We had weathered the storm, and we were still standing.

I realized that unmasking was also an opportunity.It was an
opportunity to rediscover what it meant to be human.

However, unmasking was not without its challenges. We had to navigate the new social norms of what was acceptable behavior and what wasn't. We had to learn to respect each other's boundaries and find new ways to connect with each other. It was a process, and it took time for us to adjust to this new way of living. Moreover, the emotional impact of the pandemic was still present. Even though we were unmasking, we still had to cope with the anxiety and depression that the pandemic had brought on. It was a reminder that mental health was just as important as physical health, and we needed to find ways to support each other.

Despite the challenges, I realized that unmasking was also an opportunity. It was an opportunity to rediscover what it meant to be human. We were learning to appreciate the little things in life that we took for granted before the pandemic. We were reconnecting with friends and family and finding joy in the simple pleasures of life. As the months went by, I began to see the world differently. The pandemic had forced me to slow down, to reflect, and to appreciate the present moment. I realized that life was fragile and that we needed to cherish every moment we had. The pandemic had also taught me the importance of community and how we needed to support each other during difficult times. In many ways, the pandemic had changed me, and I was grateful for the lessons it had taught me. I had become more resilient, empathetic, and grateful for the people and experiences in my life. I had learned to be more patient, to adapt to change, and to find new ways to connect with others.

As I reflect on my experience as a student during the pandemic, I realize that it was a challenging but transformative time. The pandemic forced us to confront our vulnerabilities, to reexamine our priorities, and to rediscover the things that truly matter in life. Today, as I write this, the pandemic is still not over, and there are still uncertainties and challenges ahead. But I feel more hopeful and confident than ever before. I know that we have the resilience, strength, and compassion to overcome any obstacle that comes our way.

Unmasking was not just about taking off our masks; it was about rediscovering our humanity, our interconnectedness, and our ability to adapt and thrive in the face of adversity. And as we slowly return to a sense of normalcy, I am grateful for this journey and the people who have been with me every step of the way.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Faye Mayer is a second-year student majoring in English Literature. They wrote this piece for their ENG 218 course with Professor Sarita Cannon in fall 2022. This class, in particular, was incredibly inspiring to Faye; they had to write a personal narrative about "a moment that changed you or your perspective." This piece was born out of it, and is the story of how Faye's life changed.

Faye Mayer
The Light Switched On

My comfort zone has always been small. My dad described me since I was younger as, “someone who likes to stay in the familiar.” I never liked trying new things. I found comfort in the routine, in things I knew. My parents decided at one point that I needed to try something new. Basketball, soccer, swimming, painting, pottery, you name it, my parents tried to get me to like something. “Just try it!” They said, and every time I would feel like I didn’t belong. For as long as I can remember, I just wanted to find something I was passionate about, but I was too scared to leave the confines of my comfort bubble. I was always shy, reserved, and unsure of myself. I hoped, maybe, that I could be more confident. One day, when I was about 12, my dad showed me an ad for a theater summer camp in our area.

“No way,” I said. “That sounds absolutely terrifying.”

He told me that it could be fun and brought up my past interest in theater. Despite my sense of impending dread, I agreed to at least give it a try. I’d probably get ensemble, move on, and try something else. Out of all the things that scared me the most, performing and public speaking was top of the list. I had a choir concert in elementary school and got so scared onstage that I passed out. The paramedics had to come. So, not exactly my thing.

I had a choir concert in elementary school and got so scared
onstage that I passed out. The paramedics had to come.

Despite this fear, theater always interested me. I saw Matilda when I was about 9, and my love of theater stemmed from that very performance. Seeing the lights, the set, and the actors dancing on stage, as well as the music, lit something up inside me. I listened to the soundtrack for two weeks straight after. However, if there was any kind of light, it fizzled out. I told myself I had to be realistic - that I could never be as confident as the people onstage.

Nonetheless, I showed up on my first day of theater camp with no previous experience, a lunchbox, and a stress ball in my bag. The director made us all audition with scenes, and I remember my heart racing like it never had before. I wanted to bolt out of the room and never come back. But, for some reason I’m still unsure of today, I got up on that stage, and it was like everything just faded away. That light switched on inside me, and I read my scene. It was the best feeling I have ever felt. The anxiety, the fear, the room full of people - it melted away. I ended up getting the lead in A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

The opening night, I was in my costume, and I walked onstage to do my monologue. It was the most incredible feeling - exhilarating, exciting, and downright terrifying all at once. The spotlight in my eyes, I took a deep breath - and I said my monologue. No mistakes, no hesitation. My body moved as if it had known this feeling its entire life. At the end, looking out into the audience, I felt an unmatched sense of joy, a sense of light within me. I knew then and there that I had finally found my passion. After the show, my parents congratulated me, saying how proud they were. I felt so happy; I had finally found somewhere I truly belonged, and something I truly loved.

My love of theater truly started there - with that scared kid who just wanted to find herself. My high school theater teacher said something that I’ll always remember: “someone saw something in you once, that is partly why you are here today.” I saw something in myself that day - that my anxiety couldn’t stop me from doing the things I love. I learned how to trust myself, and not fear the unknown. I learned to be okay with the unfamiliar, and to grow outside of my bubble. If I had never ended up taking that chance, I wouldn’t have found the very thing that changed my life. I’m still so proud of myself for taking that leap, and whenever I think about staying in my comfort zone, I remember that moment that I was onstage, and how the fear simply melted away.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Donna Pham is a second year student at SFSU. The piece "Am I a Filial Son or Daughter," was written in WGS-200 taught by Professor Tully who inspired her to write a vulnerable and intimate piece that dissected the impact of COVID-19 on her identity. Her writing puts forth the conversation of living one's personal truth despite one's upbringing, as well as interrogating one's biological body. She hopes her story can embody the message of “loving me for me and embracing me for me,” for her readers.

Donna Pham
Am I a Filial Son or Daughter?

Staring into the face of depression, my perspective on life was stripped of all meaning. There was a hidden drawer in my closet full of wigs, makeup, and bras, the trans woman costume I would take out and flaunt in the comfort of my 15 x 16 square foot bedroom. Don by day, Donna by night. Within my Catholic upbringing, I never breathed the air of freedom to express my most authentic identity. I was drowning in my parents’ expectations of the duties of a filial son. The constant burden of covering up and suppressing my authentic self led to severe anxiety and depression.

During the pandemic, a loud yell, “Don, đến đây ngay bây giờ” (“Don, come here right now,” in Vietnamese) echoed in my ear. True terror crept up my spine as I stalled my father. Scattered on the floor was my trans woman costume. Oddly enough, I also felt no sadness or anxiety… my head was empty of that. All I remember was the peaceful silence in my head as my father chaotically mouthed words I never made out. Was it relief that he finally found out? Or was it emotional disbelief that could not be processed?

I still, to this day, think about those questions.

A week after my father was exposed to yet another reason to be disappointed in me, I locked myself in my room, not knowing what was going to happen to me. By taking an unhealthy amount of melatonin, I was able to get through another day. Another day of not attending the Zoom classes filled with loud silences and black squares. Another day of not having to hear the brutal conversations my parents were having about how to fix me...as if I were a defective toy.

I resented my brother, Tin, for not reaching out to me during these dark and gloomy days. I resented his only form of contact with me, a text: “your food is ready on the table.” But looking back at this memory now, maybe that was his way of checking up on me. I’m grateful that he didn’t join in and agree with my parents’ comment about me being mentally ill. My parents did not understand that being a trans woman was more than the words of Susan Stryker, the American professor, historian, author, filmmaker, and theorist whose work focuses on gender and human sexuality: She wrote that (De)Subjugated Knowledge, a way to “signal the mode of one’s attractions and availability to potential sex partners.”

My father caught COVID trying to escape his biggest nightmare, me.
Better to go anywhere but home, where he was stuck facing the
reality of my trans identity.

My parents relentlessly denied who I was, who I am, which led me to question if it was worth living my truth if it meant causing others pain.

My father caught COVID-19 trying to escape his biggest nightmare, me. Better to go anywhere but home, where he was stuck facing the reality of my trans identity. The hatred left my body as I heard his loud coughing from across the hall. Tears filled up my eyes. I did not want my father to die. I so badly wanted to check up on him and take care of him, but I could not find the courage to do so. In my head, I would cause him more pain by showing myself. Thankfully, my father did get better and made it through alive.

One day, there was a knock on my bedroom door. “Don come out,” I heard my dad say. “Let’s talk.”

As I exited my room, I remember the beaming shine of natural sunlight blinding me momentarily. As we sat down on the couch, there was an awkward silence. I heard nothing but trees blowing, a sound which took up most of the conversation. Then finally the silence broke as he took a deep sigh and asked me to focus on my studies. I said nothing in return; all the scripts and made-up scenarios in my head went to shambles and the sound of the trees blowing took over the conversation once again.

At first, my father was cold to me. However, throughout the course of the last three years, my father has relearned my identity as an indefinite part of me, and he is learning to accept it. Though he is still unable to call me his daughter, Donna, and not his son, Don, I hope he will get there one day.

"Portrait of a Human with a Rhinestone Veil"

"The Great Masturbator"

"What We Aim For"

ABOUT THE PHOTOGRAPHER:

Zach Greenberg is a senior History major at SF State. He is a photographic practitioner of psychedelic queerness and stays true to his subjects, as he sees them, by using analog film processes. In the darkroom, he uses antique alchemical techniques to effect color and tonal shifts both subtle and radical. Throughout his work, he hopes to unmask the limitlessness of human potential, which goes hand in hand with accepting the infinite diversity of the human experience. Or (in other words) : liberation.

Reflections on Career and the Future

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Zachary Espy is a first-year student at SF State. He wrote "Refined and Tempered like Steel" in English 105 with Professor Caroline Casper, who assigned the essay as an exercise in the power of association. She asked the students write about a historical person, a favorite plant or animal, and influential first-time memoir moment. Zachary's idea was to focus on a theme of 'playing to one's strengths' while writing about MatPat, thresher sharks and taking a Math ll honors class in high school as the first time he realized he was smart.

Zachary Epsy
Refined and Tempered Like Steel

When I was a freshman in high school, my dad had a unique way of criticizing me: “How are you failing English when you speak the language?” he’d say. My parents knew that I wasn’t stupid. They just couldn’t understand why I was struggling so much. The high school that I attended while living in Elk Grove was known as Pleasant Grove High School or PGHS. PGHS was one of the best high schools in the area. My admission into the school was like a golden ticket for a prosperous and stable future, but initially, I wasted it. I managed to fail English and Spanish during my first year on campus.

A thresher shark is unlike any other shark in the ocean. While most other sharks hunt by kicking up sand into a smokescreen, or stalking their prey and catching them off guard, thresher sharks hunt by utilizing their abnormally long tail fin against schools of fish, whipping, disorientating them and then eating a group of them in one quick motion. My losing streak in high school would continue to reach new heights, or lows depending on how you looked at it. netting me a 2.1 GPA my freshman year. With my track record, it seemed like I wouldn’t be able to graduate. I was unable to pass two different classes.

I needed to accept that, in every sense of the word, I was a failure.

The absolutely tremendous amount of dread that this experience put me through was unbearable, especially because I didn’t live up to even the lowest of my parent’s expectations. I disappointed them. I needed to change. I couldn’t accept that the peak of my potential was only at an eighth grade level. In order to change, I needed to analyze myself and determine the best way to utilize my potential.

The one good thing I had going for me with my math teacher, Ms. Bose. She wanted to nurture my affinity for math and cared about me as a student, even though I’d done nothing but disrespect her by sleeping in her class nearly everyday. Even with my abysmal sleeping, I still managed to be one of the top students in her class, and she noticed. While I was trying to think of ways to properly utilize my strengths, I asked a few of my friends if they had any suggestions since they were breezing through school. While they were trying to help, Ms. Bose that I should move from Math 1, to Math 2 Honors during my sophomore year. I was so defeated by my failure that I hadn’t even thought about taking advanced classes, but I noticed that Ms. Bose actually believed that I could handle it. Ms. Bose told me that she saw how bored I was in her class, she’d seen it 1,000 times, students placed into a math class that didn’t challenge them, and told me if I took the regular next course, I’d be just as bored. I didn’t realize how right she was until it was spelled out for me. While math is interesting, if it’s easy, it’s boring. In order to not repeat the failures of my Freshman year, I needed to challenge myself, to try my hand in an accelerated math course. Once I started sophomore year, it was as if a thresher shark had attacked. Bam! 3.5 GPA. Bam, 4.0 GPA. Everyone, especially my parents, were disoriented by my improvement; I almost doubled my GPA in two years and, ironically, no one was more disoriented by my improvement than me. However, I knew that I’d only just started scratching the surface on how to improve myself.

Matthew Patrick, or ‘MatPat,’ also known as the creator of Game Theory, is by far one of the most creative and talented people on YouTube. MatPat is known as an “Information Addict”, using this particular trait to build a brand, create numerous channels from Game Theory, Film Theory, Food Theory, and many more, and garner millions of subscribers and billions of views. MatPat has always been smart, challenging himself throughout high school, taking advanced classes in order to graduate as valedictorian and attend Duke University where he later majored in psychology, theater and neuroscience. With his immense creativity, he realized how he could fully utilize an unusual addiction. He could make theories, sharing his perspective on information he’d gathered in order to entertain his viewers. Theories such as the complete lore of entire franchises, such as Five Nights at Freddy's, to theories that claim that Yoshi is secretly Bowser's son, and incorporating the flight mechanics of Immortals Fenyx rising into real life.

I couldn’t accept that the peak of my potential was only at an eighth
grade level.

Once I put some elbow grease into figuring out why I had improved, I realized that my ADHD wasn’t so much a disability, but a double-edged sword. While describing ADHD is no simple task, the best way that I can articulate it is this: When I walk into a room, I immediately notice a multitude of things–a chair, a window, a desk, people, etc. While I can put my attention onto any one of those things, I have a difficult time deciding which one to focus on. It’s as if I have a list of everything around me, permanently ingrained into my mind. When I moved to the new math class, I realized that I will always unconsciously focus on whatever I find to be the most interesting thing on that list. It doesn’t matter if my teacher is giving an important lecture, if a cool bird is flying outside, it doesn’t matter if I’m having a conversation with someone, a video I saw the other day was really funny, etc. Left unchecked, this is a negative trait, by a wide margin, especially in school. I would constantly ask myself, “Why study for the test tomorrow when I can play video games?”

I had no interest in school or my future. School was so boring that I would sleep in my math class 3-4 times a week. I soon learned that if I didn’t find a way to develop an affinity for it, my math class would be added to my list of failures. However, once I moved from math 1 to math II honors and started to improve, I realized the potential of my ADHD.

The thresher shark’s biology is distinct. While most animals will limit themselves when they obtain a unique characteristic, such as poisonous dart frogs having a below average physique due to evolving their toxin to an absurd degree. Thresher sharks retain a relatively above average physique while gaining a ludicrously long tail fin, allowing them to purely gain the potential of a lethal attack to their arsenal. While an extra long tail fin seems trivial, a thresher shark uses this appendage to whip at 50 mph, striking so quickly that bubbles start to form. They can swim fast enough to completely leap out of the water, utilizing their tails to their conceivable limits.

In order for me to really utilize my ADHD, I needed to understand it better. Once I realized that the effort I put into something was directly correlated to how interested I was in it, I decided to put all of my focus into math, because it was, by far, the most consistently interesting thing at any given time. Finding a future job where I can stay focused and also be effective seemed like a herculean task, until I discovered business finance. Now, one of my goals in life is to become financially independent, and to choose a career built on math and making money (which is also just numbers!).

All in all, just like MatPat and the thresher shark, in order to reach my fullest potential, I need to play to my strengths, limit my weaknesses and turn my ADHD and affinity for math into a career.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Mallika Mahendru is a first-year student studying BS in Physiology, and wrote this essay for English 104 with Professor Jay Jackl. When assigned to write this essay, the goal was known immediately; an existing passion for going into the medical field and am inspired every day to pursue the kind of work that has saved their life.

Mallika Mahendru
Love on the Brain: An Introspective Analysis of my Major, Identity, and Future

I love the human brain. Since I was in elementary school, I have known I want to research, engage, and pursue neuroscience in the realm of academia. My interest in neuroscience was sparked by a key life experience that I’m still grappling with to this day. On October 17th, 2004, I was diagnosed with a paraspinal neuroblastoma tumor, which left me paralyzed from the waist down. As a paraplegic with various neurological disorders, I’m inspired every day to choose neuroscience as a career path so that I can give back to my community and those who empathize with my struggles. Because of its ubiquity, neuroscience is one of my favorite subjects. It is an ever-evolving philosophical ideology that can be researched, analyzed, and improved. I love learning about the complexity of the human brain. It’s amazing how something so little can be so integral to our daily lives.

My early years have been inundated with doctor's appointments and incessant medical procedures. When the surgeon had to resect the tumor from my spinal cord, they had to cut a couple of nerves. Due to the nerve damage, I developed severe scoliosis throughout the years. In December 2018, my scoliosis was at its worst. It felt as if my ribs were crushing every organ in my body. I was in excruciating pain. At this time, I made the life-changing decision to get surgery that would completely fuse my spine. I was a bit nervous at first, but after doing thorough research about the procedure, I felt more confident in getting it done. As I was doing my research, I came across a video of a surgeon doing the exact same procedure that I was going to get. Watching that video fascinated me. It was amazing to see how a person with so much skill can remove and repair so many things within hours. Something about the surgical point of view in the medical field sparked my interest to become a neurosurgeon. The discourse that I experienced at these visits fostered a particularized love for the field of neuroscience, and has pushed me to pursue the kind of work that has saved my life.

While I’m grateful for the miracles of today's knowledge of neuroscience, there are still many problems that modern medicine hasn’t solved. My grandma was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease the same year I was born. Year by year, it progressively worsens, and she is now bedridden. During her early stages, she would only have a few tremors throughout the week. Eighteen years later, it has consumed her entire body. She isn’t able to perform normal acts of daily living anymore without the help of a caretaker or my mother, who often acts as one. Although my end goal is to become a surgeon, I am also inspired to go into research to find out more and possibly help find a cure for this disease. To learn more about the field I’m preparing myself for, I interviewed instructors and professionals in my major.

My first interview was with Professor Jose De La Torre, a biology instructor here at SF State. He said he knew that he wanted to pursue biology as a career the second he got out of high school. He was interested in a wide variety of things, but was focused on interdisciplinary work the most. He got his Ph.D. in Developmental Neurobiology, researching to see if there was any way for axons to reach their targets in people who have spinal cord injuries. This captivated me, and made me want to pursue the same subject while getting my Ph.D.

He also said he became a professor because he likes the freedom to choose his own research questions; he lets science guide the direction. He said he loves teaching and the intellectual environment at a university. Another reason why he chose to become a professor was because of how competitive it is within the field, specifically in the lab. Although there are a few people who are focused on giving back to the community, many are only in it for the money and fame. Listening to him talk, I realized that I’m choosing this path to give back and help my community.

Being on a wheelchair has made many people question whether I
could be independent or not. Everyone is always so concerned about
me...so I decided to prove them wrong.

I also wanted to interview a professional in my field to understand my options beyond teaching. I chose to interview one of my family members, Dr. Teja Bedi, who is an oncologist. Since she was born and raised in India, where the school system is very different, she went to medical school right after graduating high school. I was shocked when she told me that she was only sixteen years old! Although she said her parents were the reason she chose to go into the medical field, she wasn’t forced into it like a lot of people. She loved listening to them talk about their medical cases. When I asked her, “How has this career changed you in both a positive and negative way?” she said that, as a human being, she now values everything considered “normal” because when you’re in the medical field, you see all the extremes.You see where things can go wrong and how so many people take things for granted.

I’d like to go into surgery, which means that I will have to work longer shifts. I understand that this will be hard, but I will try my best to prioritize myself and my health before anything else. While gathering information from professionals in my field is an effective way to evaluate whether--and if--I’m on the “right track” with my education, it’s also helpful to think about what the world thinks I ought to be and what I, ideally, want for myself.

Being on a wheelchair has made many people question whether I could be independent or not. Everyone is always so concerned about me. My ought self was to attend a state university, preferably Fresno State, for my dad, since it’s closest to home and to have a stable job with a nice family. After finally getting away from home, I have proved that I can be as independent as any other person can be. On the other hand, when I think about my ideal self, I think about a girl who has overcome so many obstacles in life and is driven to achieve all of her goals.

It was disappointing to see how many people didn’t believe in me, so I decided to prove them wrong. From the start of middle school, I wrote down goals I wanted to achieve in high school and college. By reflecting on my past experiences, consulting with professionals in my field of interest, and considering how I perceive my ought and ideal versions of myself, my predictions for the future are: I attend my dream school after spending a year here at SFSU, I become a successful neurosurgeon, I settle down in my favorite city, and create a happy and loving family. Even though things might not go according to plan, my main goal in life is just to be happy and healthy. The process of writing this essay has made me question ideas and notions I hadn’t even considered before. Additionally, I have been able to establish stronger connections with the individuals who motivated me to study neuroscience. I now have a better understanding of the challenges I will encounter and how my future in this field will pan out, courtesy to the entire process.

"Sweet"

"Take a Closer Look"

ABOUT THE ARTIST:

Grace Scerni's work allows viewers to visually dive into a space of organic shape, color and tedious details while taking inspiration from the constantly changing spaces and environments that surround her. Mainly sticking with 2D media, she has recently started exploring how her themes can come to life using 3D media and is constantly working on expanding her practice.

Critical Analysis and Investigative Pieces

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Nia Wochnowski is a chemistry major in her first year at SFSU. She hopes to one day become a researcher. She wrote this essay in Professor Caroline Casper's English 105 class for an iSearch essay assignment. The students were asked to explore the answer(s) to any question they wanted, and to document every step of the research and writing process.

Nia Wochnowski
The Urge to Define Beauty

Why do we define beauty? It's a question that often hides behind another. When I was a little girl, I remember waking up and looking in the mirror to ask, “am I beautiful?” This was a regular, mundane occurrence, but over time, I started to notice that this question made me believe that I had to be something other than myself, that I wasn't already the best version of myself. I focused so intently on the question of my beauty that I never thought to focus on why I needed to be beautiful. The process of deciding what is and what isn't beautiful is engrained in every part of our society, and while the definition of beauty is fluid and ever changing, the question of why define beauty is fascinating to me. What makes us believe that something so emotional and indescribable can be defined? How do we know if that which we believe to be beautiful truly is? What is it about beauty that makes people so attracted to it? Why has beauty become so important to us, and why are we spending all of our money or killing ourselves to achieve a certain standard of it? The rabbit hole one can travel down while pondering the possible answers to these questions can tell us a lot about...ourselves.

The ways in which we define beauty today often stem from what was considered beautiful in the past, sometimes dating us back in time thousands of years. Part of me has always wondered why we continue to follow standards that were set before us such a long time ago. While many things are constantly changing in life, there are certain general beauty standards that have not evolved at all. It seems, instead, that at times we’ve adapted past standards to suit current societal curiosities and to ensure that true beauty remains unachievable.

Why are we still attracted to the curve of a jawline, or defined cheekbones that drop into hollow cheeks? And furthermore, why do we see beauty in the way waves lap onto the shore mere seconds apart, or in the way birds glide swiftly through a sweet breeze? Is a slender body, a toned midriff leading to exaggerated features and long lines truly beautiful? Is it truly what we desire?

Some part of me instinctively knows that we attempt to define things as beautiful because we need to create a social hierarchy in our minds. There will always be people who rise to the top of a hierarchy and people who will fall to the bottom, so maybe the desire to define beauty comes from our need to express uniqueness, or “the rare,” or something that is always, slightly out of reach.

While I have a general idea of beauty, and how we define it as a society, I wanted to get a better idea of what other people thought. In the beginning of my search for an answer, I knew I wanted to gain public insight so I stood in the quad of San Francisco State University and tried to get as many responses as I could. I assumed that a lot of the people on campus thought that I was a petitioner, because many of them walked by without acknowledging my existence. However when I was able to snag the attention of others, their answers were really interesting.

Why has beauty become so important to us, and why are we
spending all of our money or killing ourselves to achieve a certain
standard of it?

Two students named Stephanie and Miguel said they define beauty as anything that is aesthetically pleasing: “Personally, I can be as shallow as anyone else in the world, “ Stephanie said. “However, inner beauty is extremely important to me. A person with a good personality and intentions goes a long way. If a person is attractive but rude, they are no longer beautiful to me.”

“You're trained as a kid to have certain views, but in general beauty is kind of everywhere with everyone,” said Miguel.

Most of the responses to my question of how do you define beauty showed me a lot about the differences of perspectives on this topic. However, my second question, why do you think we define beauty all? elicited some deeper responses.

One student named Devon said, “from an evolutionary standpoint, the most beautiful or attractive [person] is fit…has symmetrical features, and an athletic build because these are markers of good health.Therefore, selecting a mate with such features is preferable in order to pass down good genes.” Then he went on to say, “Beauty is power. An attractive woman or man may be more favorable for certain job positions. In some cases they might even receive higher pay. Bottom line, people are materialistic and shallow. Whatever our eyes and brains enjoy looking at is what we favor in life.”

My search to find the reason why we define beauty showed me how much the achievement of and attraction to beauty is ingrained in every part of our society. And while I anticipated a wide variety of responses from the SFSU students, I never thought that so many of them would interpret my questions so differently. The concept of beauty is vast; it’s defined as many things, including physical forms, uniqueness and power.

What I do know is this: Beauty is everything; it has no true and simple definition. It's a generic, overused word that means nothing specific, and yet it is so extremely special. While I think that we, as a society, will attempt to define beauty and to encapsulate this vast concept for thousands of years to come, I don't believe we’ll ever find a way to do it.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Gabriella Melton (she/her) is a graduating English Literature major with a double minor in Italian and Comparative World Literature. Written for Professor Dane Johnson’s Comparative World Literature 400GW class, this paper explores the female and the queer female experience by comparing two American short stories written in the late-1800s.

Gabriella Melton
An OREO Cookie, a Yellow Wallpaper, and a Queer Handmaiden Walk Into a Comparative Essay and Find Common Ground in the Female Experience

During this year’s pride month, Nabisco’s OREO Cookie released a limited-edition Oreo Pride Pack designed in collaboration with LGBTQIA+ organization PFLAG National. The special release packaging intended to represent all gender and sexual identities with colorful cartoon renderings of pride flags alongside words of encouragement doodled in bubble font. Almost every identity is prominently displayed—except for the lesbian flag. Instead, the lesbian flag is under the bottom crease of the container; one must turn the package upside down and fold over the flap to see the rows of pink, white, and orange stripes. Nabisco’s oversight, whether intentional or not, symbolizes the female and the female queer experience: an existence colored by society’s discrimination. Two enigmatic texts that explore what it means to be a woman are Charlotte Perkins Gilman’s 1892 short story “The Yellow Wallpaper” and Sarah Orne Jewett’s 1897 short story “Martha’s Lady.” Gilman’s “The Yellow Wallpaper” follows an unnamed narrator as a curious pattern in her bedroom’s wall covering exacerbates her deteriorating mental health. Set in New England, “Martha’s Lady” chronicles a handmaid’s forty years of yearning for the company of her mistress’ cousin. The two women’s plight calls attention to the gender bias of the nineteenth century. The use of dramatic irony and diction in “The Yellow Wallpaper” and “Martha’s Lady” demonstrate how patriarchal desires imprison women and how such repression invalidates the female characters, surrendering them to a false sense of liberation. This interpretation encourages comparison between the female experience and the female queer experience concerning compulsory heterosexuality, further supporting that both short stories can, and should, be read through a queer lens.

From 1870-1900, America experienced sudden economic development. The growth of industry demanded sociocultural evolution in politics, the workforce, and at home. While the Gilded Age questioned previous cultural norms, the belief that women belonged in the home remained relatively unchallenged. The literature of the time reflects this sentiment. In William Acton’s 1857 study The Functions and Disorders of the Reproductive Organs in Childhood, Youth, Adult Age, and Advanced Life, Acton asserts that a woman’s sole capacity is motherhood: “Love of the home, of children, and of domestic duties are the only passions they feel” (126). Dr. John Harvey Kellogg reiterates Acton’s sentiment in his 1882 book Ladies’ Guide in Health and Disease, Girlhood, Maidenhood, Wifehood, Motherhood: “The motherly instinct is without a doubt the ruling passion in the heart of the true woman” (163). Their declarations maintain that a proper woman stays within the “domestic circle” (Kellogg, 163) and does not aspire for more. President Theodore Roosevelt also advocates for traditional gender roles in his 1905 Address to the National Congress of Mothers: “There are certain old truths which will be true as long as this world endures, . . . the primary duty of the woman is to be the helpmeet, the housewife, and mother” (205). All voices of authority prescribe women to the boundaries of marriage, housekeeping, and children. Though, within these bounds, additional restrictions are present. Acton articulates how wives should behave sexually: “a modest woman seldom desires any sexual gratification for herself. She submits to her husband’s embraces, but principally to gratify him” (126); A virtuous woman must sacrifice her wants and needs in favor of satisfying her ruling parties, husband and child; she has no personal or bodily autonomy, yielding to male authority. The belief that women experience no sexual desire extends to the period’s understanding of female homosexuality. Havelock Ellis’ case study entitled “Sexual Inversion in Women” argues that lesbianism is less detectable due to the acceptance of female friendship and women’s meager sexual nature. Again, patriarchal ideals reduce a woman’s identity, implementing oppressive standards. It is this cycle of oppression that serves as the basis for compulsory heterosexuality. First popularized by poet and essayist Adrienne Rich in 1980, compulsory heterosexuality is the belief that society conditions women to engage in heterosexual romantic and sexual relationships regardless of their actual sexual and romantic desires. Compulsory heterosexuality is frequently synonymous with the female queer experience as women experiencing attraction outside of the heterosexual sphere must confront the heteronormative structure, fighting against gender conformity.

The presence of dramatic irony in “The Yellow Wallpaper” and “Martha’s Lady” alerts readers that the two main female characters are held captive by patriarchal forces beyond their control; the oppression experienced by Gilman’s unnamed narrator and Jewett’s Martha elucidates the similarities between the female experience and the female queer experience through the theory of compulsory heterosexuality. When the female narrator of “The Yellow Wallpaper” arrives at the “colonial mansion” (41), to spend the summer resting in bed after giving birth, her husband John sequesters her in the “nursery at the top of the house” (43). The “big, airy room” (43), possesses curious characteristics: “The paint and paper look as if a boys’ school had used it. It is stripped off—the paper—in great patches all around the head of my bed” (43), American literary critic M.H. Abrams defines dramatic irony in his A Glossary of Literary Terms: “Dramatic irony involves a situation in a play or a narrative in which the audience or reader shares with the author knowledge of present or future circumstances of which a character is ignorant” (136); In the aforementioned quote, the narrator is stuck in a room she does not entirely understand, but, by following the Gilman’s trail of breadcrumbs, audiences can discern she is not in a “nursery.” (43) Readers have the fullness of mind to appreciate that the barred windows and torn wallpaper suggest this room likely housed other women undergoing similar treatment plans. Earlier details like the purpose of their stay and John’s involvement reinforce the audience’s awareness. Gilman’s use of dramatic irony implies not only the narrator’s impending tragedy but also highlights the unjust handling she receives at John’s authority. Despite her frequent complaints, John keeps her in the room with the yellow wallpaper. He dismisses her because as her husband and her physician, he knows best. Her position as a woman, wife, and mother in the late 1800s surrenders her fate to John; she is literally and figuratively trapped and controlled by him. While the narrator appears ignorant of her husband’s cruelty, the audience is not.

Similarly, Jewett capitalizes on dramatic irony in “Martha’s Lady.” For the “forty years” (267) after Helena Vernon leaves the Pyne house, Martha dutifully performs her daily tasks with Helena in mind. She does not know if Helena remembers her, but readers do: “Cousin Harriet thought it was very kind and exactly like Helena, but Martha would be out of her element; it was most imprudent and girlish to have thought of such a thing” (269). Here, the narrator explains Harriet’s decision to exclude her handmaiden Martha from attending Helena’s wedding despite Helena’s wishes. Throughout the narrative, Harriet expresses concern about Martha’s behavior and how that reflects on her, “the precise mistress of the house” (261). Her decision to exclude Martha from Helena’s wedding is cruel and against both women’s best interests. Martha faces unjust treatment because of her role as a servant and a woman; she has no control and completely relies on her mistress. The knowledge that Helena is thinking of Martha, an example of dramatic irony, demonstrates how Harriet, though a woman, fulfills the role of patriarchal enforcer. It is worth noting that Harriet purposely keeps Martha away from Helena out of concern for her reputation. As the unmarried head of her household, she is likely subjected to more acute judgment than her male counterparts. Moreover, if performing a queer reading of “Martha’s Lady” in which one interprets Martha’s attachment to Helena as romantic, Harriet may fear the repercussions of discovery. In this way, Harriet and Martha are both victims of oppression.

Because the essence of Martha and Helena’s relationship is unclear, the subtleties foster a connection to the female queer experience—a segue into defining and comparing the female experience and the female queer experience. Compulsory heterosexuality is the belief that heterosexuality and traditional gender roles are the default condition. As explored through the women of “The Yellow Wallpaper” and “Martha’s Lady,” heteronormativity oppresses women, further asserting that oppression is the default experience. Acknowledging that male oppression through the authority of compulsory heterosexuality affects all of the women in the two short stories, despite their sexual orientation, supports the conclusion that oppression is central to the female experience as a whole. Through the lens of queer reading, we arrive at a better understanding of what womanhood entails.

She admits that what she knows will never come to the surface. Her
circumstances control her thoughts.

Each author’s diction illustrates the women’s inability to express or act on their true desires, further exploring how compulsory heterosexuality unites the female and female queer experience. Once Gilman’s narrator decides there is a woman entangled in the intricacies of the paper’s pattern, she struggles to articulate her thoughts: “There are things in that paper that nobody knows but me, or ever will. . . . I don’t like it a bit. I wonder—I begin to think—I wish John would take me away from here” (50). Abrams outlines diction as, “the types of words, phrases, and sentence structures, and sometimes also of figurative language, that constitute any work of literature” (248). Immediately, Gilman’s opening sentence highlights the narrator’s lack of consciousness. She admits that what she knows will never come to the surface. Her circumstances control her thoughts. Following her ominous confession, the narrator effectively censors herself when attempting to voice either a question or an opinion. Her self-censorship is worth noting as she is supposedly writing in a private journal—a place of refuge. Gilman’s placement of the em-dashes communicates the narrator’s hesitancy. Rather than finishing her statement, she invokes John. She cries out to him, insinuating she wishes he would intervene and offer his guidance. His control over her has reached great heights as she is unable to conceive thoughts without consulting him first. The sentence structure implemented by Gilman demonstrates the impact of John’s presence; the narrator suppresses her thought process because of the oppression she faces.

When Jewett’s third-person narrator reports Martha’s reaction to Helena’s unexpected visit, Jewett’s word choice emphasizes Martha’s restraint: “She had never really suspected before that Miss Pyne knew nothing of the love that had been in her heart all these years; it was half a pain and half a golden joy to keep such a secret” (275); The inclusion of the word suspect is notable. It may suggest that Martha did not consider whether or not Harriet was aware of her emotions because she herself was not fully aware. It could also imply she did not allow herself to think about other people’s perceptions of her relationship with Helena due to her feelings bordering on erotic love. Regardless, Martha’s lack of suspicion signals that the conditions of her existence prevent her from achieving self-actualization. Jewett then intensifies the facts surrounding Martha’s forty years of repression by including the word pain and the phrase golden joy. There is no question that keeping a substantial part of yourself hidden from your only social outlets would cause Martha great suffering; due to her position as a woman and a servant, she had no alternative. The understanding that hiding her sentiments also brought her pleasure complicates her affliction. Golden joy alludes that she enjoyed concealing her passion. If she hides her true attitude towards Helena, her affections are safe; no one can diminish them or take them away.

Readers see how repression is a part of the female experience in “The Yellow Wallpaper” and how it is a part of the female queer experience in “Martha’s Lady.” Compulsory heterosexuality is oppression and repression; both are necessary to keep heteronormativity as society’s default. An oppressed woman is subservient. Her willingness to obey someone else’s commands renders her ability to listen to her own needs impossible. Thus, she is easily controlled by the dominating party—men. Compulsory heterosexuality explains how difficult it is for a woman of any sexual identity to regain control of her thoughts. In fact, it may never be possible. How can women detach from the influence of heterosexual society when they seemingly exist to continue heteronormativity? Ultimately, the characters’ inability to break free from the influence of the patriarchy demonstrates the overlap between the female and female queer experiences. One arrives at this conclusion through the consideration of compulsory heterosexuality as it applies to all women.

At the end of “The Yellow Wallpaper,” the narrator frees the woman in the paper only to continue “creep[ing] over [John] every time” (58)! Comparably, “Martha’s Lady” ends with Martha and Helena sharing a kiss: “‘Oh, my dear Martha!’ she cried, ‘won’t you kiss me goodnight? Oh, Martha, have you remembered like this, all these long years’” (277)! Arguably, each woman achieves their goal. The unnamed narrator has solved the mystery of the yellow wallpaper and Helena rewards Martha’s undying devotion. While their accomplishments suggest the women have reached liberation from their oppressors, close reading proves otherwise. Gilman’s unnamed narrator is still trapped in the room and an elderly Martha cannot recuperate her lost time or live out the rest of her life with Helena. Such unsatisfying outcomes encapsulate what it is like to be a woman: there is no freedom as long as women exist within a society upholding the regime of compulsory heterosexuality. A queer reading helps us sympathize with the characters and gives us insight into the experience of women in the nineteenth century and today’s world.

When drafting this essay, I believed that compulsory heterosexuality separated the female experience from the female queer experience. My time spent studying “The Yellow Wallpaper” and “Martha’s Lady” has convinced me otherwise. Through my reading of Gilman and Jewett’s short stories, I realize that compulsory heterosexuality affects all women and is not only limited to the female queer experience; cultural expectations of heteronormativity are permanently embedded in a woman’s life. My evolution exhibits the importance of queering literature: queer readings promote reader identification, encouraging transformative self-reflection through the vehicle of literature. Furthermore, it is important to perform, document, and champion queer readings to fight against queer erasure, specifically lesbian erasure, in literature and culture. Both authors’ implementation of dramatic irony and diction reveals how the cycle of oppression holds women captive underneath a patriarchal society, rendering it impossible for women to experience true freedom. Analyzing “The Yellow Wallpaper” and “Martha’s Lady” with attention to the female experience explains the role of compulsory heterosexuality in a woman’s life, proving the validity and significance of queer criticism.

Works Cited

Abrams, M.H. A Glossary of Literary Terms. Seventh Ed., Boston: Heinle & Heinle, 1999.
Acton, William. The Functions and Disorders of the Reproductive Organs in Childhood, Youth, Adult Age, and Advanced Life. Charlotte Perkins Gilman: The Yellow Wallpaper. Ed. Dale M. Bauer. Boston: Bedford/St. Martin’s, 1998. 120-29.
Gilman, Charlotte Perkins. “The Yellow Wallpaper.” Charlotte Perkins Gilman: The Yellow Wallpaper. Ed. Dale M. Bauer. Boston: Bedford/St. Martin’s, 1998. 41-59.
Jewett, Sarah Orne. “Martha’s Lady.” The Country of the Pointed First and Other Stories. New York: Norton, 1981. 255-77.
Kellogg, John Harvey. Ladies’ Guide in Health and Disease, Girlhood, Maidenhood, Wifehood, Motherhood. Charlotte Perkins Gilman: The Yellow Wallpaper. Ed. Dale M. Bauer. Boston: Bedford/St. Martin’s, 1998. 157-73.
Roosevelt, Theodore. Address to the National Congress of Mothers, March 13, 1905. Charlotte Perkins Gilman: The Yellow Wallpaper. Ed. Dale M. Bauer. Boston: Bedford/St. Martin’s, 1998. 204-10.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Osvaldo N. Salazar is a senior in the English department in Professional Writing and Rhetoric. He joined the Sutro Review team because he loves writing and hearing new voices, imagery and ideas come to life in the written form. In the future, Osvaldo hopes to continue his work in writing across a variety of fields and mediums, with a special interest for commentary and critique on things such as art, film, music, and social and cultural issues. Aside from his passion for writing, he enjoys music, hiking, and is passionate about pets and animals—with a special place in his heart for his pet cat, Mars.

Osvaldo N. Salazar
Born What Way? Trapped in the Portal of Perpetual Rebirth

At surface level, one may read the “Born This Way” album title from pop singer and artist Lady Gaga and be confident in the assumption that the album is about the acceptance and celebration of being gay or queer. How could they not? After all, Gaga is an artist that has not shied from her associations to her gay fan base and queer culture as a whole; But to label the album as simply a liberating rallying cry for gay people or dance floor anthems to blare from heavily-based speakers on pride floats, is to dismiss the album’s messaging entirely. It’s to assume Darren Aronofsky’s psychological horror film “Mother!” was simply and entirely about a couple having marital problems (it wasn’t). What the album was saying and commenting on, however, was on the idea of identity, performance as identity, birth, rebirth and its relation to our overall constructed realities.

When Lady Gaga first entered the pop music landscape in 2008 with her debut album “The Fame,” she entered the arena with the bold and very self-assured message that celebrated the power of image not just in pop-music, but culture as a whole. In this debut, the power of performance was heavily explored and celebrated. Fully embodying the spectacle, Gaga continuously drew attention to the power of image in our everyday lives, and heavily advertised the way performance, fashion, and “lies” made up not only parts of our identities, but were representative of our entire existence. These ideas were also heavily present and were the foundational framework for accompanying visuals to this debut album in a video titled “The Manifesto of Little Monsters”-- an accompanying visual element alongside the album in which Gaga links the “lie” of her artwork as the “truth” about it. “It is in the theory of perception that we have established our bond, or the lie I should say, for which we kill,” she says. “We are nothing without our image, without our projection, without the spiritual hologram of who we perceive ourselves to be, or rather to become, in the future.” This sentiment, in conjunction with the way Gaga repeatedly presented via her over-the-top, avant-garde conceptual fashion choices, multi-layered songwriting, and metaphorical music videos, was her attempt at ingraining to the viewer and listener that life is art. In other words, the overarching message of this entire body of work was that there was no difference between reality and artifice, Lady Gaga is not simply a stage name, there is no absolute identity behind her, or anyone’s mask, and life in its entirety is a performance.

When releasing her third album, however, broadly titled “Born This Way,” Gaga convoluted the idea of the performative identity she had previously established artistically. This album and era for the pop star complicated the artist's previous explorations into performative identity, and instead explored an entirely different kind of identity: one that is both essential and performative at the same time. Speaking to Billboard magazine in 2011, wearing flesh-toned prosthetics throughout her face and as “shoulder pads” grown directly from her actual skin, she elaborated on this constructed reality. “[Birth] is a process of living and it’s also not ultimately a goal. It’s something ever-changing. My bones have changed in my face and in my shoulders because I am now able to reveal to the universe that when I was wearing shoulder pads or when I was wearing jackets that looked like I was wearing shoulder pads, it was really just my bones underneath. My fashion is part of who I am, and though I was not born with these clothes on, I was born this way.”

This idea of not differentiating fashion from flesh was very much deliberate in her overall approach to the album. Fashion, much like life, is something that requires keen intentionality, and most importantly, choice. With Born This Way, Gaga’s goal and mission was to grant permission to and embolden the viewer/listener to choose to purposefully become, or to choose to become conscious and aware of the essentially limitless potential of who it is we could become. Fashion is just one of many ways one is able to own this ever changing and evolving identity, but this identity requires will, awareness and intention, for one cannot be blind or deaf to this notion and be “reborn”. This idea of blending and blurring artifice and reality, using exterior appearance and forces to liberate and dictate what is internal, and fuse flesh with metal, is represented in a quite literal way on the album’s cover which features the artist as a half- woman half-motorcycle hybrid, and draws heavy similarity both in visual aesthetic and metaphor to David Bowie’s 1974 album Diamond Dogs, which featured the British Glam Rocker as a half-man half-dog hybrid humanoid.

Fashion is just one of many ways one is able to own this ever-
changing and evolving identity,
but this identity requires will, awareness and intention, for one
cannot be blind or deaf to this notion and be “reborn.”

In dissecting the album’s title track which served as the opening song and segue into this commentary on birth and being “reborn”, “Born This Way” (the song) though touted as an equality and gay-power anthem (which it is), also dealt heavily with the theme of evolution. In the song, Gaga sees birth as something infinite, something that is an ever-changing, ever-evolving– a living, breathing process and state of being. By putting performative identity in the realm of essential identity and overall being and existence, the creation of this identity becomes how she is born. The accompanying music video to the song further elaborates on these ideas. In similar fashion to her previous manifesto of “Little Monsters”, the music video opens with a new manifesto: The Manifesto of Mother Monster. Calmly and alluringly reading over the theme from Alfred Hitchhock’s Vertigo, she proclaims and establishes the following sentiment: “On G.O.A.T, a Government-Owned Alien Territory in space, a birth of magnificent and magical proportions took place. But the birth was not finite. It was infinite. As the wombs numbered and the mitosis of the future began, it was perceived that this infamous moment in life is not temporal, it is eternal. And thus, began the beginning of the new race, a race within the race of humanity, a race which bears no prejudice, no judgment but boundless freedom. But on that same day, as the eternal mother hovered in the multiverse, another more terrifying birth took place: the birth of evil. And as she herself split into two, rotating in agony between two ultimate forces, the pendulum of choice began its dance. It seems easy, you imagine, to gravitate instantly and unwaveringly towards good. But she wondered: “How can I protect something so perfect without evil?” It is in this proclamation that Gaga re-envisions and continues to complicate the idea of birth as something infinite and not something as easily defined as a singular constricted moment in time.

Much like her previous manifesto, which proclaimed that which is “false” is actually “true”, and image and projection as reality, the “Manifesto of Mother Monster” again redefines birth as something infinite and free, something we are in complete control over as conscious Beings. Buried in the manifesto, however, are two words that require closer reading and deconstruction. The words “prejudice” and ``judgment”, (boldfaced above) should be closely looked at to really unveil the song’s essence. One may liken these words, again, to prejudice or judgment to those seen as “different” (i.e. gay) but that’s not what is really being implied here. What can or at least should be understood about what is potentially implied here is the continuation of the theme of multilayered fluidity not only in regards to who and what we are, but who and what we choose to forge for ourselves in regards to our identity and projection--judgment or prejudice need not apply.

Throughout the album’s track list this notion of perpetual rebirth and transformation remains ever-present. In the hair-metal, classic-rock influenced dance ballad “You and I”, Gaga furthers her exploration on the centering of the human body as the ultimate medium for infinite births. “It’s been a long time since I came around, been a long time but I’m back in town, this time I’m not leaving without you. You and I, you and I,Baby, I'd rather die without you and I”.What seems like a rather straightforward, sugary folk-tinged love song, is a song about love and desire, but one having to do with love and desire of the self, the journey to discovering and maintaining that obsession once found, and allowing endless exploration into the possibilities with our own physical bodies, in this case both the “you” and the “I.” The song further showcases this for its accompanying music video, where the singer is seen in various different forms as a mermaid, a male lover, and a barnyard stripper draped in leather boots and panties all having multiple love affairs and solid devotion to what is essentially herself--as she is the one playing each one of these characters.

In the playfully risqué, Eastern-European inspired industrial-dance track “Government Hooker,” Gaga further toys with and celebrates self anointed identity and being, while also being aware of the insatiable need for the acknowledgment and love from the viewer (other people) in celebrating this exploration of identity and infinite re-birth. “I could be girl, unless you want to be man. I could be sex, unless you want to hold hands. I could be anything, I could be everything. Just touch me, baby, I don’t want to be sad.” Here, another portal opens into the question of performative self-appointed identity: Does any of it mean anything without someone there to witness it? Without someone there to “touch” us to avoid “being sad” otherwise? Gaga never really answers this question and instead leaves this vague and open throughout the rest of the album, begging the listener (and viewer) to explore and question, further adding to the overall mystique and soulfulness shrouding this bold piece of pop perfection.

"Before Human"

"Don't Give Up On Me"

ABOUT THE ARTIST (Cover Artist)

Han Le (artist name: HAAN) is in her senior year at SF State. She is a product design major
and a part-time art creator. She uses art as a medium to express and communicate with the
world, while contributing her creativity and knowledge into the design industry for the
sole purpose of producing meaningful things. With the world constantly evolving, it's
now more important than ever to have individuals who pour their hearts and souls into
creating things that have significance and impact.

Poetry

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Alexiz Angel Romero (they/she) is a first-gen Latinx poet alchemist from the 805 now residing in occupied Ohlone Ramaytush land. Alexiz's works centers on the experiences she has faced as a queer person of color, innocence and rawness, and passerby tales of hustling and struggle. They have been a recipient of the Poetry Center's New Voice Poetry Award in 2022 at San Francisco State University, where they are currently pursuing their degree in Chemistry.

Alexiz Angel Romero
burning

up at three in the morning
my makeup looks just right
dancing to gaga in the mirror
mansplaining to the white woman next
            door

thoughts flush through me.
my body isn’t perfect-
flawed, fleshy thing
how imperfectly you shine
            in the dark.

dancing alone in the break
loss of self, of others
never feeling like enough
as man, or as a woman
            or a person.

my makeup looks just right
dancing to gaga in the break
up at three in the morning
forgetting any care in the
            world, for just a few
                        songs.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Caitlin Darke uses her left hand and her gift of humor to write and reflect on trauma and mental illness. She hopes to use her love of language and people to make the world a happier and more equitable place. Caitlin is especially proud of her “wifi” piece, and would like to thank her previous professor, Ben Jahn for his stellar writing prompts and support throughout her college experience.

Caitlin Darke
HOUSEPLANT

I would like you to sing to me more often and cry a little less, but I get it. You neglect me. You forget me. I know you love me, but you have a funny way of showing it. Perhaps you could tend to me a bit more and brood a bit less. I am therapy. I am organic. I am green--your thumb is not. I am life. I am oxygen. Breathe in my solace. Let it embrace you. I am strong. I see you. You’re strong, too. Help me help you. My soil is rich with wisdom. I can soak up your sorrow. Take clippings of contentment. My sympathetic tendrils cascade toward you. I am reaching out to you. I love you. I believe in you. You have managed to keep the both of us alive. I am proud of you. I am proud of us. Look at us. Talk to me. Tell me more. I hear you. Shower me with your hopes and dreams and I will see to it that they blossom. Feed me, Seymour! Oh, lighten up. I won’t eat you. But I sure am hungry. How’s that compost coming along? And before I forget, could you ask the cats to stop digging me up? It was cute at first, but it’s getting annoying.

Caitlin Darke
wifi

have you tried
turning it
off and
on
?

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Atzeli Ramirez wrote this piece from the personal feeling that the pandemic deterred them from the path they were on going into college, and the frequent wonder where they would be had the pandemic never happened. Ultimately, Atzel is thankful for the people they have met and the path they are on now.

Atzeli Ramirez
That One Year

Two weeks is what they said.
I was 17.
Suddenly, I am about to be 21.

I often wonder what college was like, pre-pandemic.
I wonder if the classes were overflowing with students.
I wonder if I would have met any of the people that are in my life.
I wonder if I would have been on track for four years, not five.

That one year.
All it took was that one crucial year.
As I look around at all of my peers, faces covered by masks,
I can’t help but think of that one year.

About the Editors

Caitlin Darke

Caitlin Michelle Darke is the Social Media Editor for the Sutro Review. She is a Bay Area native finishing her junior year in the Professional Writing & Rhetoric program at SF State. She is thrilled to be part of the editing team at the Sutro Review and has enjoyed her time contributing to the journal. Caitlin grew up on the stage and will always be a theatre kid at heart. She is a goofball who loves to sing and is passionate about social and environmental justice. Most importantly, she is the proud mother of two perfect angel felines named Lucifer and Zoe.

Carina Thanh-Ngoc DeLorenzo

Carina Thanh-Ngoc DeLorenzo is the Technological Editor of the Sutro Review, and is a senior English Literature major. When she isn't locked in mortal battle with the Sutro's site making tool and wrestling with website layout for this year's edition, she enjoys accumulating books, running out of shelf space, and knitting.

Osvaldo Salazar

Osvaldo Salazar is the Submissions Editor of the Sutro Review, and a senior in the English department majoring in Professional Writing and Rhetoric. He joined the Sutro Review team because he loves writing and seeing voices, imagery and ideas come to life in written form. In the future, Osvaldo hopes to continue his work in writing across a variety of fields and mediums, with a special interest for commentary and critique on things such as art, film, music, and social and cultural issues. Aside from his passion for writing, he enjoys hiking, music, and is passionate about pets and animals--with a special place in his heart for his pet cat, Mars.

Caroline Casper

Caroline Casper is a Lecturer in the English department teaching Composition courses at SFSU. She also teaches Literature and Creative Writing courses in the Bay Area. In addition to teaching and advising on Sutro Review, she enjoys reading and writing short fiction, and exploring the city, where she's often seen chasing her two young daughters, who are always on wheels.

Sutro Review 2023​SF State Journal for Undergraduate ​Composition

Personal Narratives

My version of English was “spicy,” as I liked to call it, a hybrid​fusion dish of my Tagalog vernacular with an American twist.

Did I just imagine all of that? It bothered me that I would never knowfor sure. Was that my future? Was that my fate? Or was that afantasy?

I realized that unmasking was also an opportunity.It was an​opportunity to rediscover what it meant to be human.

I had a choir concert in elementary school and got so scared​onstage that I passed out. The paramedics had to come.

My father caught COVID trying to escape his biggest nightmare, me.Better to go anywhere but home, where he was stuck facing the​reality of my trans identity.