issue 2. PASSAGE

editor's note

When you’ve moved more times than you can count, uprooted from very different soils, at some point, you’ll get anxious. You’ll stare longingly out a window, down a street, through a doorway. How can you know for certain that the life you’re about to leave behind will keep on? Once you’ve left, does it stop existing altogether? Eventually, when your plane takes off or you pull out of the driveway, that last sliver of home in your periphery is replaced by clouds and wisps whizzing by. You’re about to plant yourself anew—but until you’re in the soil, do you exist? You’re now in-between.

Our region is an ongoing migratory network with an ancient history, in which most of us—including many of the editors of this magazine—have participated. Some journeys are more violent than others. Some are voluntary, while others are the results of circumstance. But with every voyage comes a liminal moment wherein the anxiety subsides. While we move, wait, and reflect, an eerie quiet settles in, forcing us to confront our unknowns: a ritual that is, perhaps ironically, familiar and intimate.

The contributors to our third issue, PASSAGE, invite us to witness a diverse set of these confrontations. Their work shows us that time and memory defy our expectations, whether we seek to embrace growing older, finally realize our nation’s autonomy, or discover the ghosts of past generations. They point out that new worlds, in the afterlife, in aliens, and in dreams, often resemble our own. They find home at their desks, in proverbs, among small possessions, at dinner parties, or nowhere at all. They highlight the creativity and empowerment that prevail in spite of forced displacement. Through their work, they render seemingly conflicting identities compatible.

PASSAGE illuminates the power of the in-between. It makes space for surprises—perhaps even beckoning them. It helps us remain open and welcome the unforeseen.