Letter from the Editor
The Fibonacci Sequence dictates a set of numbers which are characterised by each new number being the sum of the two numbers before it—0, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21, 34 and so on and so forth. Being the namesake of the famed, Italian mathematician Leonardo of Pisa (nicknamed Fibonacci), it is often mistakenly attributed to him, whereas in reality it had been present in ancient Sanskrit texts several centuries earlier.
Regardless of its muddled history, however, the true curiosity of the Fibonacci sequence is the truth it holds within our natural world. We can see evidence of the sequence in the branching of trees, in the fruit sprouts of a pineapple; in an artichoke flowering, in an uncurling fern. This demonstrates a beautiful order to existence; a pattern to then find, reproduce, and treasure. The pattern is the same even if the world changes—the artichoke might grow older, or younger, and yet the order in its cells will be untouched. Grace Novarr in her lovely hybrid piece “The Least Difficult” understands how as her calendar changes, her kitchen, her favourite colour, her memories all may change, and yet her love for the boy with the blue eyes always remains the same. Even the sequence’s most fundamental concept (of each new term being the sum of the previous two) reveals a great observation about human existence—that each new event is the accumulation of the events before it. Adrianna Acebo’s curiously typographed “The Second Death” tells a poem of a summation of a life, dissected into events—how many times the narrator was kissed—as opposed to how many times they actually wanted it. Nadia Vasilyeva’s “The Last Time” illustrates the other side of this dilemma, of how hard it can be to rewrite the next step of life when all the love that came before is suddenly gone; of the guilt it causes to move on without acknowledging the past.
We can even see patterns in uniqueness. However original we think we may are, our “randomness” can be an urge to rebel for the sake of rebellion, a feat noted in Lillian Robles’s “People-Watching.” This excessive order defining the framework of the fundamentals of our lives can have its own disturbing side effects. The prescription for perfection did not indicate to us how overwhelming it can feel to subscribe to this suppose “order” all around us; in “Pseudo Beauty,” the artist illustrates a desperation to “fix” the flaws on their face in order to squeeze out of them the person who apparently should exist, as opposed to the person who already does, and is already all the beauty the world needs to be. No rule, no sequence, can dictate the terms of the spontaneity of our collective existence. The Fibonacci Sequence is indisputably seen in nature but it does not govern nature, and this is a hugely important distinction. We cannot for a second base our entire past and our entire futures on a non-negotiable set of laws—whether it be our parents, our skin, our gender, our religion, our education, fate itself. This would not only wipe out our autonomy entirely but also reduce us to another speck on the planet, and remove any sense of freedom, rebellion and most importantly, choice—to become whoever we want, whenever we want.
For as many examples there are of perfect order in the world, there are just as many examples of perfect chaos. Just because humans like finding patterns, like the Fibonacci Sequence, it does not mean they are there. The calamity, the uncertainty of the future is half the beauty of it—what sort of world would it be if the seconds before a firework, a kiss, a death, we would already know what would happen next? Our emotions would precede the event, we would be empty, too logical, too rational; we would never surprise ourselves with a laugh, a hug, a playful slap, a wink, that gasp of surprise on the way down a rollercoaster, the shock of a Disneyland proposal, the smile of a university offer. Not knowing makes us human. Acknowledging what came before and yet understanding we can change it all if we want to gives us hope. And I hope this issue, with its beautiful literature and art from such talented creators, gives you enough hope through the holidays and before the New Year starts to know that from this point forward, you can be anything at all.
Maheen Shahbazi
Poetry Editor
Courtney Felle Editor-In-Chief
Marriah Talbott-Malone Prose Editor
The Fibonacci Sequence dictates a set of numbers which are characterised by each new number being the sum of the two numbers before it—0, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21, 34 and so on and so forth. Being the namesake of the famed, Italian mathematician Leonardo of Pisa (nicknamed Fibonacci), it is often mistakenly attributed to him, whereas in reality it had been present in ancient Sanskrit texts several centuries earlier.
Regardless of its muddled history, however, the true curiosity of the Fibonacci sequence is the truth it holds within our natural world. We can see evidence of the sequence in the branching of trees, in the fruit sprouts of a pineapple; in an artichoke flowering, in an uncurling fern. This demonstrates a beautiful order to existence; a pattern to then find, reproduce, and treasure. The pattern is the same even if the world changes—the artichoke might grow older, or younger, and yet the order in its cells will be untouched. Grace Novarr in her lovely hybrid piece “The Least Difficult” understands how as her calendar changes, her kitchen, her favourite colour, her memories all may change, and yet her love for the boy with the blue eyes always remains the same. Even the sequence’s most fundamental concept (of each new term being the sum of the previous two) reveals a great observation about human existence—that each new event is the accumulation of the events before it. Adrianna Acebo’s curiously typographed “The Second Death” tells a poem of a summation of a life, dissected into events—how many times the narrator was kissed—as opposed to how many times they actually wanted it. Nadia Vasilyeva’s “The Last Time” illustrates the other side of this dilemma, of how hard it can be to rewrite the next step of life when all the love that came before is suddenly gone; of the guilt it causes to move on without acknowledging the past.
We can even see patterns in uniqueness. However original we think we may are, our “randomness” can be an urge to rebel for the sake of rebellion, a feat noted in Lillian Robles’s “People-Watching.” This excessive order defining the framework of the fundamentals of our lives can have its own disturbing side effects. The prescription for perfection did not indicate to us how overwhelming it can feel to subscribe to this suppose “order” all around us; in “Pseudo Beauty,” the artist illustrates a desperation to “fix” the flaws on their face in order to squeeze out of them the person who apparently should exist, as opposed to the person who already does, and is already all the beauty the world needs to be. No rule, no sequence, can dictate the terms of the spontaneity of our collective existence. The Fibonacci Sequence is indisputably seen in nature but it does not govern nature, and this is a hugely important distinction. We cannot for a second base our entire past and our entire futures on a non-negotiable set of laws—whether it be our parents, our skin, our gender, our religion, our education, fate itself. This would not only wipe out our autonomy entirely but also reduce us to another speck on the planet, and remove any sense of freedom, rebellion and most importantly, choice—to become whoever we want, whenever we want.
For as many examples there are of perfect order in the world, there are just as many examples of perfect chaos. Just because humans like finding patterns, like the Fibonacci Sequence, it does not mean they are there. The calamity, the uncertainty of the future is half the beauty of it—what sort of world would it be if the seconds before a firework, a kiss, a death, we would already know what would happen next? Our emotions would precede the event, we would be empty, too logical, too rational; we would never surprise ourselves with a laugh, a hug, a playful slap, a wink, that gasp of surprise on the way down a rollercoaster, the shock of a Disneyland proposal, the smile of a university offer. Not knowing makes us human. Acknowledging what came before and yet understanding we can change it all if we want to gives us hope. And I hope this issue, with its beautiful literature and art from such talented creators, gives you enough hope through the holidays and before the New Year starts to know that from this point forward, you can be anything at all.
Maheen Shahbazi
Poetry Editor
Courtney Felle Editor-In-Chief
Marriah Talbott-Malone Prose Editor