There is still hope because there is still you, my AP Psychology teacher said as she held me by my shoulders,

looking directly into my eyes. That was last November. Since the publication of Issue 7, many personal and world events have occurred. I voted for the first time. A ceasefire was reached. I was admitted to Yale University as a first-generation college student. The Eagles won the Super Bowl. I became the 9th Northeast Regional Youth Poet Laureate of the United States. Fires rage in Los Angeles. And the country is, well, still standing with the might of those willing to fight. All of this is to say that my attempt at living has been blurry and beyond my grasp. Things are moving at such high-octane speeds that nothing seems to stay long enough for me to recognize its significance. This climate of rush has, in turn, made me live as if I am in suspension, in constant, slow-moving, transit. The result of this is complete dissociation from the joys I once was tethered to. It is almost as if my austere definition of happiness is hiding in a forest, and it is foggy, and I am in a car, driving past. Part of this effect is due to the terrible weather we have had here in Philadelphia, which has become one of the only persisting aspects recently, but mainly it is the fear of so much change. Things are changing and happening all at once and all the time and my own autonomy and agency amidst this turmoil is terrifying. However, I have found respite in abandoning this identity entirely. 

After many years shying away from books despite working as an indie bookseller, I have finally found my

love for it through literary fiction. After reading stunning works like Outline and Transit by Rachel Cusk and Please Look After Mom by Kyung-Sook Shin, all beautiful magnum opuses that I urge you all to pick up, I rediscover beauty in its dormant shape. I learned that prose is not all that scary and awareness, which I now view as one of the most important qualities a person can have or try to practice, is crucial to breaking free of any confines placed upon me by systems and by myself. It is a feeling similar to daybreak. Recently, I have begun performing poetry again. From school to school, I shimmered on stages, spoke to students, and shook hands with organizers. There, the noise of elsewhere disappears, and art takes over. It is comforting in a way to have my identity stripped away and the bones of what is left is simply poetry. In the next few months, I will take the stage at The Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts and the Smithsonian Institution. As I mentioned earlier, my life has flown into this transitory space where I have yet to find ground. Even this letter is a tell-all, an attempt made to see whether or not my unconscious has developed a solution for this period of stagnancy and depression. So far, no luck. But either way, wish me luck at those events!

I cannot believe Hominum is well past its 1st birthday since I brought it back from hiatus. It has been the

most rewarding joyride through the unknown and with the most talented, wonderful, and down-to-earth team I could ever ask for. We have made such beautiful art together and showcased brilliant voices that echo constantly in my mind. All of the original editors have now moved on to greater and bigger things in their lives, and as such, I believe my time as editor-in-chief is coming to an end swiftly. It is a time in my life of transitions, and most of everything I care deeply about and have worked on for the past four years is being phased out of my routine. This may very well be one of the last, if not the last, issues I edit. But regardless, it has been an honor. The pieces in Issue 8 are exactly what is needed to break the climate of chaos we undoubtedly all feel. They are like lifelines thrown to pull you out of a state of transit. They draw attention towards the "I," and imbue nuance into our desensitized living. In many ways, that is the most powerful thing we can do for ourselves. Because there is still hope so long as there is still you, so long as there is still us. 

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Sincerely,

Evan Wang

Editor-in-Chief