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by Leya Kuan Land of which the heart of my feet grazes upon– I walk, slowly, my feet submerged in mud and rainwater, There is no shade above my head, but all the better, I relish in knowing the comfort of calling in sick,  I pass by another kopitiam , crowded as it always is, An auntie uses the same old wok from the nineties, An uncle’s spit flies out as he groans about politics,  A migrant worker sweats–relieved that the rain relieves him;  I stop and stare, a sight I’ve seen a hundred times before,  And long before that, the rain is pouring, it’s lingering: finally, it’s gone.  Land to which my soul, my jiwa  belongs– I make my way back home, the grass is cut, the clouds are near,  The keys clatter against each other: my house, my gate, the backdoor… The sun will come out again, maybe tomorrow, maybe next week,  The smell of pandan travels from my neighbour’s door to mine, When I reach my kitchen, I return the favour–pale santan boiling in the pot,  I change into my old, discoloured sarong  and wait for the rice to be ready,  Rice, rice, rice; what I had for breakfast I shall have again for lunch and dinner,  I take two steps back, and half a step forward,  Yet that’s how it’s been, it’s how it will forever be, always and all along.  Land that I harness in my hands– At supper, I sit next to these strangers, as we  Watch a badminton game on the screen from an old projector,  I have no idea who’s who, but I cheer as the one in the Malaysian uniform scores,  I yell when the others yell, and I curse when they curse,  My tongue is foreign, it knows the languages of the land,  The match ends at midnight, the crowds disperse into the dark I sit and await the news of a public holiday on my phone, For when the festivities vanish, I am still free, but too alone,  But at least it is quiet, and there are no headlines on the newsstand.  Land for which my blood flows and sheds–  I look around me, the national flag is planted everywhere,  At the end of every street, at the turn of every corner,  But you feel so distant, like a faraway dream that only I know,  I speak of you to people, fawn over you, shout my love for you,  And people tend to look at me like a desperate, spurned lover, But all the things you are are mine as well,  And I know nothing–I am a mere frog in the well,  Come tomorrow morning, there will be nothing to be said. Leya Kuan is an eighteen-year-old college student from Malaysia. She is hoping to study abroad for her political science degree, and her favourite writers include Lu Xun and Pramoedya Ananta Toer. Leya dreams of changing the country one day, but maybe it’s not possible just yet – so for now, she’ll just listen to Chet Baker and live in the past

by Jedidiah Vinzon kahit niyebe tumutunaw sa kamay ngunit sa iyong daliri nanginginig, nananalangin humihingi ng patawad nagmamakaawa para matunaw, para maging tubig at makabalik sa langit –  even snow melts on my hand but in your finger it shivers, prays pleading for forgiveness begging to melt, to become water and to return to the sky. Jedidiah Vinzon is studying physics at the University of Auckland. He enjoys rewatching Modern Family, The Big Bang Theory and How I Met Your Mother. In his free time, he loves listening to jazz, write poetry and resisting the urge to succumb to procrastination. Some of his works can be found in Tarot, Circular and Symposia.

by Olivia Burgess Poetry is my pill of youth, my vigour  demanding to live long in the nethers of daylight  slowly, slowly trifling  a madman with no man, self set to sea on a sail  the only connection with my childhood is now through metaphor a daughter of despair.  At night I sleep unsharpened I dream of peace, and waters icy, skin, chilled, silent, mind the house keeps swathed sleeping in night blindness We stood there taking pictures of the moon, and I surrendered your eyes working their kind water  to snack on half bitten dead purple stars is that a star or a question mark ? a plane heading south for winter?  something i’d never thought a man would ever know to remember  but now, there are only miles and miles of minutes  now, only, the dawn Olivia Burgess is a tired student reading English at King's College London. When she's not writing poetry that praises the wonderful intricacies of humanity or trying to understand the greater realisations of her existence she enjoys cooking up a storm, reading her tarot and staring at the night sky, for which she is very grateful. She hopes you take care of yourself today.

The Radical Yearning for Uncertainty Perception is the tool in which we experience consciousness and how we perceive what we call “objective reality.” But like all tools and paraphernalia, perception itself has its limits, and even consciousness has boundaries that if we cross, madness will await us. The main limit of consciousness and perception that plagues all of humanity is uncertainty. Uncertainty can come in many different forms, from the lack of a fail-safe way to predict the future (which is what most people think of when they hear the word), to the uncertain nature of scientific theories and concepts (quantum mechanics being the prime example). The word itself holds a negative connotation from the viewpoint of society, and most people believe being uncertain of ideas is a flaw of the human condition. Uncertainty, though, is not a flaw to “fix” or a problem to “solve,” but a concept to embrace with the certainty of not knowing everything. Far from it, uncertainty itself is a core facet of nature itself. While the concept of uncertainty does not bring concrete answers to the nature of perception or consciousness itself, it does offer some much-needed perspective on how we pursue science, art, and philosophy. Besides that, coming to terms with uncertainty can positively affect how we, as human beings, view the world, and perhaps break the self-imposed boundaries on our psyche. In order to truly explore how uncertainty shapes consciousness and perception, we must first define what those two concepts are in the context of this argument and what the main problems of perception and consciousness are as well. Consciousness has no one definition, and there are many theories surrounding its nature and where it comes from. The main (and most agreed upon) definition of consciousness in science though, comes from the medical field. Consciousness is defined as “...either the state of wakefulness, awareness, or alertness in which most human beings function while not asleep or one of the recognized stages of normal sleep from which the person can be readily awakened.”1 According to this definition, the three main aspects of consciousness are self-awareness, perception of the environment, and an awareness of the environment beyond the conscious entity. This creates many questions about how these three features of the human brain interplay, but a recent study illustrates a possible scientific explanation for both concepts’ correlation and whether causation should be considered. In summary, a sample of epileptic patients were instructed to perform several cognitive tasks that required perception from the left and right hemispheres of the brain.2  The findings revealed that consciousness and perception do in fact interact; for example, when some of the patients in the study suffered from a stroke in the right hemisphere, they lost the ability to perceive or “pay attention” to what was occurring in the left. Strangely, the patients’ sensory perception was perfectly intact, but their consciousness perception was not. The study itself did not reveal much about the exact machinations of how these two parts of the human psyche interact, but it was a crucial step in the direction towards understanding how perception affects consciousness. The “question of consciousness” or “problem of consciousness” can be split into several “Questions” that tackle the most puzzling aspects of the phenomenon3: “The Descriptive Question: What is consciousness? What are its principal features? And by what means can they be best discovered, described and modeled?” “The Explanatory Question: How does consciousness of the relevant sort come to exist? Is it a primitive aspect of reality, and if not, how does (or could) consciousness in the relevant respect arise from or be caused by nonconscious entities or processes?” “The Functional Question: Why does consciousness of the relevant sort exist? Does it have a function, and if so what is it? Does it act causally and if so with what sorts of effects? Does it make a difference to the operation of systems in which it is present, and if so why and how?” While there are no scientific or concrete answers to these questions, the concept of uncertainty plays a significant role in the most critical of questions we ask ourselves about our consciousness: Why do we exist? Why do we have advanced self-awareness that goes beyond mere instinct? These questions form the central basis of all of philosophy, and are an extremely major theme explored in art of all mediums; even science has its uncertainties. But what even is uncertainty itself? For the context of this paper, uncertainty involves not just the prediction of incomplete or unknown knowledge, but also the state of being unsure. In other words, uncertainty creates the impossibility of knowing the outcome and consequences of a choice.4 Uncertainty is far from something to be ashamed about or to hide; being certain of your uncertainty is something of an admirable trait. Knowing that you lack the knowledge of a concept or idea and admitting it puts you and others in a vulnerable position; in other words, it gives others the opportunity to judge and reject you on the basis of that lack. Unfortunately, many people in society hold the misinformed notion that a lack of knowledge equates to a lack of intelligence. Knowledge and intelligence are related, but are two completely different concepts; one can compensate for the other since knowledge can be disguised as intelligence, and vice versa. Besides that, embracing uncertainty can free you from expectations, and can even allow for true creativity to blossom. Take quantum mechanics: according to physicist Nathan Harshman, uncertainty itself is the entire basis for that field of science.5  Throughout the history of science since time immemorial, ultimate certainty was (and still is) the goal. Acknowledging uncertainty involves accepting the fact that you cannot know everything and that there is a chance that some questions may never be answered. Crafting our own answers to uncertainty is the basis of all art and philosophy, and it is an essential aspect of what makes us human. Do not simply take uncertainty; love it, cherish it, and make it euphoric, for uncertainty is how we learn to understand that we cannot control everything and that the best we can do with it is to be certain of it. 1 Tindall SC. Level of Consciousness. In: Walker HK, Hall WD, Hurst JW, editors. Clinical Methods: The History, Physical, and Laboratory Examinations. 3rd edition. Boston: Butterworths; 1990. Chapter 57. Available from: https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/books/NBK380/ 2 Liu, J., Bayle, D.J., Spagna, A. et al. Fronto-parietal networks shape human conscious report through attention gain and reorienting. Commun Biol 6, 730 (2023). https://doi.org/10.1038/s42003-023-05108-2 3 Van Gulick, Robert, "Consciousness", The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (Winter 2022 Edition), Edward N. Zalta & Uri Nodelman (eds.), URL: = . 4 Hubbard, D. W. (2014). How to measure anything: finding the value of "intangibles" in business. Wiley. 5 Sha, Richard C., and Nathan Harshman. “Uncertainty Isn’t a Human Flaw, It’s a Feature of the World.” Psyche, edited by Sam Haselby, Psyche, 18 Apr. 2023, psyche.co/ideas/uncertainty-isnt-a-human-flaw-its-a-feature-of-the-world. Accessed 11 Feb. 2024. written by Coemi Deremi

Dear issue 08 readers, I have to confess, I can't imagine the person who I currently am, let alone define who I am. But I'm sure you too are in the middle of the journey, the road to find the meaning of who you are. Are you currently running on the path? Carelessly strolling? Skipping? Dragging your feet? Walking? Or have your footsteps stopped and collapsed in the middle of the road? In this issue, we cover the beauty and pain that comes from this journey of identity. If your knees are on the ground of the road like I am, I would like to tell you that it's okay to fall down. But perhaps now is the time to wipe the dirt off our knees and get back up to take baby steps towards the endless, yet shining road. Please enjoy issue 08, perhaps now. Sincerely, Seohyun Ryu Founder and Editor-in-Chief The Malu Zine

by Landon Habibi I am slow Like thunder. Hot with air, I hit the head. Or what about the heart? I go down, Down, Down, To strike Nothing. // The horse shook Like an old Tin can. He feels nothing, He is nothing, But he can. He still can. // A fox is a fox In a fox. That Is a fox. // This is a root. A root digs And vibrates The soil To a flatter space. // I love the dark So much more Than the stars Because he is friendly. Landon Habibi is a Kindergarten poet residing in Los Angeles, California. Landon put his thoughts to paper at four years old while attending Cassidy Preschool. He currently lives with his mother, father, little sister, Arabella LeMont, and whippet dog, Hemingway. Landon continues to write and explore his ever-expanding perspectives through poetry, prose, and art, and has completed an anthology of 18 poems titled Shadows Are Made Of Light. In addition to poetry, he likes building inventions with cardboard, glue, string and playdoh. He also likes learning about bugs, history, and deep-sea creatures.

by Aysu Naz Atalay Lately, I find myself absorbed in days I didn't want to write about (maybe some experiences are meant to be lived and not documented). Here I am — yearning for a space to rage. Yes, I definitely need a space to rage. These are times when the inner critic refuses to shut up. I bought myself a massive water bottle so I could remember to unfold myself into it until I felt liquid. Why do I like carrying things so much? I need to sleep, and I need to hear my loved ones laughing. For the silliest shit. And I’m becoming. Becoming more and more. Until there is no more. Tomorrow. And I’m observing. Observing the spirit of an old body. And I’m asking her: How are you feeling? As if I’m a youth, she says. Then she adds, my child, a happy spirit never gets old. And I don’t understand. Everything is daunting. I’m a child. I need to sleep, and I need to eat. Observing an elderly body. Tired, irritated, and, most of the time, afraid. Timeless and loving woman. Her exceptional love for self expanded more and more. She became more and more. We became more and more. Today, you told me what hunger feels like in your body. You seemed irritated and angry. You said it appears in waves, and it doesn’t go away. You couldn’t sleep when I wasn’t in the bed. You are scared; I am also. Part of you is part of me. Someone asked me what you mean to me. I said, “she is the only person I successfully loved – so far.” And that was not a lie. Only if I could, I would be born again and love you more. Love your old body. Love your wrinkled hands. Love your voice and love your silk hair. And you might die soon. And I might not be there. But today, I am able to see your body. You look exhausted. You think too much these days. Do you ever daydream? You always love telling me about the past. I love listening again and again. You are just so beautiful. It’s hard to believe. I’m holding so much; it’s hard for me to feel. Aysu (she/her) is a writer interested in poetic and erotic forms of expression. She explores childhood traumas, transitions, sexuality, and self through writing. Aysu uses embodiment of witchcraft and rituals as an immersive way of expressing identity. Currently, she is working on her book that brings together embodiment, psychedelics, body, rituals and poetry. You can find her on instagram @aysunazatalay

by Lucas Lui You should have seen me When I was on my bed of navy-blue star flowers Lying. I was picking petals of you – tossing them like the Conflictions I had from the he loves me; he loves me not. Forget-me-nots fill my desperate cup. Maybe if you had spoken the Truth, even if the vase shook, we would still be intact without artificiality. Maybe if the wind had told me To let you go by the first gale, I wouldn’t have started this Fox Hunt – I’m getting tired. Your comfortability means touch-starved From the sun, to be lost in closed roots. The weather brought me up wrong, I shouldn’t have Nurtured diamonds. Yet in the mud, the nature’s clear – we were nipped in the bud long before. Lucas Lui is a junior attending Monsignor Farrell, developing his poetry in his high school’s Writing Studio. Lucas has been awarded the Scholastic Art and Writing Silver Key in Poetry and has been featured on Brooklyn Poets’ Poem of the Day. In addition, Lucas has gained “Poet Laureate status” at his high school, writing a tribute poem each year that introduces the pages of the senior class’s annually published Memory Book. In his free time, Lucas enjoys dabbling in the fiber arts, spending time at The Metropolitan Museum of Art, and interacting with animals.

by Val Maerz Val is a multimedia artist, curator, and educator. They graduated with a Masters of Arts in Teaching for Childhood Education and is currently experiencing a career change from the U.S. Primary Education school system to becoming a full-time artist and aspiring veterinarian.

by Maria Pianelli Blair Maria Pianelli Blair is a multidisciplinary artist based in Eatontown, New Jersey. A public relations director by day, Maria spends her nights dabbling in ceramics, printmaking, embroidery, and analog collage. Her collages, fashioned on everything from cardboard to playing cards, marry contemporary imagery, found vintage materials, and magical realism. Maria's work can be found on Instagram (@sunset_sews) and Etsy. She has been published in several art magazines, and featured both galleries and virtual exhibitions.

Connected to a familial empire, Prince is the heart of my soul, &  ruler of my life The last name echoed by the passer-byes. Respected by the prestigious makes us  easy to recognize Our round face fills the room, Intellectual rants keep us afloat, & the uncontrollable help to others increases our favor. The cracks shown through them are missing. It is shielded by nature. But My cracks are salvageable. We hold ourselves afloat by fighting Goliaths to attain our undefeatable streak of faith, grace, and strength. They are not a perfect empire but The love and acceptance make me want to stay longer Am I like them? Francois illuminates the streets of Antigua. The big brown eyes looking at the new world order, accepting the hurts of others but always forgiving. Our strong resilience increases favor within. The helpful pockets of roses lower us to bee stings but our hearts fill with ever-glowing mission of hope From birth, my lineage was not perfect The struggle to connect overshadowed our true potential and the unfortunate abandonment of their beloved left them astray. But their good faith through rejection, hurt, and struggle Helps to shine in any challenge put in front of us Seen as fortunate by the townsmen Seen as strong by relatives but The cracks of mine and theirs are not hidden. Solved through familial reunion and laughter in the moonlight Their love and acceptance make me want to stay longer. The unity of Prince and Francois reminds me of love. Tivonna, the one of one child to both families created. The division of the two hierarchies causes an unseeable crack to their child wondering who to represent. The large empire strengthened by their favor or the lineage traced by their selflessness. Both gave their child the choice to choose which to embrace until death. I am a Prince, I am a  Francois, As a reminder that my lineage and self is traced to their love. Tivonna Prince is a twenty-one year old Neuroscience student attending Florida Atlantic University. A creative writing course in her senior year fostered her inspiration and creativity to write poetry. Tivonna hopes her poems can provide solace and comfort to readers. In her free time, you can find her watching K-dramas, crocheting, or at your nearest movie theater.

by Sashi Tandon tried antidepressants. his ex-father-in-law said “you gotta get on with life, mate”. the lost cause is a liar and a bastard and a cheater. he’s probably better off by himself.  he lost cause isn’t a naturally happy person – he’s a barrage of ails and laments. to be honest, he’s not a very nice man to be around. that’s just the way he is. Sashi Tandon is a young creative from Perth, Western Australia. Working across the mediums of poetry, film and photography, she aspires to provide a refreshing and humorous view of ordinary life. She aims to make poetry accessible, absurd and entertaining, revealing the beauty and horror in the everyday. She has also written multiple finalist and award-winning films.