Letter from the Editors
art by Yi Cheng
Dear Beloved Reader,
What is a ghost but the body’s way of remembering itself? Bruises that bloom beneath the skin long after the blow remind us how pain may fade but will never leave. We carry our ghosts, not on our backs but in our breath—in the spaces between words, where the past curls and lingers like smoke.
As the autumn chill settles and October’s preternatural energy descends upon us, as we inhale the spice-laden air of the turning season, we feel inspired by Jacques Derrida’s “hauntology.” Hauntology is the ache of memory pressed into our bones. It is the way the air holds the scent of rain before the clouds darken, or the worn path in the grass where feet no longer travel. It is the twinkle of a wind chime that sways without breeze, or the dog-eared crease in a well-loved book. It is the moment you catch yourself humming a melody you cannot place.
Hauntology tells us that the past is never fully gone; it lingers like a ghost, continually disrupting and shaping our present. In the second issue of our third volume, Haunted, we invite you to dwell on what bedevils you. What follows you to bed at night and leaves slivers of doubt in your mind as you awake? What does it mean to live with your ghosts?
Our creative staff opens this issue by reminding us of the ghosts that exist among us on Grounds. Diana Zhang’s poem “Confession of the bricks,” with art from Lanie Myaing, explores how the University’s relationship to enslavement echoes in our architecture. Sana Friedman’s art and Rishi Chandra’s opinion piece “Truly Forgotten: A Look Inside UVA’s Semi-Hidden Cemetery” highlight the historical gravesite for Black enslaved peoples next to the Gooch-Dillard dorms, sweeping away the coat of dust that shrouds our University’s insidious history.
We move to questions of longing and belonging within the Asian diaspora with art by Judy Zhao and Bhavya’s sonnet “melanin’s burden,” which convey the feeling of disembodiment, even in one’s own skin. Jenny Vu’s poem “Paris, Vietnam,” with art from Daisy Dudley, reveals diasporic detachment from a motherland marked by colonial influence. Scarlet’s piece “The Specter From The Country Club,” visualized by Corinna Keum, embodies the fleeting kinship felt in isolating spaces. While Scarlet and Keum explore connection, Ananya Sairaman’s art and Cayla Celis’ “‘Proving Yourself’ as a Woman in STEM” offer a powerful testament to resilience in the face of alienation.
Together, Gloria Sung’s art and Megana Kumar’s short story “The Story of Songs and Silverfish” traverse oceans to capture migratory growing pains—how the migrant’s tongue is often snipped from the mouth upon arrival. Sarayu Kurra’s historical short story, “the girl who lived,” joined by art from Mariam Seshan, faces the question of what, or who, it takes to be happy in a forgotten life. With art from Livs Sun, Vyshnavi Tatta’s opinion piece “The Lost Cries of the Wall: Haunted by Our Own Indifference” also humanizes migrants, building a bridge of empathy across the Southern border.
Just as Tatta tells us we must excise difference, and confront our ghosts, artist Sneha Lakamsani and writer Elle’s “getting rid of a ghost” provide us with a helpful guide for a phantasmic cleansing. Unlike Elle, Helen Do finds peace in living with her ghosts. In the lyrical analysis “All My Ghosts Are With Me: Lizzy McAlpine’s ‘Vortex’ and Broader Work,” visualized in art by Sarah Jun, Do finds peace within the whirl of emotions that comes with being in your 20s.
Anagha Chundury’s wonderfully playful listicle, “13 things that feel haunted but are not… probably,” also reveals how we are always living amongst ghosts; we are always being haunted. With art from Hannah Nguyen, the duo toes the tightrope between the truly spectral and simply anxious trepidation.
Artist Yi Cheng and writer Melanie’s horror short story “The Show Must Go On” fill us with unease, as they investigate what it means to be physically tethered to one’s past grief. Finally, Vaidehi Bhardwaj closes our issue with the poem “come winter i am no longer.” Paired with Alyssa Manolo’s evocative photography, they poignantly illustrate how the ghosts of our pasts will eventually drift away like passing seasons. Though haunting means living in the echoes of what we cannot hold, in time, even echoes will fade.
We’d like to express our deepest gratitude to our editorial board—Sana, Ananya, Mariam, and Sarayu—whose dedication and hard work breathed life into this issue. It would not have been as extraordinary without you. To our incredible creative staff, your work continually leaves us spellbound. We are forever in awe of the magic you create. A special thank you and congratulations to our new creative staff who dove headfirst into this issue. Watching your ideas materialize, like specters emerging from the fog, has truly been a joy. We are so beyond lucky that you found us and chose us to display your stunning work.
Finally, to our readers—who return to our pages like spirits revisiting old haunts—we extend our sincerest thanks. As you prepare your Halloween costumes, we hope this issue stirs the ghosts that linger in the shadowed corners of your mind. Though those phantoms may fade, we hope {in}Visible will stay with you, lingering quietly, long after the final page has turned.
With all our love,
Jasmine & Aliza <3
