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Jennifer Vu
The Art of Repair
February 2022
about this zine
About this zine:
Hello friends and welcome -- This project started in my 9th grade English class where I was introduced to vignette style writing based on Sandra Cisneros's book, "The House on Mango Street". I remember being challenged to write short, descriptive pieces that captured intimate moments in my life. It was through this style of writing that I learned how to navigate through my emotions as I began high school and some of the most challenging years of my life.
I have attempted to write a book, or at least, consistent journal entries many times. However, this goal usually fails. It was one day a couple of years after writing my first vignette that I rediscovered my own writing and my love for it. I found that when my emotions were messy and confusing, writing was one of the only things that helped me find relief.
A little more than a year ago, I went through a mental crisis after a series of events triggered flashbacks to a traumatic event in my life. This and a number of other challenges made every day feel exhausting to be alive. This is where the writing for "The Art of Repair" begins.
Originally, I never intended to release any of my writing, but something about this piece made me feel ready to share. There are many more pieces of writing that I hope to feel confident enough to release one day. Wherever this writing goes, I hope that it touches at least one person. I hope when this is read, you feel heard and seen for all the emotions and thoughts you may have been shamed for. I wish you a beautiful journey of growth and healing throughout your life.
Thank you for reading, please enjoy.
A Bright Light
I see a bright light at the end of the tunnel. One that makes me feel warm and airy. One that makes me feel loved and grateful. One that gives me hope in a hopeless world.
I follow a bright light at the end of the tunnel. One that keeps me moving. One that tells me to reach out my hand. One that gives me strength in moments of weakness.
I trust a bright light at the end of the tunnel. One that may be an illusion. One that others say makes me naive. One that might not be worth the trouble. One that requires too many fears to be conquered.
I fear a bright light at the end of the tunnel. One that brings me disappointment. One that brings pain. One that brings anxiety. One that brings depression.
Someone, please cover my eyes.
Someone, tie my feet.
Someone, stop my heart.
Someone, stop me from following the light.
I will close my eyes.
I will stop my steps.
I will guard my heart.
Goodbye light.
Breathe
Typing
Listening to music Focusing on work And all of a sudden -- a trigger.
I see your name,
A song we listened to together plays, I’m sitting in a place that we shared.
My chest tightens,
I feel nauseous,
Shaking, Tears welling in my eyes.
I thought this was over.
I thought I found my peace.
I thought I had moved on.
But moving on,
Finding peace,
Getting over everything,
That is not a simple journey.
It involves moments where my head spins,
My chest tightens,
I feel nauseous,
Shaking, Tears welling in my eyes.
How do I breathe?
How can I breathe?
Do I want to breathe?
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Breathe.
Please. Just breathe.
Let the moment pass.
Breathe. Please.
And the world resumes.
Defining No
Bright lights.
Loud Music.
Joy. Laughter.
​
Then darkness.
Cold pavement.
Disgust. Regret.
​
What does it mean to say no?
​
Does it mean crying? Screaming? Pushing?
Using all my strength to get away?
​
Can it be, “I’m uncomfortable”?
“Let’s go back to everyone else”?
​
Frozen
Wondering,
“Maybe I didn’t say ‘no’ loud enough”?
​
Or
Was it just safer to say yes?
​
Tell me.
Is it my fault I didn’t cry, scream, and push?
Is it my fault I didn’t try enough to resist?
Is it my fault I trusted you?
​
No.
No means no the first time I said it.
And “no” again with “I’m uncomfortable.”
And “Let’s just go back to everyone.”
​
Did you know that?
​
Did you really not know that I said no?
Or did you choose to convince me that I didn't get to say no?
A sandcastle built just too close to the ocean.
With each rush of a wave, it crumbles.
It falls. Lost in the abyss of the sea.
It won’t be long till high tide overtakes it.
The sandcastle will fall,
Scattered,
And all that will be left is a pile of grains being tossed by the ocean.
But the beautiful thing about sand is that it is infinite. It can be built, shaped, and molded, hundreds of billions of times.
Even the seemingly destructive water finds purpose. It flows through the grains and strengthens the sand allowing the shaping process to begin.
The water that felt so intimidating is nothing, but restorative. It provides a new start. A new perspective. Soon to be built again, uniquely, and beautifully with each wave.
Rebuilt. Reshaped. Restored.
Sandcastles
Kintsugi
I have looked into the mirror so many times and seen only brokenness.
Depression. Anxiety. Instability. Trauma.
I've searched for myself, but only see shattered glass.
Others see it too. Others have told me I’m too broken. I need help. There is something wrong with me.
Could I disagree while trying to sweep up the pieces falling off of me?
Still, more looked at me, and they saw light reflect in a way I couldn’t see.
Those are the people I love.
The masters of kintsugi¹.
The ones who looked at my broken pieces and only saw potential and beauty.
Slowly pouring gold into my broken vessel until I could be whole again.
With patience, love, and faith
that I would heal.
There is no reason to hide the brokenness,
but also no need to hold onto every part.
Letting go of things, repairing things, creating a beautiful piece of art.
Kintsugi.
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1. Kintsugi is a Japanese art form of repairing broken pottery by mending the areas of breakage with lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold, silver, or platinum. It is also known as "the art of repair". I first learned about this term through a college art class, and have fallen in the love with not only the artwork, but the symbolism and meaning derived from it.
Gold
Today I got out of bed. Today I ate. It’s not a lot, but maybe it’s enough.
I keep thinking,
“This is it.
The last straw.
The hardships have won.
I’ve lost.
I’ve lost hope.
I’ve lost my will.”
I believe I am done, and yet my body - it breathes again. It breathes even when I ask it to stop.
In moments of defeat, my mind says pick up the knife, but my hand lets it go.
I once learned about dying from despair and grief. You can lose your will to live, and your body will shut down, and you die. It’s why some pass shortly after the devastating loss of a loved one.
I tell myself I’m there. I’m done. I’ve lost the will to continue.
Yet, every morning my body wakes.
I open my eyes, and I’m still here in the reality of this often cruel, seemingly merciless world.
And, while each bit of my conscious mind has told me to stop --
While my mind tells me, “You are done. It is not worth living anymore.” --
​
That’s really just my often cruel, seemingly merciless mind lying again.
Because deep down within my body, within my soul, there is the Spirit. It tells me, “You are not done. You’re hurt. You’re scared. You’re tired. And all of that is okay. You are alive again because you still hope. Because you are resilient. Because you know that there is something within you that has yet to be unlocked. You chose to be alive again today. And that truly, most certainly is enough.”
thank you to all who helped me in my most difficult moments. there are no words to express the gratitude and love I have for you all.
-JTV
Concept, Design, & Writing: Jennifer T. Vu
Special thanks to...
Photography: Hallie Conrad
Editing: Eden Evans
February 2022
