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Issue 1 Nonfiction

I Am From You

“In my own experience, I’ve had editors who trample on writers’ ideas and voices, but the advisors that I worked with at the Writing Center were more than respectful and encouraging.”

I Am From You

I am an image of you. What comes from my throat sounds like you; what humors me, humors you. The obscurities and tangible errors I encounter are beautiful and pure perfection is grotesque. Life has two colors: black and white. We live in between, caught in a tug and pull of right and wrong. We have the same definition of living, the same cycle of thinking. We are alike. 

It’s no surprise that with such similarities come equal strength and equal weakness. When we disagree, the cuts are the same length, the bruises the same color. No resolution, just stalemate and mutual respect. But, you being my father, you know that our fights are just the surface level of what is really boiling in my blood. You know exactly how I really feel before I do. 

I should have known I was bound to fall into the same despondent state that you did twenty years ago. It’s genetic. Now it’s my turn. Face-up on my bed after a mid-afternoon wake, the shadows of bare branches stretched across my face as I stared at the twirling fan. There were voices, clear, telling me to do things I did not want to do, things I had no reason to do. I could not move my fingers, toes, mouth, eyes, because I was using all my energy to ignore, escape, reason with these voices. They whispered so sweetly, and I mistook them for my saviors: my angels. I should have known that demons disguise themselves as such. Tell me what you told them when they took hostage of your mind. Be with me as I acknowledge their presence.

You knocked. You’ve heard these voices too. I could not answer. What did you say? You pushed open my door and I turned my head to you, lying on my back like a dying animal. What did you do? Fear. Fear of not having an escape. You held out your hand, offering me one. I am stubborn like you, but they are too. Keep them out. Preserve myself and keep them out. I took your hand and stood. 

You and I are similar. Seeing that you’re still standing, I know I will too.

Originally from Washington D.C., Caley Koch is an aspiring writer and editor who is currently attending DePaul University for her undergraduate Creative Writing degree. Through her writing, she focuses on illuminating the raw stories of people whose lives are otherwise overlooked in traditional nonfiction storytelling. This past winter, Caley traveled to Morocco as a journalist for Moroccan World News. This is her second year as Poetry Section Reader for DePaul’s art and literary magazine, Crook and Folly, and she also holds the position of Managing Editor for the nonprofit organization, Propellor Collective. She looks forward to continuing her studies in Chicago and beginning a position as researcher and journalist for the start-up journal, FreePress in Washington D.C. this coming summer.