Author: Sarah L, boshemia magazine, Personal Essay

Growing Up Poor

I grew up very poor.

Saying that feels like ‘coming out’ as poor. It’s a hard thing to admit, and an even harder thing to own. It’s only really been in the past couple of years that I have fully recognised and accepted my identity as ‘working class’, and being ‘from a poor family’. Every time I talk about growing up poor I feel horrendously guilty and ungrateful, as though I am insulting and criticising my parents by acknowledging it—but that’s part of the whole problem.

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author: ropa, interview, Personal Essay

The ‘Incomplete’ Family: A Short Symposium

Boshemia columnist Ropa is in conversation with her two housemates about their experiences of growing up in single-parent households.

Isabel sips her hot chocolate while Diana eats toast.

‘Are you gonna use our names in it then?’ Diana asks.

‘I’ll use different names.’ I reassure her.

I place the recorder in the middle of us and the comfortable atmosphere morphs into an anxious silence. Isabel puts down her hot chocolate. She squirms in her seat, cheeks flushing. Diana becomes stern, her features fixating into still positions. I’ve known these girls and lived with them for three years now, but as soon as I put the recorder down a wall is built between me and them. As common as this is in modern society, its effects on us personally are something we rarely discuss as adults. Isabel makes a joke to lighten the awkward tension. She was always one to keep the room pleased. Continue reading

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Author: Sarah L, historical, opinion, Personal Essay, pop culture

One For the ’90s Kids || Anticipating Nostalgia

“So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past”

– F. Scott Fitzgerald

You’ve seen the Facebook pages dedicated to them. You’ve seen high street brands ridiculously jump on the bandwagon and print cringeworthy t-shirts of oh-so-relatable slogans about them. You’ve heard (and probably made) the jokes about them.

‘90s kids’: totally and utterly obsessed with nostalgia for their birth or childhood decade. Why? Why are those darn millennials always harping on about the past? I can certainly hazard some guesses.

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guest writer, Personal Essay

On Motherhood, Marriage, and the Metaphysical

This article, by Elisha Kiriel Carter, is the first in our guest writers series. 

When I was child of about eleven or twelve, deep in the throes of the excruciatingly awkward phase now deemed “tween,” I was staying with a family friend who was pregnant with her second child. I had grown accustomed to staying with Julie and helping her keep her two year old daughter occupied. One evening, Julie, sitting next to me on her sofa, turned to me with a very somber expression. She then lifted the shirt covering her bourgeoning belly to reveal a large amount of creeping blue veins and stretch marks. She warned me that this is what would happen to me if I were ever to become pregnant, so I must be very careful. The somber look faded as I asked if I could touch her belly and if she could feel the baby moving inside. Something about the way with which she spoke of her unborn child told me that, despite the strained appearance of her stomach, she wasn’t very upset about this— because the baby inside meant so much more.

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