Issue 003: Editor's Letter
Issue cover illustrated by Yara Abdullah (@fardi.illustrations).
Dearest Reader,
Whenever my mom and dad would travel, they would let me and my sister stay at my grandpa’s house. I would sit on the desk in my uncle’s old room, writing blog posts about how my day went at school. Mind you, I was in 5th grade. The blog was a collection of everything: from pictures of the friendship bracelets I used to sell at school to sharing the recipe of my famous peanut butter cookies. But I’m only telling you the best of it. When I turned 18, I had started taking my writing career seriously. The first thing that would pop up when I searched my name on Google was my blog. What made things worse is that I forgot both the password and email address I had signed up with, so I was basically stuck with a blog written by an 11-year-old, telling the world how much in love she was with Joe Jonas. One thing led to another, and I had finally found out how I could shut it down after months of attempting to do so. It was horrible.
What I’m saying is that I grew up on the internet, spending most of my time blogging and documenting the things I love, but that had eventually come to an end when social media came along. I had my first email when I was in 1st grade and I would love to have access to it one day, but my mom forgot its password. When I first started Sumou, I knew for a fact that I wanted it to carry the same essence/intimacy of the blogs that I used to write—something nostalgic but also very raw and genuine (sans the cringe, hopefully). I knew I had to make Sumou an online magazine, because I felt that things should come in a full, yet well-developed circle. Just like ye olden days.
When I first started college, I thought I had everything planned out. But I didn’t plan for Sumou, and yet it happened. I didn’t plan for a lot of things and yet they happened—all leaving a great impact on me whether I liked it or not. I knew I wanted to be something great and I strived for that sense of accomplishment, but I was also not prepared for the anxiety that usually accompanied this “hustle”.
I had the worst anxiety in sophomore year. I would not sit still without suddenly feeling I might pass out. I sat down with my dad, feeling so, so frustrated with myself that I remember I had started crying. I didn’t know what was happening to me, but I knew I shouldn’t be ignoring it. I always thought that planning ahead was a counterattack to anxiety, yet I still got it.
I had recovered shortly afterwards. I realized then that our generation, although still very young, has been directly exposed to the romanticizing—if that’s what we’re going to call it—of hustle culture. At 13, I told myself that I wouldn’t turn 18 without having a published novel. I’m turning 21 in 2 months and I thank God, day and night, for not letting this happen—for so many reasons, including my cognitive maturity. I aimed to hustle ever since I was 13. I knew I didn’t want to sit still, yet, when I sit down and watch Tik Toks of people my age living their best lives—Charli D’Amelio wishes to be me, by the way—I feel like I’m kind of missing out. I spent so much of my life hustling, and very little of it by actually, truly, living. This sounds like I’m 80, and I know I’ve got a whole life ahead of me, but I can’t help but feel that way.
During the beginning of last year, I was stuck in a state of imposter syndrome. It had come hand-in-hand with my anxiety and had left with it as well. I hadn’t written or published anything for over a year, and when I finally got back to it, it felt new to me again. Part of the reason I felt like an imposter was because I couldn’t keep up with what I believed in. Literature is my life, and while I was studying it, new ideas were introduced well enough to me that they’d restructured my whole belief system. Sometimes too fast that I was contradicting myself. My head was so full of ideas, but I was unable to spit them out. When I was voicing this dilemma online, Fatima (bless her heart)—the founder and editor-in-chief of Unootha, who is part of why I’m back on track—stopped me mid-ramble and said:
From then on, it just became my mantra. It stuck with me ever since and was what drove me to create more. This issue celebrates that: feeling the weight of your dreams, both conscious and unconscious, and fighting through it all. And if one doesn’t, there will always be more that do.
To all the women in my life and outside. Thank you. Keep dreaming.
Love, love, love,
Jood
Jood is the founder of this site. Find her on her Instagram here.