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    • Issue 6
Illustration By @lyisuen_

When was the last time you looked up at the night sky and took a moment to admire its beauty?

If you’re anything like me, you probably can’t remember. Most of us spend our days rushing around to work or classes, and by the time night comes around we’re likely curled on the sofa or holed up in our beds scrolling away on our phones. Looking skyward is unlikely to be something we actively remember to do. And yet, for a passionate community of stargazers, nightfall brings something special every single day. 

As the Mid Autumn Festival arrives this year, it brings the brightest full moon along with it. This gives us a great opportunity for moonwatching. But where should one go to partake in this fun activity, you may be wondering? The good news is that Malaysia is packed with plenty of cool spots to admire the night skies.

Kuala Kubu Bahru
Photo By Grey Chow

With its lush, foresty hills, this spot is touted by seasoned stargazers as an ideal place for night views, but often overshadowed by its famous sibling, Fraser’s Hill. Kuala Kubu Bahru is considered a great area for views of the moon since it is covered with natural foliage, meaning there is barely any light pollution. In addition, the towering Sungai Selangor Dam can be found here. This massive structure, while man made, may have somewhat ironically created an amazing wide open sky view for those trying to explore what the night sky has to offer. If you’re feeling adventurous, there’s even a camping zone so you can enjoy a great view of the moon as you fall asleep.

Sekinchan 
Photo By Rahayu Ali

Sekinchan is best known for its endless paddy rice fields, evoking a sense of nostalgia especially in those from the older generations who grew up in kampung areas. While it does suffer from some light pollution, as with most small towns that have modernised, it still has amazing views that are a far cry from busy cities like KL. Watching the moon over the paddy fields here would definitely be memorable!

Port Dickson
Photo By localnaturetrips

Everyone comes to Port Dickson for the beaches, but did you know it has amazing forests as well? The Sungai Menyala forest reserve is an amazing place for those trying to get a great view of the moon at night. With swampy forests covered in young trees, this area is relatively quiet compared to the beaches, which means less light and noise pollution, and a much better view. Although a forest reserve may not be what you think of when you first picture Port Dickson, it is a reminder that taking the road less travelled can really pay off sometimes.

Dataran Astronomi Square
Photo By Utusan Malaysia

Connected to the above forest reserve is something truly special - Malaysia's one and only astronomy park. This specialised zone offers clear skies like nothing else, and a unique sundial (though since the focus here is catching a nighttime view of the moon, this would be more of a novelty). While it remains relatively niche, this spot is not just great for moonwatching as it’s also known for other night phenomena like meteor showers. Who knows, a quick visit here out of curiosity could turn your moonwatching phase into a full blown hobby!

To conclude, Malaysia has no shortage of awesome spots for moonwatching. While life in the city can get hectic, even a quick escape to these places can remind us of how beautiful our world is at night. If you’re someone who doesn’t drive, like me, you can even admire the view from your own window or the balcony of a friend as you celebrate Mid Autumn together. The important thing is that you take some time to look upward at the skies. You may be surprised at what you see!
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Illustrated by @jvsh.jns

 
I woke up at ten in the morning.

Which, for me, is almost an afternoon, and that felt offensive as I was used to seeing the sky at five. 

On class days, I’m usually awake somewhere between 4.30 am to 5.30 am, depending on how much I have convinced myself that I still need those extra ten minutes of sleep. There is always something like a bus breaking down, something like a lab coat that I would only remember to bring at the last minute, something like a crowded railway station that would make you wait for five trains for you to get in, something that will happen if I don’t get up soon enough.

But it is semester break.

So, today there was nothing. 

So, I stayed in bed for a while.

When “for a while” became twenty-seven minutes, I finally got out of the bed and went to make toast.

It was supposed to be ordinary toast. Margarine, bread, and pan on the stove. Nothing complicated. Except I was still half asleep, so I left it on the pan too long. The edges turned darker than brown, but the middle was black, like an asteroid hit it and made a dark crater. I stood there holding it, wondering if I had made breakfast, or a small piece of charcoal.

I ate it anyway.

Unexpectedly, it was good.

Especially when I dipped the charcoal part into coffee. The bitterness of the coffee softened the bitterness of the toast, and somehow the two wrong things made something right. You know… like negative and negative gives you positive. *Awkward silence*

Anyways, then, I turned on the television.

Nothing.

I changed the channel.

Still nothing.

Eventually, I found a travel documentary about Sapa, Vietnam.

There were mountains disappearing into fog, green terraces folding into one another like someone had carefully pleated the earth, and narrow paths running between houses that looked impossibly small from above. The camera moved slowly, almost as though it had nowhere else to be.

I liked that.

Then they mentioned Cat Cat Village.

Cat Cat.

C-a-t.

I thought about cats. Not cute matcha strawberry cats, though.

Louis Wain’s cats.

The strange ones with their enormous eyes and vibrant colour bodies that make you wonder whether the cats are looking at us or we are the ones being watched.

Do I know why I thought about them? Nope. 

Do I remember what happened after that? Absolutely not.

Anyways, I only remember being on Youtube after some time, watching another video about Sapa.

Then another.

Then another.

The screen kept changing. Mountains. Villages. People walking. Roads. Fog. Then, somewhere between one mountain and the next, I fell asleep.

When I woke up, the television was still making noise.

I turned it off.

The room became quiet.

I looked at the ceiling.

The fan was turning above me.

Round.

Round.

Round.

The blades cut through the same piece of air over and over again, never actually going anywhere.
I watched it for a while.

For some reason, I thought about those spiral lollipops. The ones that look like a ferris wheel spinning and taste like christmas decorations in malls and plastic and 300% sugar.

Then I thought about the Mad Hatter.

Then Alice.

Then Wonderland.

Don't ask me how.

I don't know either.

So I watched Alice in Wonderland.

And that was my day.

No grand plans or revelations. No productive little boxes waiting to be ticked. No satisfying list of things completed before midnight.

Just a toast with a crater, coffee, Sapa, Cat Cat Village, Louis Wain, a sleeping afternoon, a ceiling fan, a lollipop that existed only in my head, and a girl falling down a rabbit hole on my laptop screen.

It sounds like nothing.

Maybe it was.

But perhaps nothing is not quite as empty as we think.

We are so used to filling every little silence that even a quiet minute can begin to feel suspicious. A gap in the schedule needs something inside it. A journey needs a podcast. A morning needs a purpose. An afternoon needs an accomplishment.

And when there is finally nothing left to fill, we reach for something anyway.

A phone.

A screen.

Anything to stop the silence from becoming too loud.

But today, the silence stayed.

Long enough for a fan to become a lollipop.

A lollipop to become a tea party.

A tea party to become Johnny Depp wearing a ridiculous hat, and then becoming Wonderland.

Somewhere between all those idle little thoughts, I suppose my mind was doing something after all.
It was wandering.

That is what boredom gives us. Not emptiness, exactly.

Space.

A small, quiet room inside the day where thoughts can take off their shoes, sit wherever they like, and become strange for a while.

I don't remember the date. 

Only that it was sometime in September.

Funny, isn’t it?

Some days are not meant to be remembered by their dates. They are remembered by the taste of coffee with burnt margarine and bread.

By the shape of a mountain hidden in fog.

By a fan turning lazily above your head.

By a thought that arrived from nowhere and left you somewhere else.

I don't think anything happened today.

And yet, somehow, I am here writing about it.

Maybe that is enough. A day does not have to be extraordinary to belong to you. It only has to be lived. Even if you spend most of it doing nothing.

Especially then.

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Illustration by @ikeasharkfan37

As a child, I’ve always wondered what it would be like to be magically transported to a nonsensical and surreal alternate world, where things are just the same and different all at the same time. Due to this fascination, I have always found myself captivated by the unique genre of stories that centre an often bored and dissatisfied little girl as she is transported to a completely unfamiliar world that mirrors her own. 

    For instance, take a look at Alice’s journey in Wonderland, Coraline’s escape from the pocket dimension and Dorothy’s trip through Oz. All three of these tales centre a little girl that is out of place in her own reality, following her as she navigates a completely different yet intriguing parallel universe. Looking back on it, I realised my fixation wasn’t solely born from boredom or a desire for simple escapism, but rather the understanding that these worlds are a landscape for us to explore our deepest, most unspoken anxieties. 

    Besides, there is so much excitement that comes with the spontaneity of a world that completely defies what we know. There is comfort in the unknown. 

We’re All Mad Here 
    When we look closer at Alice’s descent into Wonderland, her journey perfectly encapsulates the psychological disorientation of a child trying to make sense of an inherently chaotic world. In her ordinary life, Alice is bored by the rigid and stifling expectations and rules of Victorian society. Yet, the alternate reality she tumbles into doesn’t offer much reprieve, either. Instead, it holds up a mirror to structures we find in the real world. 

    Wonderland takes the polite, arbitrary worlds of the real world and stretches them into absolute, maddening nonsense. Every authority figure Alice encounters is completely irrational and erratic. The Mad Hatter transforms a usually mannered tea party into a chaotic conversation while the Queen of Hearts dictates the land with her volatile emotions, shrieking “off with their heads!” before determining if a person is innocent or guilty. Then there is Absolem, the smoking blue caterpillar, who challenges Alice constantly by persistently reprimanding her in the original text. Still, he does teach her to cope with the difficulties she faces in Wonderland to some capacity such as when he directs her to eat the mushroom if she wishes to change size, thereby teaching her to adapt to her environment when needed. 

    Despite their stark differences, Lewis Carrol’s original text written in 1865 and Tim Burton’s 2010 film adaptation both uncover the plights and psychological trajectory of growing up. In the original text, Alice is merely a seven-year old girl trapped in the frustrating and controlling “world of adults” where authority figures rule through forcing manners and unfair rules. In the film, however, the theme pivots from enduring childhood absurdity to an active battle for personal autonomy, conquering her own internal anxieties by slaying the Jabberwocky dragon and freeing Wonderland from the Queen of Heart’s rule. Symbolically, her battle in Wonderland parallels her battle in the real world in rejecting societal expectations and perceptions as she boldly rejects a marriage proposal. 

    Personally, both of these adaptations tackle very necessary aspects of growing up that I, and most people, grapple with regularly. I see my younger self in book-Alice’s story, relating to her inability to understand the ways grown ups thought and ordered children to behave, often getting into trouble because of it. Similarly, now that I’m older, I am more connected to movie-Alice and find her revelation of not adhering to the norms set out for her, finding her ending immensely satisfying and uplifting. Either way, Alice’s story at its core sends the message of self discovery and questioning. 

The Pink Palace
    While Alice’s story is confusing and tumultuous, no narrative made my skin crawl or kept me as hooked quite like Coraline’s descent into the pocket dimension. As a child who spent countless, agonisingly quiet afternoons waiting for my own parents to finish working, the story unsettles me on a personal level. 

    The psychological horror of Coraline works so effectively because it turns an innocent childish wish for one’s parents to pay more attention to them into a predatory trap. The Other Kitchen looks identical to Coraline’s real one, but the colours are warmer, there’s a delicious feast instead of microwaved leftovers, and the parents are aggressively attentive. However, beneath this seemingly idyllic dinner is a parasitic nightmare designed by the Beldam to exploit a lonely girl’s isolation. The Other Mother represents the terrifying duality of what we crave when we feel neglected. She offers a tailored, superficial perfection, but it comes at the cost of Coraline’s soul and autonomy— as physically depicted by the Other Mother’s insistence to sew buttons onto Corlaine’s eyes. 

    Watching Coraline realise that the genuine love of her real parents, despite being distracted, was infinitely safer than the consuming and suffocating illusion of perfection. Still, even though Coraline manages to win and escape Beldam's control, the ending doesn’t feel complete. On the surface, Coraline saves her parents, thwarts the Beldam once and for all and learns to appreciate the mundane world. However, her parents do not remember their terrifying ordeal, leaving Coraline alone with the heavy, unshared weight of what she survived. Moreover, even if she did escape physically, the story reminds us that sometimes, a flawed and boring reality is all we get. There is a sense of melancholy in realising you have to return to a boring and gray world to avoid a monstrous substitute. 

    Although the ending is somewhat unsettling, Coraline’s story still captivates and comforts me, perhaps due to her growth as she gains a profound appreciation for her life exactly as it is, proving that she has the strength to change and handle her fears. Growing up requires realising that the universe does not revolve around you, and Coraline realises that true affection is not measured by instant gratification or material gifts, but by real, messy, commitment.  She begins to understand that her parents are independent human beings with flaws and responsibilities outside of being caretakers, showing her emotional maturity culminates. For this, there is some warmth that comes with watching Coraline as a tale of coming of age and growth. 


There’s No Place Like Home 
    In the glimmering land of Oz, things take a different turn. The real magic of The Wizard Of Oz isn’t in the grand yellow bricks or the shiny emerald towers; it’s in the comfort of the misfits Dorothy meets along the way and the lessons they learn along the way. What is most notable about Dorothy’s adventure is that the alternate world didn’t actually give her and her friends what they were missing, but rather forced them to realise they’ve had it all along. 

    The Scarecrow who thought he was stupid is the one who comes up with the brilliant plan to save them. The Tin Man who believed he was heartless often showed profound empathy for the group. The Cowardly Lion says he lacks courage, but repeatedly leaps into scary situations to protect Dorothy. They spend the entire journey begging a fraudulent wizard for qualities they already possessed. Watching them navigate Oz shows how we often feel loss and inadequate not because we are lacking, but because we haven’t been put in the situation that forces our true strengths to come to light, showing how perceived insecurities are just a lack of self-confidence. 

    While the Wizard of Oz is celebrated for these very lessons of growth and courage, what truly engaged and unsettled me as a child was the terrifying awareness of Oz as a land built on deceit and illusion. The centerpiece of this world’s uncaniness lies in the tension between appearance and reality. We watch Dorothy and her friends head into the glorious Emerald City, a place built as a monument of hope and safety. But when the curtain pulls back to reveal the Wizard not as an all-powerful sorcerer but as a fraudulent, ordinary old man pretending to be ruler, captures the haunting realisation that this strange but colourful world is governed by hidden agendas and fragile egos. Perhaps this is why I always found the Good Witch’s direction to defeat the Wicked Witch odd: if Glinda was truly all-powerful and purely good, why was she sending a terrified, lost little girl to go after her? The Wicked Witch is branded as the ultimate villain, but her anger is entirely rightful. Instead of offering her a proper apology for stealing her deceased sister’s shoes, Glinda hands the stolen ruby slippers to Dorothy and leads her onto her journey to eventually destroy her, making us question how “good" she really might be. 

    As a whole, The Wizard Of Oz is a tale that reinforces the theme of finding solace in your inner power, the value of home, especially when navigating a deceptive world. 

All in all, by isolating Alice, Coraline and Dorothy in environments where the rules of reality are completely warped, they are forced to leave the safety of their familiar lives to truly understand who they are and the world around them— whether it’s through the nonsensical authority Wonderland, the eerie isolation of the Other World or the systemic illusions of Oz. These enthralling tales validate my feeling of displacement, reminding us that getting lost is the only way to find our way home again. In the end, their worlds don’t necessarily change, but the girls are infinitely evolved. 

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Illustration By @Zenigiri

When Tomodachi Life: Living the Dream launched this April, it took the Internet by storm, selling 3.8 million copies in just a fortnight. Nintendo’s beloved life-simulator gave players the complete creative freedom to construct an island and populate it with adorable avatars called Miis that resemble real-life friends, A-list celebrities or even fictional characters, allowing for uncontrolled enjoyment. 

    Previously, major studios once dismissed the sandbox game genre, assuming that asking players to “make their own fun” was bad for long-term engagement and monetisation. Yet, history proved otherwise. From the 2009 Japanese debut of the Tomodachi franchise to today’s record-breaking releases, the genre has quickly become a massive powerhouse in the gaming industry. Still, the question remains: what is it about these digital sandboxes that players find so addictive? 

Why Life-Sims Hook Our Brains
    At its core, the psychological pull of life-sims comes down to a perfect blend of absolute agency and zero risk. In an unpredictable world, controlling a digital island offers players low-stakes autonomy. For instance, if a Mii gets brutally rejected by their crush or is in a foul mood, the result is more humorous than it is frustrating. Moreover, with the ability to populate a town with friends, exes and celebrity crushes, the game provides players with a digital dollhouse where they can limitlessly explore their self-expression and chaotic storytelling. Whenever a Mii pops a thought bubble asking for a new outfit or relationship advice, it also triggers our inherent urge to nurture and fix, instilling feelings of accomplishment every time a simple problem is solved. Combined with a predictable daily check-in routine, players repeatedly get a soothing hit of dopamine every time they access the game and entertain their Miis, encouraging us to return for constant and effortless bursts of enjoyment. 

    Beyond basic caretaking, life-sims also exploit our innate fascination with the illusion of control. In real life, we can’t control who falls in love with whom, mandate what our friends wear and do, or guarantee a social situation will end in comedy rather than awkwardness. Tomodachi Life reverses this dynamic by stripping away real-world social consequences and outcomes. By acting as the unseen force behind every conversation, players experience the thrill of interpersonal influence without the fear of social fallout, transforming the overwhelming complexity of human relationships into a manageable social infrastructure where all outcomes, good and bad, only lead to amusement.  

Drama in our Hands
    Then there’s the sheer joy of the digital dollhouse. Creating Miis of ourselves, our inner circle and pop-culture icons lets us blend identity play with pure comedy. Humans are wired for social drama, and watching absurd pixelated avatars that resemble people our brain already recognises interact satisfies our drive for storytelling in ways traditional narrative games simply can’t match. 

    Rather than following a scripted storyline written by a game developer with new characters we are still unfamiliar with, the storylines in a life-sim are emergent. Players are responsible for designing the characters, their houses and outfits, but the game supplies the unexpected punchlines and everything else. Whether it's watching your professor perform a rap battle against Shrek or witnessing your own Mii-insert get rejected by Jude Bellingham, the comedy hits harder because of the mix of pre-established context and automated randomness. Altogether, the game becomes a digital theatre where the players act as writers, directors and the audience all at once. 

Realm of Self-Expression 
    Another part of what makes Living the Dream stronger than its 3DS predecessor is how it expands player agency through modern expression. By introducing expanded customisation tools, such as the robust freehand face painting feature, the customisability of the game has transcended levels never seen before. With access to custom brushes, color droppers and a variety of drawing tools, players are no longer restricted to standard facial features, allowing them to make Miis however they want. This intense level of customisation deepens our psychological investment: the more effort we pour into painting intricate features onto a Mii, the more attached we become to the stories they create in-game, adding to their significance.
 
    With these advanced design tools, players have also taken to platforms like TikTok and X to show off their silly, highly-detailed and unique creations, garnering online engagement and amusement. As a result, the game no longer exists in a vacuum limited to our consoles; half of the entertainment now comes from broadcasting the creative custom-built chaos on our islands to an online audience. 

Chaos over Management
    When stacked against heavyweights of the life-simulation genre such as the popular Sims franchise, Tomodachi Life carves out its empire by daring to abandon total control. The Sims has long been the titan of the genre due to its intricate character creations, sophisticated building mechanics and complex gameplay functions, yet ultimately boils down to an exercise in micromanagement. The game requires players to orchestrate their own drama, only feeling truly rewarding after hours are spent meticulously planning neighbourhood storylines. Worse yet, The Sims fragments its community behind a paywall; two players can have radically different experiences depending on which of the dozens of costly expansion packs they own.
 
    On the other hand, Tomodachi Life completely flips this dynamic on its head thanks to its simplicity. Instead of being dependent on players organising the worlds they want to play in, it cuts straight to the humour and punchline. By stripping away tedious maintenance and replacing it with instant-gratification comedy, this life-sim is tailored for short attention-spans and players who’d rather cut to the chase. Moreover, every player receives the same gameplay experience by being supplied with the same digital island, tools and unpredictable social dynamics upon purchase, no additional spending required. While the game may lack the depth of control guaranteed by EA’s franchise, the game reigns supreme when it comes to pure, unscripted drama per minute that is equal for all players. 

The Two Week Mirage
    For all of its addictive charm, the game is unfortunately not exempted from the notorious symptom that accompanies the rest of its genre– its inability to be played in moderation and waning longevity. Upon purchasing the game, players log in religiously, spend hours designing Miis, designing the island and enjoying the amusing autonomous drama, only to abruptly hit a wall and drop the game for months until a new, more exciting update. 
 
  Psychologically, this burnout happens because life-sims rely heavily on novelty-driven dopamine loops. In the beginning, every interaction is a surprise, and the island expands rapidly. But as the game’s mechanics start to become predictable and the initial shock of seeing the most outrageous scenarios begins to fade. The dialogue and minigames start to feel repetitive, and resolving Mii problems starts to feel like a tedious chore.
 
    Fortunately, there’s an easy fix to this dilemma. Not only is binge-playing the easiest way to kill the fun for a life-sim, but it’s also unsustainable and disruptive to daily life. Instead of playing the game for 8 hours straight all at once, imposing a 20 minute limit per day cures the monotony whilst building anticipation for the next gaming session. Even if you aren’t able to finish all you sought out to do within the limit, the period of waiting for the next log in will incite excitement, instilling the lost feelings of enthusiasm for the game once again. 

Conclusion 
    Tomodachi Life: Living the Dream doesn’t hook us because it stimulates real life with high-stakes realism, it captivates us because it strips life of its consequences, coats it in surreal humour and hands us a full pocket-sized universe where we’re in control. Even if our island empires are fated to being abandoned after an intense period of gameplay, the psychological payoff remains undeniable. In a gaming landscape dominated by competitive shooting games and rigid RPGs, Nintendo’s cult-classic reminds us that low-pressure sandbox games have their own kind of magic. We might put our controller down for months at a time, but whenever real life gets a little too overwhelming, that tiny, chaotic world will be right there in our pockets, ready for us to play god all over again. 

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Illustration by @ikeasharkfan37

An abandoned mall, an old playground at night, a dingy hallway leading into what seems to be an abyss - you’ve probably seen all these images before as you browsed online. While they seemingly have no connection to one another, the internet has collectively referred to them as liminal spaces. Just like the feelings they invoke, the definition of what constitutes a liminal space is often abstract and hard to pin down. 

   While the term liminal is defined by transitional qualities, whether it be physical or emotional transition from one place to another, what counts as a liminal space is much more fluid and imprecise. Liminal spaces are often loosely defined as empty, eerie or abandoned places that carry a strong surreal feeling. In recent years, the internet has developed somewhat of an obsession with photos or illustrations of liminal spaces. But why exactly do they make us so intrigued, yet so creeped out?

    You may have noticed that childhood locations are a big theme in these images. Whether it is a colourful play center, a kindergarten or an old fashioned home, many liminal spaces have a strong connection to places you may have been to as a child. The appearance of abandonment or decay in these locations only seems to strengthen the connection to childhood as this period of life is often blurry and remembered in snatches of memory rather than as concrete moments. You could've easily been there at some point, but it has been so long that you just can't remember. It creates a sense that these places have been lost in time, left behind in the dust and only remembered through old, distorted images. The sense of horror here is muted, yet ever-present as the line between real memories and false ones disappear, often leaving us feeling disturbed.

    Liminal spaces also seem to stir a strong emotional response due to the fact that the subjects in these eerie photos are highly divorced from their usual context. For example, images of empty, long abandoned or dark malls are a stark contrast from their polished daytime image and the typical large crowds we expect to see in them. It makes us do a double take when we see them, almost forcing us to recalibrate the way we think about something we experience all the time from a different perspective. This differing perception enhances the aspect of horror, as our minds start to wander and we imagine things - what goes on there at night, as an example? Have we ever stopped to consider?

   The fear of becoming lost is something that liminal spaces frequently touch upon. While the backrooms are perhaps one of the most prominent examples of this, the general idea is the same across the board: tapping into the fear of somehow becoming lost in a place where no one else can ever find you. Liminal spaces seem to invoke a sense of timelessness, or rather, the sense that time does not exist in them. Adding to this fear is the fact that pictures of liminal spaces are often sterile, lacking humans or even animals, creating a sense of desolation - it is existentially terrifying to consider that everything is gone. Whether the photos are of endless corridors, flooded rooms, or labyrinthine buildings full of uncountable numbers of hallways, the idea that there is no exit and no one else to find you, no matter how hard you try, has made certain liminal spaces rather terrifying.

    The power of the liminal space also comes from the simple fear of the unknown. Most of the time, the origins of liminal space photos are murky and vague. It is difficult to place exactly where photos of liminal spaces come from. Because of this, you may have noticed that it has become a trend to search for their origins. Besides simple curiosity, I personally think it is also a way for us to conquer our fears of these unknown, out of reach spaces. These places capture feelings that are hard to put into words or completely out of reach - the horror is more abstract and existential, rather than the conventional fear of something creepy. If someone could find their origins, they would feel more concrete and explainable, perhaps bringing finality and comfort instead of unnerving the viewer.

Even though liminal spaces invoke a quiet, muffled kind of horror, I think it is precisely that which makes these images so effective. It’s the kind of horror that lurks in the background long after you log off, wondering where these places are, and whether anyone can ever find them. The internet may move on from its obsession with these pictures one day, but many will still linger and wonder on.

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Illustration By @sherrryne


My most prized possession is a plush otter I named Otto. Otto is the indirect representation of parts of me as well as the thing I find most solace in. He does not speak nor does he judge, he simply is there which is more meaningful than anyone will ever know. Going to campus everyday, I saw other people bringing around plushies of every shape and size, a small golden bear, a lamb with a pink bowtie, even a snorlax pokemon plush, everyone now has their own emotional support plushie. But why is it that at the ripe age of 22 am I so attached to a stuffed otter? Why do I bring him to every debate tournament?  Why do I speak to him like he's a real person and gravitate to him every time I feel sad?

I did an egregious amount of research and now know an exorbitant amount about plushies, which I am now going to share with the general public. The general premise is that plushies act as transitional objects, a phrase coined by Donald Winnicott, a psychoanalyst in the 1950s. A transitional object is the idea that a child chooses a comforting object outside of their parents which essentially bridges the gap between self reliance and total dependence on a parent. Since plush animals represent warmth, safety, and home, this allows the child to feel secure when exploring the world around them.

This is important because it's similar to the reason why adults like plushies too, the analysis will be based on D.W. Winnicott’s and his ideas on transitional objects and some personal anecdotes. So the idea is that there are external items like blankets or stuffed animals that children have attachment to during early childhood. These are called transitional items that serve as a bridge between the child's internal world and external one, and are meant to provide a source of comfort and reassurance. The ability for transitional objects to a constant presence means that they can offer stability and familiarity during times of uncertainty or anxiety. 

Even though the concept is usually associated with early childhood, it can be extended to adulthood. Plushies give us that sensory comfort, being soft and sometimes fluffy, means that it itches that part of our brains that associates softness with safety. There's also the obvious sentimental connotations with plushies, a lot of us have been gifted plushies, sometimes by our parents when we were young, by friends, or have plushies of our favourite animals. One of my plushies is a squishmallow cow my best friend gave me and named after the 14 year old alter ego we gave each other. I bought her one in turn. Maria is one of my prized possessions that I still sleep beside every night because she reminds me of my best friend, reminds me of the love that I share with her even if she's overseas right now. Plushies are also easy reminders of safety and taps into our survival instinct as an adult, when things are hard and scary, we revert to a thing that represents hope and comfort and good. It’s therapeutic with the need of direct expression.

Some criticism suggests plush toys are a tactic to delay adulthood and an indication of Peter Pan syndrome in young adults, but the counter argument is much more persuasive (plus, can you really blame people for wanting to delay adulthood?). That being said, researchers like Joshua Dale, a professor at Chuo University in Tokyo, Japan explains in an article for Independent. Co. UK that “seeing something cute trips the neural networks in our brain and makes us engage in behaviours like empathy or a sense of playfulness. It works so well that we feel it towards cats and dogs and even objects like Squishmallows.” The blushing, smiley expression given to these toys – even if that toy is just a fuzzy cabbage – can make them even more cherubic. “If you see something that has a smile, it means that thing is willing to engage with us and we want to get closer to it,” he adds.

There's also the bigger picture, pragmatic rationale why we as young people gravitate towards plushies. It’s a mixture of human instinct and the way we process the world around us. Right now in what most people call the prime of our lives but it honestly doesn't feel like it, we are chasing everything and probably also being crushed by the weight of it all. We're all worried about assignments, how we’re going to get a job, whether that guy/girl/person will text us back, if our moms actually like us, the fact everything is expensive in Subang, how we’re broke, inflation, climate change and literal war. 

And the rest of the world has caught on, businesses are tapping into what’s called the “joy economy” in which consumers seek out comfort and nostalgia in products and experiences, especially when faced with economic or political pressures. “The economy, the wars, everything is really depressing and serious, whereas toys just bring a little bit of joy back into life,” Melissa Symonds, executive director of Toys at Circana said in an interview.  The recently popularised stuffed animal brand Jellycat has benefited from that trend, Jellycat saw its revenue rise 66% to £333 million in 2024, up from £200 million in 2023. 

It’s pretty easy to feel hopeless and that world is too sharp and spiky for a 20 something year old. But that’s where the plushie comes in, something small enough to cradle in your arms, to hold at night when it’s quiet and you want peace. Our plushies remind us that love is supposed to be gentle and soft. The tenderness when we hold our plushies tells us that things are going to be alright, it’s a comfort in a very messed up and confusing world. They are safe in our arms and we are too. Passing along all our worries and fears, safe and sound in the heart of your teddy.

If you have a plushie when it's a gift or one from childhood or one you randomly decided to get, you should give it a hug right about now, they probably miss you and you do deserve it.

Sometimes you don’t have to carry your burdens alone, you can carry your plushie instead :) 
 
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Illustration by @kyliee.y


There’s something about tragedies that make them wistfully haunting, and so much more terrifying than the average horror. Perhaps it’s the complexity that comes with the changed person; a person who grieves mindlessly starts to grow around the sorrow that takes root in their guts. And when the sorrow blooms, you find that they’ve become someone entirely different.

Settling on various characters’ accounts, ‘Monstrilio’ pushes a raw and almost vulgar narrative of grief and a clumsy search for identity in full display.

The Mother, Father, and Lung
The book begins with the death of 11-year-old Santiago. Seeking to be closer to him past skin-to-skin, Magos—his mother—cuts out a piece of his only lung in the quiet of the night. His father, Joseph grieves differently in a more visibly distraught manner, with messy hair and pitiful listlessness. Magos leaves Joseph and returns to Mexico with Santiago’s lung, where she learns of a local folktale: a heart that, once fed, became a man.

So, she feeds the lung and names it Monstrilio… and it grows, sentient and more aware than anybody expects it to be.

Grief and the Changed Person: Magos and Joseph
We tend to talk about grief as an emotion that will wash over us like a wave—sometimes the wave lasts longer, but it eventually goes. However, ‘Monstrilio’ depicts grief as the ‘Changed Person’: take Magos and Joseph. After the death of Santiago, their relationship crumbles almost instantaneously as the both of them are warped (or rather, transformed) by different versions of grief.

Throughout most of the book, Magos seems to not know where to put her feelings. She performs the person she was before her son died, to herself and to others. She finds Joseph less interesting, as Joseph loses himself in his grief. He falls apart like a stack of cards and wonders why Magos doesn’t grieve.

Yet, we see Magos’ grief very clearly in her thoughts and actions. No rational person would stick her hands into her dead son’s chest and carry a piece of his lung with her to feel closer to him, except a grieving mother. No rational person would feed a lung chicken broth because of a folktale with an organ-turned-human creature, except a grieving mother. And that was exactly who Magos was, a mother drowning in her grief. And ironically enough, her grief seemingly became a lung for her, thumping in survival mode like it did for her son.

Towards halfway through the book, in Berlin, Magos could hardly face the truth as Monstrilio grew into a human-looking teen—one that she imagined Santiago would’ve looked like. So, she starts calling him ‘Santiago’.

On the contrary, Joseph differentiated Monstrilio and Santiago almost clearly enough and called the no-longer Monstrilio by ‘M’. After the divorce with Magos, Joseph had moved back to New York and eventually welcomed a new partner in his life, Peter. He notes that with Peter, marriage didn’t feel as heavy as it did with Magos. He reflects on his relationship with Magos, and it seemed rooted in being the cocoon for her confident self. Joseph liked Magos’ confidence as much as he liked the way she showed her vulnerability only to him, and with Magos and Santiago, it made him feel grander than he ever believed himself to be.

Without Santiago, one could say that it broke his worldview—his married life with Magos had felt like a ‘forever’ thing, after all, and losing someone who supposedly completed that ‘forever’ threw a dissonant wrench in the equation.

Ultimately, this grief became a central experience in both of their lives, and as they grew around it and added more fragments to themselves, their past selves became more minuscule with each day till recognition turned impossible. Sitting heavy like a mast above the deck of a ship, perhaps this grief means Magos and Joseph are no longer who they once knew each other to be.

M the Statue, Monstrilio the Incomplete, and Santiago the Clay
“M kept rubbing the stump on his left hip, the remains of his arm-tail. Magos kept caressing a body that was not there.”

After the lung of Santiago—which Magos believed to be the core of Santiago’s ‘Santiagoness’—grew into Monstrilio, a little furry lung-creature with an arm-tail sticking out from its left, Magos and Joseph projected their dead son onto it. To them, it was a miracle, a panacea if you will: it would bring back Santiago, it would fix their crumbling marriage, it would restore their lives to what it once was.

But as Monstrilio grew, it clearly demonstrated a non-Santiagoness. In fact, it wasn’t human at all, mauling small animals alive for fun and to eat. Magos asks Lena, her best friend and a surgeon, to remove Monstrilio’s arm-tail, thinking it to be the cause of its wildness. And for some time after its removal, Monstrilio did become meeker, or so they thought.

“They are happy to believe I forgot how they maimed me.”

Monstrilio, without its arm-tail, eventually grew into M, a young teenage boy with hardly anything on him reminiscent of his ‘Monstrilioness’ besides the stump on his left hip and a tuft of stubble on his forehead (his shaved fur). From his dialogue, M seems to separate himself from Santiago and Monstrilio distinctly, addressing them by ‘you’ in his thoughts.

However, M retains the memories from his time as Monstrilio, and occasionally memories from Santiago surfaces albeit little and faintly.

“Telling me I’m M does not afford the clarity they think it does.”

Like a child living for the first time still, M comes off mostly as innocent despite his wild instincts to consume meat flavoured with… fear. He questions who he is even as he tells Joseph, “This is M.”

In one of their conversations, Joseph notes that M asks him whether Joseph knew what he was without the hint of anger or malice that would've been expected of the situation. This comes towards the end of the book, after a series of events show M struggling between his Monstrilioness and Santiagoness.

Or rather, what he is and what he thinks he ought to be.

“But I won’t write this memory down. Seems silly. Keeping these. You’re not coming back.”

Magos throws a grand artistic act of grief in Berlin themed ‘SON’ on stage, and M watches along with Joseph and everybody else central at this point of the story.

She finally distinguishes between Santiago and Monstrilio or M (not that the difference between Monstrilio and M registered as much for her, though), wrecking her body with hopeless sobs and an out-of-breathness akin to her son’s dying breaths.

Then, perhaps tired of being perceived as either ‘Santiago the Clay’ and ‘Monstrilio the Incomplete’, M makes his own choice to fully assume his existence as the ‘Statue’.

He eats.

“But I don’t panic. The panic is not mine to carry anymore. I can let it go.”

And at the end, Magos and Joseph let him go, along with the lung of their son.

Verdict
Insanely unfiltered and heart-breaking, I would say ‘Monstrilio’ makes it to my list of great debut novels to read.

It succinctly pulls out the horror in tragedy, loss and grief, and centres the characters’ search for an identity within a tornado of emotions in the mix.

Personally, my favourite part of the story was exploring the becoming of M—I wouldn't say it was an unapologetic becoming, but the element of pacing back and forth between wanting to be yourself and holding back because of the perception of others made it ever so real and raw.

Overall, I rate ‘Monstrilio’ an 8 out of 10. It's so worth the read for those wanting something horrifically satisfying, and you can finish it in one sitting or over the weekend depending on your attention span.

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Etc Magazine

Etc. Magazine is all about bringing you the latest news and updates on various topics, all from the urban Malaysian student’s point of view.

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