Z’s Wonderland


This Is What I Know – On Racism and Me By Z Zoccolante I’m a white girl born and raised on the island of Oahu, Hawaii. This is what I know. As I’ve traveled around the mainland, and foreign countries, I’ve watched how the color of my skin allows me to move through the world in a way that I can blend into the background, or even be invisible. Even in Europe, if I don’t open my mouth, my Italian features place me in a position...

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When I Don’t Recommend ForgivenessBy Z Zoccolante  For those of us who were raised in some type of religious setting we probably got a lot of mixed messages. Some of those are around forgiveness and this taboo idea of being selfish.  As a therapist who works with trauma I hear many stories from people whose protecting parties in childhood (or the adults who were supposed to have protected them) have failed them resulting in...

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In the Winter of Things UnsaidBy Z Zoccolante This weekend at my side spa job, Cannon in D plays through the hallways – my wedding song, as I drift back in memory the strange pictures as though they were yesterday but of a person I almost don’t remember.  I can piece her together like watching a movie of someone I was close with, like friendships that have drifted apart with distance and growth, untethered from the mooring,...

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SimultaneouslyA Short StoryBy Z Zoccolante *Simultaneously, across the world, everyone hears a voice in their head. “In two hours, the server will be shutting down for the final time. Thank you for playing human.”* Villa was on her lunch when she heard the message in her head. Her hand holding the peanut butter and jelly sandwich that she had every day froze in mid-air. As her head swiveled round the room she watched the nurses stare...

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Incarnations of Ourselves AND the Throwing Up Rainbows Recovery Guide By Z Zoccolante How do we mark incarnations of ourselves? Trees hold time with their rings. Oceans rise and fall, the skies swivel different season of stars. We all have scars, seen or unseen, that mark how we’ve traversed through the world. Things we’ve collected. Memories of things we’ve let go.  Some of us have childhood friends, the ones who linger,...

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The Beauty of the ChaosBy Z Zoccolante  He leans closer to me, his eyes a shade of ocean blue as the music blares and laughter pulses through the room, as he says it’s like being through a war. I smile as round me people open more beers to litter the table and in the kitchen two feet away a pretend boy band sways with the broom crooning to the beat. The ways in which we, as humans, bond through tough circumstances even if here of our...

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