Wordplay with Gianella Rojas

by Alice Asch ‘22

This month at The Words, we’re celebrating the work of Gianella Rojas ‘21! Gianella hails from Miami, Florida, and has majors in English and Educational Studies. Her passion for creative writing began in elementary school—she penned stories in her composition books, and remembers decorating their covers with tape and construction paper. 

Gianella mostly writes poetry and fictional stories (often based on her own life), but she said her interests tend to fluctuate as she encounters new experiences. She’s dabbled in the genres of YA coming-of-age, mythopoeia, speculative fiction, and fantasy. Currently, she’s exploring magical realism. 

A few years ago, Giannella started attending the Loft Literary Center’s Indigenous Artists and Artists of Color class series, where she said she was encouraged “to go deeper into what writing means to me and the communities I am part of.” She’s also inspired by the people in the two homes she’s “found love in”: the Twin Cities and Miami. “Part of my writing is my enthusiasm and joy that they are in my life,” she told us. “It’s like, ‘look at these people! They are so cool, kind, and wonderful! They exist in this world!’”

If you want to learn more about Gianella’s writing journey at Macalester, she will be featured on Episode 5 of the English Department’s podcast, The Ramblings, coming soon to Spotify. 

Enjoy these two pieces from Gianella: an excerpt from a short story titled “The Story of Nohelia” and a poem called “Spaces as Seasons”!

The Story of Nohelia

The night Lola decided to run away, she packed a plastic bag with two of her nicest white dresses and a pair of socks that she sewed herself. She knew Thomás would provide her with lovelier items than she could ever imagine in all her nineteen years. The scarlet embroidered brooch, the one that covered the tear on her old shirt, was all the proof she needed that he would provide as promised. He was wealthy and he loved her. That was all she could really ask for.

She looked around at the large empty room that was once full of life. The wooden walls were covered with carved scratches of dates and initials, or painted with bright yellow tulips. Her two older sisters grew up, got married, and moved out. Now, there was only her mattress next to the open attic window. 

Lola spent long nights looking toward the ground, praying to every god that would hear her for someone to love. She longed to join her older sisters who moved to Yachana. Her parents were proud that their husbands’ families were paying for them to go to school. Mamá was especially proud. She set them up after all.

The night Lola decided to run away, it was a moment of truth. All she wanted was to live the life her sisters lived. One where she married a handsome wealthy man that loved her, went to school, and lived in the city.

“Lola?” She turned to see Manuela, their youngest sister, walk into her room. Lola brought a finger up to her lips. Manuela glanced at the plastic bag and at the brooch on Lola’s shirt. When the realization hit her, she started to cry. Lola rushed over and hugged her.

“I’ll be back,” Lola whispered. “Take care of them, okay?”

Manuela nodded into her shirt. They hugged until they heard someone clearing their throat by her doorway. They jumped back, turning to find Lola’s pápa in his black pajama pants and white t-shirt. She waited for him to call Mamá, but instead he watched her with sad eyes.

“Pápa, please-”

“Someone with that much money, mi bebe. He will never love you.”

She felt her heart break, but when she went to clutch her chest, she felt the poke of the brooch in her palm instead. He walked over to her slowly, before pulling her into a hug.

“Cuidate.”

He took Manuela’s hand, and they went back down to their rooms. Lola took in a long breath, before she stepped down the wooden steps, out into the night.

Past the field behind the farm, Thomás was waiting for her. She watched as his brown eyes widened, and his smile grew. She ran into his arms, smelling his floral cologne, excited to begin a new life with the man she loved.

“Lola, mi amor,” he whispered into her hair. “You came.”

“Of course, I did.” She kissed his hand and pressed theirs to her cheek.

It didn’t matter that her parents didn’t believe in their relationship. She shut her eyes tightly as she muttered quiet praises to Kuyantzin, the goddess of the earth.

“Thank you,” she said. “Thank you for him.”

In the Everzón Rainforest, Kuyantzin took many forms. On some days, she would become the wind, flowing through orchid leaves, tangling herself in vines, and jumping into the roots of the largest palm trees. On some nights, she would become a jaguar, jumping into the waters only to resurface and find an overlook of the rainforest on the highest branch. Like clockwork, the breeze that she was part of earlier came right on time. She would feel her paws cool off at its brush. In the highest branch, Kuyantzin laid and waited for the rain.

The night Lola ran away, the rain was lighter than usual. The droplets bounced off her fur, or into the ground. In each drop, she heard a prayer, a voice, from the beings that whispered to her around the world. That night, she heard Lola’s.

Spaces as Seasons

Fall  What is a space? Reborn, renewed Late into the year yet still A beginning for my wonder-filled heart. Here in the classroom, it feels like there are Fallen leaves that are Able to break at a step forward, Susceptible to any spoken word. Layers of sweaters and socks As the Fall introduces itself.  A timid classroom that blocks out the wind, Or a crowded room with couches and warm drinks. A random arrangement of people from everywhere. This feels like a deciding point.  What do you promise me here? Unsure, hesitant, alien. So this space is Fall.

Winter Spaces can change like seasons, I discover. It is now winter, and there is no space to breathe. Hidden under layers and layers of clothes Are thoughts I decide not to speak aloud, Fear of sounding dumb, sounding weak, Fear of not being taken seriously, Fear of being taken too seriously Hidden under layers and layers of snow Are memories I decided to pretend didn’t happen. My tongue experiences frostbite under all The Whiteness. Layers and layers meant to keep you warm Yet still the frost sneaks in through the threads. Here outside in an empty courtyard, in a loud classroom, I pretend I don’t exist. Colder, distant, apathetic. And this space is Winter.

Spring Spaces can be made for you. A cherry blossom tree or a cultural org, A dance group or a therapy one, It’s the same, isn’t it? Not made for specifically you, but somehow, still Made for you. A layer comes off as the temperature rises, As words come spilling out of my mouth. A few nods in my direction and hums, maybe Not all layers were meant to stick to my skin. There is no guarantee that winter will Stay away, what with climate change and all. But, for now, this pocket of space is safe. Safe enough to take off a jacket or two. Tonight, the frost decided to stay under my boots. It looks like a conversation with someone who Understands what it’s like to shut down. It looks like couches, fresas con crema, and jokes. Understood, accepted, sane. Hello, Spring.

Summer Spaces can love you back. So this is what it means to breathe. The heat in here could drown me In the best possible way. It looks like people who smile at you like you Are their cherry blossom tree. It looks like a random text that wishes you a good day, Knocking on the bathroom stall to ask what’s wrong. It looks like laughing until you’re crying And long conversations in a soft bed, The sheets are off because all layers are gone. It’s hot outside, it’s hot in here. It’s like Spring, but it’s more. It’s beyond acceptance, It’s love.   In the heat of the summer, I take off layers and layers until I can jump into the water with No advisory, no layers, With only the sun kissing my skin. For once, I feel more than safe, I feel brave.    You feel like summer. There’s love and space, So much space, For me to breathe. Loved, warm, pure. This space, with you, is Summer.