February 2026
Editorial: The Best We Can Hope For
Growing up, I think what plagued my mind endlessly was regret—regret about things I’ve said or done, things I should have said or done or wish I had. It was an endless cycle of reliving things past, and potential futures let go, over and over and over again each night, until these very thoughts either caused long term insomnia, or infused themselves with both my sleeping and waking dreams. I would shape and reshape words in my mind, the ones that others might expect me to say, offer reactions and performing actions I believed others were looking for, and there became such a careful intention behind everything I would say or do that even the slightest mistake would cause a spiral that no one else would see, a collapsing house of cards, a suffocating self-made prison.
It was at the end of high school when I’d finally learned to let go of regret, of the fear of failure, of spending too much or little time with someone or on some specific thing, letting go of the moments where I’d made decisions that were too impulsive, too risky, and at the same time, letting go of the regret of not following my instincts or not taking opportunities when presented to me. I’d made mistake after mistake to the point it didn’t seem as though anything could have been repaired. A part of me felt so liberated, so refreshed, because when there was no further I could fall, I could focus solely on climbing again. Because it felt as though I was already on the ground, there was room to rise.
Yet recently, regret has crept steadily back into my life without me noticing, and of course, of course, that is how it always makes its entrance, how it had always made its entrance in the past.
I’m sure most of us are familiar with the following few phrases:
“I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”
“I should’ve—”
“If only I—”
“Maybe if—”
“What if I had/hadn’t—?”
“Why did I—?”
But we can’t change the past, we can only learn from it, then let it go, to make amends, whether it be with ourselves or with others, so we can move forth without regrets—because sometimes, that might be the best we can hope for.
I hope the stories for this month help you dear readers who find yourselves looking back, unable to pry your gazes away, to hold your pasts in your shadows, but do not allow them to weigh down your steps.
* * *
Ⓒ Ai Jiang
The Loneliness of the Long-Distance Teleporter
There are two unspoken rules among experienced long-distance teleporters like yourself. One: Avoid ‘porting through Deneb Stop at all costs. There’s a reason why the least frequented hub in the system is the most overcrowded. Take a longer outward journey. Pay five times the fare. Whatever it takes. Any other option is better than leaving […]
Akane Is Dead
Crickets chirp in the grass of the garden, their songs a fervent harmony to the festivities within the Lord’s mansion. Bright lights and laughter emanate from within the paper paneled walls as the Lord enjoys the company of the finest entertainers from the pleasure district of Yoshiwara.The rising moon’s reflection in the still waters of […]
The Thing About the Castle
When Mom asked who lived in the LEGO castle, I should have said a king. Or a princess. Or an ogre who locked the princess in the tower. Something like that. Instead, I said:“Nobody.”“Nobody?”“A family lived there, but they left.”“Why?”I shrugged.She seemed sad. “Where’s the family now?”I shrugged.I don’t know why I said that about […]
Janet and I Try to Get Frosted Strawberry Pop-Tarts at the Gilbert Rd Super Target. It’s the One in Scottsdale. No, the Other One. The One on Gilbert.
A man cuts in front of us at the checkout lane. I think Janet knows him because she’s tugging at my shirt, and I can see something behind her eyes, something like a deep, abysmal rage. It is so deep that I know it must be due to more than the fact that this man […]
Practical Knitters
The Queen’s knitting circle sits in the painted tower, four double-pointed needles and a ball of yarn apiece, as the blackbirds sing in mourning. The sun sets, the stars awake, and points go click, click, click.Magic, formed with each stitch twist and loop, keeps the candles burning bright.Mistress Avalard, of the Sing River crossing, uses […]
Editorial: Cleaning Up the Mess
To begin, I present one of my silly drabbles:The Trans-Abyss Backhaul“Whoa! Stop!” it said.Kris stared at the quivering orb that materialized.“Thing about multiverses—they need to be connected to the trans-abyss backhaul. Else, suckers can’t spit matter into bangers. We lose visibility on an entire quadrant of space-time. Void wireless only spawns access failures. Endless glitches!”Kris […]
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