did I love enough

Photo Essay by Janvi Bhardwaj

Since I was a child, I was attached to my grandmother the most. I spent most of my time with her. I remember coming home after school and sitting in her lap to tell her how my day went. Our appearance was also somewhat alike. As a child, I would wonder what would happen if one day she died. I would be all alone because I don’t share the same bond with my parents. All these feelings of loss, grief, and fear used to scare me. The thought alone made me cry for hours.

But then one day, when I was only 14, she left me.

I got a call from my parents, who were in hospital, that she’s no more. I was literally shivering. I felt empty. I didn’t cry or feel sad. I expected to feel so much and so the emotional numbness was especially disturbing.

I refused to see her on the day of the funeral because I didn’t want to picture her lying there lifeless. It was like I got on the roller coaster, and as it climbs, falls, twists, and turns, I realize that I felt nothing. Around me, everyone else seemed to respond how I imagined I would: they’re crying; they’re letting it all out and encouraging me to let it all out. I know I was sad about the death, but for some reason, I wasn’t responding to it how they were. I felt different in my grieving. I wasn’t crying.

All I was doing was questioning my love for her.

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editor's note

Volume 10

contact | shadow | fringe

I’ve been reflecting on the theme for our tenth volume, a lovely milestone that coincides serendipitously with the warehouse’s tenth year, and how it feels apt for the moment we find ourselves in currently. The theme straddles a threshold. The movement from this side to the far side. It isn’t inherently accompanied by an emotion. And yet, I feel it suggests a sense of hopefulness. 

This isn’t in a vacuum but is influenced by two events that concern themselves with a tremendous threshold: our atmosphere and the expanse beyond it. I am referring to the successful flyby mission around the moon by the Artemis II and the release of the film “Project Hail Mary” (adapted from Andy Weir’s novel of the same name). These two events, coinciding in this manner, serve less as random happenstance and more as a reminder, as Carl Sagan said, “The Cosmos is within us. We are made of star-stuff.” A reminder that everything out there, is also everything in here. It serves as a reminder for hope that as we resume our exploration of the darkest depths of the universe, we must take that strength to step forward from our own personal shadows.

Shadows can be freeing. There is comfort in creating, expressing, and working without scrutiny or pressure or expectation. It has potential for great freedom, movement, and discovery. However, when the driving force isn’t exploration then it can be crippling and lead to paralysis. In those moments, “coincidental” events like these can be arresting and provide a sense of hope that the next step is all that matters. One step at a time soon becomes many past an imposing threshold. As we gather momentum, pressure is bound to build. It is here, with changed circumstances, that the intention must persevere. Learning the rules, allows the impact of breaking them to feel that much sweeter, but that isn’t necessary. Acting from pure instinct allows for an innate expression to present itself. It is balancing this, instinct versus experience, that proves vital to take experience into one’s stride with child-like instinct and intention.

Our focus, at imprint and G5A, on independent stories allows this freedom. It is something we work to preserve so that the experience of ten volumes and ten years, respectively, does not weigh us down but lifts us up through the shadows and into the expanse. This is not easy but it is simple. When you default to curiosity and wonder, it isn’t a matter of ‘if’ but ‘when’.

We’re excited for Volume 10 and everything it will hold.