until we meet again

Illustrated Narrative by Saumya Shukla

So much of me is out there,
looking to see how much there is to me.

My body; I’m reckless to it,
I abuse it, more often than I choose to breathe,
but it casts a single shadow with all its pieces,
and marks its presence.
I’m glad it does, or I wouldn’t know.
“You there?”, my friend asks as I sit to write this down mid-conversation,
“Yeah yeah, what were you saying?
I’m good, life is uneventful as ever. 
I’m looking for a house but you and I both know I’ll never move.
Speak soon, sorry. Sorry.
I’m tired, my body hurts.”
My body; it’s tired:
feet – of trying to run,
while there was still ground beneath,
heart – Of failing at love twice in a single breath.

I set out for somewhere,
a few years ago,
only to forget where my destination was,
making pitstops for survival,
for I couldn’t carry you with me –
this invisible weight on my shoulders,
choking me,
every single time I tried to escape.

(Was I in love?
For that’s all I’ve known love to be;
I have none to give.)

I’m so many people,
and nobody at the same time;
a paradox,
always hanging in between.
A yes and no, 
mountains and beaches,
days and nights,
tea and coffee,
pen and keyboard.
Between moving towards something,
and getting further away from it.
Do I drown or do I float?
Who decides that?
Or do I take a boat?
If I stay, will I ever go?

My house changed shape a while ago.
The walls misaligned,
complaining of abandonment.
My clothes wouldn’t recognise my body,
my socks wouldn’t cling to my feet anymore.
The place screamed of someone else,
someone I didn’t know.
It still belonged to me, on paper.
Like my heart, in theory.
Like my lover’s heart, in my head.

What starts out as hope,
soon starts to feel dreamlike.
You know how it goes.
I look for myself again,
I look too much in the mirror,
multiple times during the day.
I leave my skin behind sometimes,
when I leave the house,
so home remains a space that knows me,
While the world sees multiple people in a body.
While I don’t.
While my search for the real me transcends my being,
geographically and otherwise.
Moving through cities,
building ghost towns inside.

I’ll forever remain a nomad.
A stranger to myself.
But strangers are lands,
waiting to be traversed.
To be woken up with kisses of familiarity,
like the winter sun’s caress,
We’ll not scream, only whisper,
till no stranger remains one to any,
and we’ll look up a little more,
curse our reflections a little less.
And then when I see you again,
and ask if you’re sad,
all I hope to hear from you is,
that you’re content.
That we’re content.



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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.