Cold Room

The room went Cold, or was getting Cold rather. It wasn’t sudden, the Cold was asserting its dominance over the room steadily. It crawled into the crooks and crannies of the room, leaving no crevice untouched. It allowed the room to keep no secrets from it. It filled the room until all Gail could feel was the Cold.  

Gail walked over to the window to close the curtains, but a voice requested against it. The voice belonged to the slender masculine figure that sat at the foot of her bed. His eyes were drained, not of color but of another feature that when lacked causes the appearance of lifelessness.  

Perhaps agency? 

“Avery.” Gail greeted, “What are you doing here?” She talked over her shoulder, closing the window all the while.  

“No Abigail,” Avery frowned, “Keep the curtains open.” 

Gail let them slide from her hands.  

“I haven’t seen the moon in a while.” Avery went on, “He’s been keeping me inside a lot lately.” 

“Who has?” Gail made her way to him. 

“The warden himself,” Avery seemed to be fixated on the way the moonlight hit the dust that waltzed casually across the damp air in her bedroom. Gail once learned that this random motion was caused by diffusion, which in turn was caused by an energy imbalance. Or at least that’s how she understood it. The figure examined the dust particles in a manner that suggested that to him, the movement was anything but random. He seemed to be waiting for it to reveal the secrets engraved into its fine grains. “He’s got a chip on his shoulder, Robert.” Avery continued, “I think I’ve made him very angry. Can I stay here tonight?” 

“What did you do?” Gail took her seat beside him at the foot of the bed.  

“What didn’t I do?” Avery glanced at her with a smirk before returning his focus to the dust.  

“Avery,” Gail demanded sternly, taking his face in her hands to force his eyes into hers, “What did you do?” 

“Abigail,” He took her face in his hands. With a grin spread ear to ear he asked, “What didn’t I do?” 

Shrugging out of his hands, she demanded, “Why are you here Avery?” 

“I had a bad dream,” he replied transparently, “I needed company. Can I stay with you tonight? Robert’s no fun these days.” 

“When was Robert ever fun?” Gail teased, avoiding the topic of Avery staying here. She was adamant about getting all her facts straight before allowing her guest to stay.  

Avery remained quiet, sensing Gail’s reluctance to answer her.  

“Tell me about your dream,” Gail diverted the conversation. 

Avery shook his head. “I want to take you there,” Avery stated, “May I?” 

Gail nodded, and followed the homeless boy to the window. Her palms clammed at the sight of the drop to the ground, but she crawled out nonetheless, one limb after the other and followed him into the darkness.

All rights reserved © 2021 Josephine Joyil

Seed

Sage wished she could go back to a different time, a simpler time perhaps, and live life from there. Maybe, with what she knows now, she would be able to keep life simple. Sage would not need to open her eyes to the ugly truths that exist before her. If that were the case, she would have never gained knowledge. In the absence of new knowledge, growth becomes stunted. The world discards that which could not grow and keep pace with its changes. A stubborn seed that will not sprout will fail to become a tree.  

Sage does not need to agree with this world to understand it. Understanding is simply a means of learning how to survive. On its own it is useless. Sage must utilise it to navigate this world without allowing it to consume her. She would like to believe that is one of the most important things that she learned from this world: to understand something that is disagreeable without hating it. 

Once, when Sage was a child, she lived without consciously understanding life.Sage might have been about ten. It was at that age that a conscious being awoke within her and decided that it desired to experience this world. Sage believes that is where childhood begins to die. Its decay is a slow and painful process, one that Sage believes is coming to an end soon. What comes after? Sage does not know. 

Until that delicate age, however, Sage was in a blissful state of dormancy. She  was like a seed held and protected within a fruit. All fruits fall from its tree and begin its slow and painful decay. The seed then finds itself in the midst of detritivores and dirt. It must be trampled on and pushed into the dirt to discover its true destiny. 

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Rational

No irrational emotions. Completely collected and calm in public. Mature when interacting with all company. Only your select social circle is privileged to hear your clever notes of humor. Of course, there is not a place for one of the common folk, such as Sage, in such a circle. She really should not know that such a side of you exists. No, in front of Sage you will be calm, collected, and mature. 

Sage looks up to see you hold your head high above her. Your eyes remain fixated in a distant nothingness. Her attempt to discover what keeps your attention is unfruitful. So she stands expectantly beneath you, but you will not lower your eyes to her standards. Do you fear the sight of her will taint you in some way? The air you breath must be of a better quality than that spared for Sage. 

It is difficult to get your attention. She wants you to see all the good that she can offer, but you refuse to lend your attention when the occasion calls for it. She wonders if she will ever be anything more than one of the masses that drowns beneath each other as they drift past you. Tell her how she has come to earn the title of irrelevance. 

Perhaps the fault is hers. Has she not offered you the joys and pains of being acquainted with her? For too long, she has been fixated on the idea of you. She permitted nothing to interfere with this vision of what you could be. A word uttered too loudly might break this illusion. This fear of corruption repels her. You must remain this rational, emotionless being. You must remain a figure to be looked up to. That is her mistake, for which she will be sincerely sorry.

She will try harder next time. Of the next peer she will make a friend. Over the next fear, she will gain victory. The next goal will be pursued until the end. It is time to give up on you, however. It is too late to try with you. Time had grown tired of lending her its seeds. It gained no harvest and thus is displeased. 

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When Break Ends

Break has ended. Going back to school feels like returning to a hometown that I have not been to in a few years. The faces that roam the hall seem familiar, yet distant. The energy in the room is always uncomfortable. Noone wants to be here, yet here we are. 

I am  reminded in simple ways that I have been living out a blissfully irresponsible existence for the past two weeks. In opening my camera roll, I see the seemingly never ending list of vacation photos and petty selfies that still capture the joyful freedom that came to pass. I look into my own eyes to see if the joy they held was genuine. It was. 

The blissful existence has momentarily paused, it is true, but I am not completely saddened by the fact. This form of existence finds its value in its scarcity and I, for one, am glad to give it more value by leaving it. As I am sitting at school, I try not to long for it too desperately. It is more enjoyable when it comes to me as a surprise. When a long week of exams has ended and I look up to see several weeks of blissful irresponsibility ahead of me,  I realize my patience did not go in vain.

All rights reserved © 2020 Josephine Joyil
 

Rain

Morning broke to the rage of a storm. Sage watched the raindrops roll down her window pane in what appeared to be barrels. She always positioned her head in a manner that allowed her to have a view of the window. It helps her fall asleep- the gentle swaying of the trees without- and sleep is perhaps the only  treasure she cherished. 

That morning, it was the rain water sputtering through the cracks between the window panes that awoke Sage. The droplets brought with it fragments of the various substances that sought refuge in the gaps between the panes and the damp mold stained window frame. Sage wiped the few droplets that landed on her skin onto her threadbare blanket. Her gaze returned to the raindrops that fell from the sky and landed on the glass before her. She focused her attention on a single drop of rain that landed on the pane and refrained from racing down the pane to its own destruction.

The image of the world through this raindrop was blurred and upside down. It seemed more comprehensible this way, the world, when it was categorized into an assortment of nonsensical colors and shapes. Through the raindrop, the world lost its sharpness and devolved into a passive haze. 

 A sigh grew weary in her lungs and let itself out. She pulled her blanket closer to her face and allowed its cool fabric to graze against her face. A sharp jab traveled across her shoulder, but it failed to persuade her to shift the weight of her body off of it. The rain had captivated her attention, it called to her to watch it dance across the window panes. The jab gradually matured to a persistent ache, but it could not divert her attention. Her focus shifted from the single raindrop to the divers cluster that settled on the pane. Each with a uniquely difficult path that laid before it.

All rights reserved © 2019 Josephine Joyil

To: The child I once was

Dearest,

Do you remember that letter you wrote on your second day at Kinnelon? It was the letter you wrote in health class with all the other freshmen, addressing the version of yourself that lives in the future. You will never have the chance to read that letter again, so don’t bother writing it. I remember you were quite anxious about finishing it. You did not know what to say to your ‘future self’. I remember you made references to a period of your life that was unimportant to you even then. I have always wondered whom you were trying to fool. You were informed that no one else would ever read it, so why did you bother writing it?

I remember you thinking that the past is just a distant memory that is separated from you by the membrane that is time. It made you feel that all you had was the present. The present for you was not a pleasant time to live in, I remember. I am glad to tell you, you are wrong to some extent. The past will be locked away from you forever- that much is true, you will never experience it again- but you won’t be stuck in this present. You have a future that will eventually became the present. You will cherish this future. You will only learn how to when you realize that the future has already become the past.

Hold close to you the things that are important. You may not know what it is yet, but it knows you. Trust me when I say that it will find you in your near future and give you a purpose that you did not know you had. It will show you a whole world that exists in front of your face, but you did not have the courage to open your eyes and witness it. I do not blame you for this lack of courage though. What you will soon see is quite terrifying, but you will survive.

Just make sure that you don’t forget who you are. People are easily manipulated when they forget their identity. They would be like a blank canvas longing for colour. This longing is dangerous, it can persuade one to settle for what is beneath them.

In a few years it would be another’s turn to write these same words to me in a letter that I will never read. Time will stand in the way. It would be the same sequence of letters that hold a completely different meaning. That is what time does to words- it fills them with wisdom and deplete them of innocence. It is true that ignorance is bliss, but trust me bliss is of no use to you. It is better to be wise and alert than blissful. Just because you are unaware of a threat does not mean it is any less threatening.

You will learn these things soon; I just thought I should give you a forewarning. I would have appreciated a forewarning. Perhaps a forewarning would defeat the purpose of life. If you are prepared for everything, you would never fail and if you never fail, you will never learn. That is why I continue to neglect my upcoming math tests: preparation will inhibit my ability to learn.

Don’t take me too seriously dear, I’m only joking (to some extent). To some extent, however, I am right. Don’t worry too much about life. It will happen, one way or another. You can’t stop it, all you can do is pray.

This will be the last time I write to you. You won’t hear from me again, because I won’t exist again. The person who is writing this letter to you at this moment will cease to exist before she finishes this sentence. That is just what time does to you. When your past dies, your future is born. Just remember that I am with you, resting in your mind, waiting to be born.

Forever yours,
Josephine

All rights reserved © 2019 Josephine Joyi

My Mom’s Crepes

When I was in middle school, I lived in Sweden. I remember that I took the tunnelbana- which is what they called the subway- to school every day. I used to eat my breakfast on the train ride to school everyday as it was the norm for me to wake up late everyday. I would always arrive at school a solid five minutes late, but that didn’t matter because the teacher was always ten minutes late. So I would be at ease, enjoying my breakfast crepes, as I admired the beautiful sceneries of Stockholm, Sweden flash by outside the window. Now that I’m thinking about it, I’m not sure that what I was eating could technically be defined as a crepe- they weren’t technically made with the same recipe-  but it walked like a crepe and it talked like a crepe, so for now its a crepe. 

As I passed through the handful of stations that existed between my school in Hötorget and my house in Gullmarsplan, I crossed over two major water bodies. The realization that there was an entire island between my house and my school only hit me after I left Sweden. I remember that I was actually in a train in India- passing over a similar water body- when the thought crossed my mind. I do enjoy the irony.  

My mom’s crepes are not a pleasure food. It is quite the opposite actually. It’s what you make when you have two cups of flour and no time on your hands. It’s the kind of junk food with a ‘healthy twist’ that leaves you wondering why you decided to pick it of all things to be your sugary snack for the day. Now, I don’t intend to publicly criticize my mother for her odd crepes.  My mom is a good cook, who can make great food. The problem is that most great foods are bad for you and my mom is a health nut. I enjoyed my mother’s crepes, nonetheless,  despite their odd twist. 

I remember that my mom only made these crepes for breakfast on school days. She always packed about three or four for me to enjoy on the train ride to school. By the ninth grade, I no longer took the train to school, so I could no longer enjoy crepes for breakfast. We only get to enjoy them now on Friday nights for a mid night snack. Even those occasions are not very frequent. In a way, I like to think of my weaning off of these crepes as an ending sign. 

Its Hötorget, my stop has arrived. Except this time, I won’t be walking out of the train station and heading to my school. This time, I’ll be catching a connection train that will be taking me to a further destination. I’m not sure where the train is headed, but I’m sure that it will pass over a bridge. And, I’ll think about how I used to travel over islands going 300 miles per hour, while peacefully enjoying my crepes on my way to school. And perhaps one day I’ll be the one making those crepes for a kid whose is  rushing out the door everyday, late for first period.

All rights reserved © 2019 Josephine Joyil 

A Junction in Time

The present won’t move forward,
So you reminisce the past.
There’s nothing to work toward,
You wonder if things would last.

As nostalgia clouds the mind,
The good dreams taste bitter sweet.
You wonder if you left behind,
The better days, in hurried fleet.

When childhood faces come to mind,
You wonder if you’ll ever see,
The people who were once so kind,
At the times you were in need.

These faces you saw yesterday,
Who you’ll see tomorrow, but never again…
The faces who have led your way,
Who were by your side without a gain.

This is life, my child listen!
You’ll only see when time had run,
When the evening sun comes down in glisten,
You’ll see at last, that life was fun.

Fun- had you been there to hear the laughter,
Of your peers with whom you grew,
But you had wanted to grow faster,
Now food for worms, you have to go!

All rights reserved © 2018 Josephine Joyil

He Who Guides

The voice of God guides me
To start this life afresh,
To forget the unforgettable–
A voice not to second guess,

The voice that I have trusted
At dawn of day that’s life,
A day that I shall walk through
Till God’s word calms the strife.

The trifles of this world
Shall strain not my soul,
For I know of God’s word,
The word of life that’s whole

For all those that are broken,
Contentment God shall grant,
For the cross of Jesus opened
The gates of Heaven’s land.

The Voice that welcomes back
A banished child of Eve.
The water that will cleanse
A sinning soul that grieves.

A helper God shall send,
Who shall guide me through.
A light at tunnel’s end,
That shines in radiant hues.

The sadness may persist,
And through it all I stand,
For I know of God’s gift,
He knows and understands.

The fruit of Eden seeks
The hopeless and alone.
Temptation hunts the weak,
But God will guide them home.

Our worldly needs may ask
To leave the just and right.
My soul shan’t leave its task,
To praise God from hill’s height.

When Heaven’s gate is opened,
The choir of angels sing.
A hymn of praise and worship,
Songs of eternity ring.

All rights reserved © 2018 Josephine Joyil

Immanuel

The leaves turn to tell the age,
From a tender bud,
To a parchment page.

The green blue waters turn frozen grey,
It cries out
To you in pain.

The winds were blowing, it howled your name.
Its prayers were surely,
Not in vain.

The night devours the light of day,
But from the heavens,
Shine forth your rays.

All rights reserved © 2017 Josephine Joyil