Sneak peak

May 23, 2024

Hi there loyal readers,

I’ve been knee deep in a deadline, followed by a sailing course, and travel across the pond. I’ve been excited but also a bit apprehensive to share what I have been working the past few months. To give you some background, in my MA program we are meant to come up with a project to work on each semester. We can either create a book, zine, comic but really anything under the sun would work. There is absolutely no structure and you don’t technically need to complete any of them. My first project was a how to guide for solo female vanlife called Bad Roads Bring Good People. You can comment below if you would like to buy a copy… I still have a few riso prints of it left. This semester, I chose to make a fun lighthearted book about heartbreak. God knows I’ve had my fair share of it.

There are so many songs, endless songs about heartbreak, many a poem, but I don’t think there are many illustrated books for adults on it. At least not that I have come across. People I’ve Loved comes to mind. I admire her courage in openly addressing heartbreak and disconnection on her blog, despite being in a seemingly long-term, happy relationship. It's comforting to witness such candid vulnerability.

As I’ve been working on this book and reflecting on love in all its beauty, I can’t help but think of the destruction it causes. The Trojan War, Romeo and Juliet, the modern-day divorce rate—all these tales remind us that love, while beautiful, can also be devastating. I have started to think of crossing the threshold of deep, true love as akin to creating a horcrux. When we fully commit to someone in love, we sacrifice part of ourselves. We leave part of our soul behind in fragments with the people we have loved, and parts of them stick onto us and reshape who we are.

It reminds me a bit of the spread of coronavirus. During the pandemic, it struck me how one person’s infection could travel the globe, touching nearly everyone within years. Destructive, yes, but also a testament to our deep, intrinsic connections. Love, too, has this power. When we fall in love, a piece of us clings to the other person. When that love is lost, a part of us remains with them, creating space within us for something new. We each carry our unique signatures of love, with its own transmissibility and contagiousness. Like COVID-19, parts of our souls are transmitted and left behind in others, binding us together in an invisible web.

During a particularly challenging period in my MA program, I stumbled upon a BBC expose on Mary Shelley, whose life was marred by profound grief and loss. From losing her mother, Mary Wollstonecraft, during childbirth, to enduring a tumultuous relationship with Percy Shelley, losing three of her own children, estrangement from her father, chronic illness that plagued her life to losing her husband Percy in a boating accident. Mary's trials resonated with me as I grappled with my own sense of displacement, leaving behind loved ones to pursue my aspirations. I found solace in her biography. Immersing myself in her struggles, I was inspired by her unwavering resilience in the face of adversity. Somehow, the weight of my own grief felt a little lighter.

Then came the poetry of the great Sufi Mystic, Jalaluddin Rumi, a treasure trove for a grieving human. Here is one of my favorites:

Translated by Coleman Barks

This being human is a guest house.

Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,

some momentary awareness comes

as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!

Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,

who violently sweep your house

empty of its furniture,

still, treat each guest honorably.

He may be clearing you out

for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,

meet them at the door laughing,

and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,

because each has been sent

as a guide from beyond.

While in a melancholic state at the local pub that doubles as a bookstore filled with cheap damaged books tending toward the artistic spectrum. I stumbled upon my favorite graphic novel to date, Alison by Lizzy Stewart. I read it in one sitting which is rare for my ADHD ladened brain. It’s a story of a girl who discovers her passion for drawing later in life, uproots her entire world by leaving her husband and familial support all to pursue a career as an artist in London. A coming of age story filled with loss and courage that ends on a bittersweet reflection of an inspired transformation amidst seemingly constant loss. A beautiful reminder that beauty and destruction often happen in parallel.

So that’s where this book started. I was inspired to share, in the most vulnerable way possible, the overwhelming power of grief and the bewildering struggle of moving on as well as the beauty that can come along with it. Some days are easy, full of synchronicities and beautiful new beginnings, while other days pull you back to square one. I try to remind myself in these moments that progress isn’t linear. My hope with this book is that someone, at least one person, may feel less alone in their grief. So without further ado, I share a few pages of my book, You Are Not Alone.