The embers burn deeply like the eyes I once knew,
The coal it burns sweetly in its obsidian blue,
The smoke it stifles clarity,
The warmth it reeks of loss.
Peace is such a rarity
but i wonder at what cost

 

Cheers to the end of beginnings. Cheers to the manifest destiny of mediocrity at a middle class job. To a life fizzle made out of the most intrinsically subtle kindling. Fireworks are all a matter of context anyways. That’s what the children stories don’t tell you. A fire cracker in a forest is extravagant, yes, but more importantly it is out of place. Now it seems odd to encourage anyone that it is unwise to be the exploding light that would illuminate the scuttling beetles and lumbering toads, so I won’t be doing that. All I am saying is that a firework in the forest can be seen as jarring and unsettling. The lightening bug that flickers on over the pristine lake can be just as jarring, but the unsettling is absent. I’ve seen it myself.

The lakes in the Adirondacks can do that for you. Remind you that the most unexpected feelings can catch spark from the simplest of things. In these moments it’s a rarity to not laugh, expel happiness in the unlikeliest of places with unlikely company. But I encourage you to do it anyways.

I was scared of fireworks as a kid, probably because of my mother’s insistentance on Fourth of July that some hooligan teenagers might drive by and throw a firecracker out the window any minute. Hyper vigilance on the holiday sticks with me to this day. I watched the fireworks shows from behind the shield of my mother’s arms. She intended to bat away any hissing flame that might come our way. Maybe that’s why I see things differently; see the bright lights as too bright at times, blinding. A mild glow of a campfire is not exhilarating but lacking a mother’s arms to protect from the embers and you can never be quite sure if you’ll get burned. Cheers to the thrill of the comfort.

New Years is the time for contemplation on the falls and the gains. The problem is that the gains don’t seem to matchup as well as I would like them to. At a quarter century, you should be going in the right direction. “Always forward” as Pops from Luke Cage would say. I think time follows that same logic, unwilling to stop and contemplate the same way that humanity does on every cold 31^st of December amidst the numbing effects of the wind and the alcohol. It should be about the triumphs of the past year, the new friends earned, the new jobs taken, the accomplishments. It should be a time to let go of the hurt. The hurts that hurt in the past year are old news and can be released the same way one would let go of an old sweater at the Salvation Army. It’s that initial fear of that drop of the beloved sweater, that determination to override your hesitating fingers. It falls deep into the metal box, making no sound, no regretful plunk that resonates in you that you’ve made a mistake. No, once it’s out of sight you remember that you haven’t worn it in three years anyways. It had holes in it. You can buy a new sweater now. Sure, it meant a lot to you but once the decision to move on has been made the healing of a new, warmer sweater from Target presents itself. Your body needs the warmth after all. This is New Years Eve. A day too often mired in regret, weighed down by expectations, smothered by unfulfilled potential. Everyone has triumphed, even just a little, and it is these small triumphs that we should hold onto, the letting goes which are not a loss but a fortitude of mind that is necessary for change. The sweater has a new place to be and so do you. So go! Drink a little too much, defy the expectations and sit on a rock by yourself as the cackling of drunk thirty-year-olds pierce the night. Or have a quite night with friends. Not every triumph is extravagant with a party and a wine-tinged kiss at midnight. And if it is, by all means hold on to that, because moments are as hard to get back as your old sweater buried deep in metal boxes.

 

I apologize for my complete lack of activity on here! Working as a full-time teacher and my own personal commitment to finishing my novel has meant that this website has been neglected. But no more! I am doing 10 minutes of stream-of-consciousness writing as an exercise every day and I am going to start posting one at least every three days. I will still be posting Short Stories as I write them but—-it’s hard so don’t expect them too often. So hopefully you like these pieces to come, which will be less polished, much shorter, but will be far more frequent. “The best ability is availability” as my dad would say, in a quote I am ascribing to him but he certainly quoted from a sports figure that I can’t remember at the moment. Enjoy!

“Whose is that?”

My friends would ask

Arms stretched towards a piece of pizza,

Or somber piece of gum on the counter

Or a pair of wool gloves on a cold, winter’s day.

“It’s yours” I would reply

With not a moment’s hesitation

As if it was mine to give.

My family would all do the same

The object needed a home,

And who better to adopt than this person before me,

Worried about its well-being?

On occasion you might lose a cookie

Or shirt this way

But you didn’t seem to mind.

Because you knew the day would come

Where you would walk into the house

And catch a whiff of fresh apple pie.

And when you spotted the lonely piece

Sitting, nestled on the counter

You would ask who it belonged to,

Knowing all too well that it was already yours.

For anyone who doesn’t know me: My name is Andrew Jaromin. I am 24 years old and I am currently a Teaching Assistant. I love teaching, I love working with kids, and I love coaching (basketball mostly), but above all else, I would love to be a writer. This is hopefully a stepping stone on that journey. Welcome.

If you’ve come to this blog (website, journal, whatever it is, I haven’t pigeon-holed it just yet), I am hoping you’ve come here for a reason. A few that come to my mind are as such, and I think they are all both commendable and acceptable. Maybe you’re a close friend and simply want to show support for my writing; you know how much I enjoy and take pride in it so you’ve come to see what exactly it’s all about. Maybe you’re an acquaintance and by chance you stumbled upon something on social media that directed you here. You thought to yourself, “I didn’t know Andrew writes things”. Or maybe you don’t at all know who I am. In that case, something is going right and I am glad to have you here.

Whatever the case is, I am immensely grateful and I hope you enjoy what this site has to offer.

The question at hand is “So what exactly is on here, Andrew? Get to the point”. Alright, I’m getting there! Settle down. The point of all this is to create a place for me to share my writing with anyone remotely interested. From there it is up to you, the reader, to love, like, hate, feel indifferent, and perhaps critique my work. Writing is a love of mine, and therefore, I put it online with trepidation. It would be incredibly humbling to realize people aren’t a fan of what I write, and I can only imagine this is not an isolated fear of my own but one that most writers hold in their insulated, bleeding hearts. Most times, I write for myself because it calms me down and I enjoy it. But I  would be lying if I said thats my only goal. I also occasionally write in hopes that someone can relate to, or simply enjoy reading my work. This is the opportunity this site affords.

So please, read my short stories and read my poems; Read what you can, read what you enjoy, but most importantly, just read. Even for my closest of friends, don’t read out of a sense of responsibility. If it feels like work or duty then I haven’t done a very good job.

If you have comments, concerns, or suggestions I would love to hear them. I can be reached by email at ajaromin2014@gmail.com

 

Thanks so much for your support!

Kindly,
Andrew M. Jaromin