Bones by Brooklyn Brayl (Feat. Ara Woland)

Brooklyn Brayl is a New York based transgender writer/performer currently living on the gender divide. She has just released her first collection of poetry, "Dirty Beautiful Words." Her website is www.brooklynbrayl.com

The Sign Posts are Empty by Simone King

I'm lost again though standing in the same place I was yesterday
sleeping in the same bed
living at the same address
wearing my own clothes
and using the same toothbrush
yet I am lost

Simone King started writing poetry and short stories/films in 2011. She writes about her truth and the many questions that plague her mind.

Editor's Pick of August: Jar of Paper Stars by Michelle Chan

It was Valentine's Day. Gilbert's hand trembled a little as he helped pass a love letter under the desk. It was the day of the year when exchanges of quick smiles between the students made the teachers look askance. Well-wrapped gifts with crumpled ribbons were hidden in bags crammed with books, or in the shadows of desk drawers. Many held their breath, dreading spot checks, and waited eagerly for the recess bell to ring.

Gilbert was one of them. He reached into his drawer and found his mother's old pickle jar hidden safely behind a stack of text books. Mrs Tang was explaining a new mathematical formula, but her words were wind breezing past his ears. He was too nervous and tired to pay attention in class today. He spent the whole of last night making what he believed to be the most sincere and, hopefully, romantic gift for Lily. He thought about buying a pair of earrings or Now That's What I Call Music! 35 audio cassette, but neither would best express how he felt about her. Hence, he chose to fold 99 tiny paper stars to put into a jar from his mother's kitchen cabinet.

He checked his watch-five more minutes to go. He tilted his head to steal a glance at Lily. She sat a few rows in front of him. The sight of her ponytail sent his heart thundering in his chest. He had never felt this nervous before, not even when he was competing at the state chess tournament.

They had been in the same class since the first year of secondary school. They were never close friends, but they worked well together when paired up in projects and they understood each other's witty jokes. She was one of the prettiest girls in school and the president of the Science Club, while he was a lanky, awkward boy with patched shoes, who excelled at mathematics. Every year they competed fiercely to be the top student in class. But in this final year, Gilbert wanted to be more than a worthy opponent to Lily. He knew she had a sentimental heart and was certain she would like his jar of paper stars.

Gilbert was still daydreaming when his classmates started to eject from their seats. He looked up and Lily was gone. He wrapped the jar with a thin exercise book and ran out to look for her. After a desperate ten minute search, he found her sitting alone on the science lab stairs. His heart sank when he saw her staring admiringly into a small red satin box.

Suddenly, he felt wary and uncertain, maybe even ashamed of his choice of gift. How could an old jar with a scratched up lid compete with a shiny, silky box?

She greeted him with her double dimpled smile. “What do you have there?” asked Lily with curiosity. For all the years she had known him, Gilbert had shied away from anything related to Valentine's Day.

“It's nothing.” He pulled the exercise book tighter around it.

“Don't be shy. Let me see it.” Lily put the satin box aside and took the jar from him. “Oh my, I didn't know people still did this. You made them?”

Gilbert nodded, panicking in silence.

Lily held the jar carefully, like she had a baby bird resting on her palms. She tilted her head from side to side, examining the jar's contents with intense interest. “Yellow is a good colour.”

I know. I chose it because it's your favourite, thought Gilbert.

“There must be a lot of them in there.”

“99 to be exact.”

“Aah, the auspicious 99, forever or everlasting.” She smiled. “Whoever she is, I'm sure she'll like it. Who wouldn't like a love letter written in stars?” She handed the jar back to him and picked up the satin box again.

Gilbert felt defeated. Whatever was in the box, he knew she would much prefer it to his jar of paper stars. He wrapped the jar with the exercise book again and walked away. When he got home he tossed it into the rubbish can outside the main gate. Out of sight, out of mind.

The next morning, the garbage truck came. Mokthar, one of the waste collectors, opened the lid and saw a jar of paper stars beaming brightly at him under the dull grey sky. He salvaged the jar and brought it home. He placed it on the floor next to where his eight-year-old daughter Jamilah slept. “Here's your window to the night sky,” he said.

They shared a house with sixteen other people. The landlord put up partitions to create more rooms and generate more rental returns. They were some of the unlucky tenants with a windowless room. However, with the jar of yellow paper stars, Jamilah slept better at night. It was her priceless possession. On the nights where sleep eluded her father, she would place the jar on the floor next to him and say, “It will lead you to dreamland.”

Eventually, Mokthar earned enough money to move his family into a nicer home with windows in every room. Jamilah still kept the jar next to her every night, but its glow seemed to have dimmed over the past year. So when her classmate Siaw Ching was mourning the loss of her mother, she decided to pass the jar on to her. “It helped me through my darkest time. It will help you too,” Jamilah told her friend.

Siaw Ching didn't know what to do with the jar. What kind of magic did it possess? She shook the jar hard and paused. The room remained still and quiet. Her father came to her side and took the jar in his hands.

“Where did you get this?”

“Jamilah gave it to me,” said Siaw Ching, flatly. “What am I supposed to do with it?”

Her father smiled and said, “Remember how happy mummy was the night we laid on the beach star gazing?”

She nodded.

“Well, we rarely have a clear night sky like that in the city. So when you miss mummy, just turn to this jar. She'll be right there with you.”

Though Siaw Ching thought that this was kind of corny, she felt obligated to nod her head. But when night came and tears threatened, she found herself reaching for the jar. She held it to her bosom under the blanket and it eased her into a peaceful slumber.

The jar stayed with her for six months before she passed it on to her cousin, Johnny, who was recovering from a car accident. When he was discharged from the hospital, he decided to keep this tradition going by giving it to a cancer patient two floors down. And so the jar traveled from the nightstand of a man fighting colon cancer, to the windowsill of a lonely child, to the crib of a newborn, to the living room of an overworked single mother, to the desk of a newly certified accountant and the journey continued.

Ten years had passed since Gilbert made that jar of paper stars. The glass jar had lost its shine, the lid had rusted inside and out and the bright yellow stars had faded over the years. But despite its physical ageing, it still possessed its magic.

The jar now sat on the vanity desk of Mama Prema, a 66-year-old retired teacher. She was given the jar by her granddaughter to help her cope with the loss of her Siamese cat, Sawadee. She didn't really want the jar in her house, but she accepted it with reluctant gratitude. It didn't offer the comfort it intended, but it made her love her granddaughter more.

It was Valentine's Day. Mama Prema was having her usual early evening chitchat with her neighbours in the gazebo at the condominium garden. As they were complaining about their unromantic husbands, the new neighbour from A-8-7 walked past and greeted them politely. The ladies nodded in return.

Mama Prema found herself sighing every time she saw the woman from A-8-7. She couldn't recall her name, but was sure she was named after a flower. She was a beautiful young woman, but her sad eyes always overshadowed her sweet smile. Mama Prema wondered what life had done to her to embed such sorrow on that beautiful face.

Later that evening, Mama Prema left the jar in front of A-8-7 with a note saying, “Cheer up, girl. It's Valentine's Day. From Mama Prema of A-8-11.” She rang the doorbell and left.

The woman from A-8-7 opened the door just as Mama Prema was entering her unit. She looked at the jar suspiciously before picking it up to read the note. She smiled. She brought the jar into her bedroom and examined it under the light. She held it carefully, as though she had a baby bird on her palms. A memory stirred within her. A long-forgotten memory, which never held much significance, was slowly emerging. A boy, a very nervous boy. What was his name? Albert? Wilfred? No. It was Gilbert! The smart, adorable Gilbert. At that moment, fond memories took over her weary self, and she broke out the infectious double dimpled smile that once melted so many hearts. 

Lily hadn't felt such exhilaration for a long time. After her husband divorced her because of her inability to conceive, she fell into a deep depression that left her exhausted and discouraged.

She adjusted herself on the bed and the yellow stars shifted in the jar, revealing a quarter of a white star. She opened the lid and poured the contents onto her bed. There were three white stars, all worn from too much unfolding and refolding. She decided to unfold them to assuage her curiosity. When all three strips of paper were opened and laid out on her bed, they revealed a love letter that read:

Dear Lily, Your kind soul and generous heart make you a rare and precious jewel. Whenever I feel discouraged, a glance at your beautiful face will lift me up. No matter how today unfolds, I want you to know that you shine brighter than any star in the sky. Sincerely, Gilbert.

Tears slipped down Lily's face as she read the letter over and over. It was a simple letter, not the most poetic or romantic, but it moved her in the most amazing way. She felt a spark light within her, a glimmer of hope, an ounce of courage, an open path before her. Suddenly, life didn't seem so harsh. “Wherever you are now, Gilbert, thank you,” she whispered.

She returned all of the yellow stars to the jar, but left the three white strips of paper out to be framed tomorrow. She put the unused razor blade back in the box it came in and tossed it into the rubbish bin. She tore the unfinished letter to her parents to shreds and felt a great relief pour into her. She was glad this jar of paper stars reached her ten years late. It wouldn't have meant much to the teenage Lily, but it saved her life tonight.

Malaysian-born Michelle Chan has tried her hand at journalism and is now exploring the realm of fiction as an outlet for her overactive imagination. She is currently writing her first novel, which she hopes will one day see the light of your bedside table.

Coming Out the Closet via an "Open Letter" by Njabulo Mbutho

Dear family,

This letter was actually supposed to be sent a decade ago, tried all these past years but couldn’t live with the guilt of possibly spoiling the family’s “Profile.” Lately I’ve been dodging your phone calls simply because I have reached my lie limit, actually exceeded it. Lying, not only to you but most to myself and now sitting here all by myself inside these high scary, empty walls on detention for kissing my boyfriend goodbye. I’m extremely concerned about how this will sink into your head. After a decade of living a lie, resulting in being weak for enduring all the pain and nightmares coming with it, drained out by the choice I made for your sake (my safety) till today, you would always tell, rule, choose, talk and think for me- early last year, you pushed me choosing my wedding date! But that was an instruction I followed, you never considered asking if I even wanted that. Should I buy the “allowance” to also free my opinions and express myself? Everything is always decided for me, leaving me with no choice but to go on with it (as I was taught to respect at all times by you.)

I respect and am thankful for having you in my life, but you’ve been making me live the life you want and do, say and act according to you. Do I really deserve to be stuck in your vision? What about my vision? Almost all our conversations required a simple yes or no answer from me, you never wanted to hear my thoughts, what were you scared of? Certainly you knew and know exactly what you’re dealing with and dodging to face. As I’m locked in this room, punished for an innocent goodbye, at least now I’m free from being ruled and instructed by you. Well, I have gained the courage to explore, be myself. The harm from allowing myself to be exploited and lying to myself has caused deep scars in my heart, but when you receive this letter half of them will disappear.

I did not make a mistake, the reason I’m on detention is because we were apparently saying our goodbyes in a “Non-Gay people” park; our deeds were considered as offensive to the public. It’s no surprise that I’m gay to you all, the only surprise is that I’ve finally got courage to express, stand up for myself and break out of the shell. I could be a disappointment to you after everyone was hyped-up about me being a father, which I did for you (one of the instructions I followed.) Honestly, I never loved “her” (the mother of my child) I only appreciated how she perceived things in life and obviously, her fierce sense of fashion. I was blinded by all the girls who ogled me, never attracted to them, but to the attention. I’ve been empty all these past years, living a lie, but today I see the light, the future, not only because I’ve found the courage to be myself and the love of my life (him) but because I feel revamped, whole. I’m happy I got the courage to break out of the shell, now I will live effortlessly not following any of your instructions. I’ve never been this happy, it feels like I’ve finally put on the right shoe size, everything fits together now.

I had no idea how to show my true being because I had no chance to tell you these past years. I’m deeply sorry for all the lies I did and said, I pray you find it in your hearts to forgive me. I suppose I got used to making you happy, not myself. As I’m coming home this summer, can I bring my boyfriend over? I want you to meet him. After a decade, ten awful, sad and traumatic years of my life, not wasted because I believe everything happens for a reason, I finally can be myself. Sincerely I’m GAY. 

Njabulo Mbutho came to terms with his sexuality at a very young age regardless of the negativity and discrimination in the society he grew up in - Kwazulu Natal, in a rural area called Mthwalume (South Africa). He is a Freelance Writer, Blogger and Fashion enthusiast. This piece has previously been published here: www.the01storyofusblog.wordpress.com

Wait, does this mean I'm gay? | Giving My Secret Away! By Njabulo Mbutho

Come to think of it... I actually miss my best High School friends (Sam and Eric.) Describing their characters is not a simple task. However, I'll give you just a glance. Sam was always this quiet and conservative type, loved sports and the nightlife. With soft blue piercing eyes, and very tall boned, girls couldn't help but ogle him, wanting to be on his "Romance Books." We had a lot more in common than we realised. When I say "WE," I mean Sam and I. Eric was very opinionated, more of a chatterbox and fairly annoying-an ordinary guy who expresses himself through the art of talking, talking non-stop. Now this dude was on everybody's case and could find fun in every situation, even a funeral, hence having him around always made us more lively. Breaking rules and getting away with it was his hobby. He could talk himself out of any situation-one of the benefits of being a chatterbox.

It was a Friday night, a week before our test week, when Eric hosted a massive house party in our room (the three of us went to the same High School, and were now doing our Senior Year in College and we were roommates.) The house was packed with more than twenty party animals. This was on campus. Booze wasn't allowed on the premises, but Eric had organised more than enough booze for the night. The theme was "Six Sex Symptoms," as stated on the invitations he sent out to all the attendees. That's a catchy theme if you ask me! Who wouldn't want to be part of this outrageous theme? Only seniors were allowed to host parties. 

This was a Friday like no other, as we (Sam and I) had last been at a party months back. This was something we'd been excited about and looking forward to. There were a number of things we did together, like working part-time at the College's Library, which initially gave us little time to ourselves. Our friendship began back in High School when we were in the same class.

So, the music and refreshments were all in place. Everybody was having a blast, making new study mates and friends. The time for the "Six Sex Symptoms" activities arrived just when we were having our fourth glasses of wine. Activities included "The Wet Dream from Heaven." Basically, one had to reveal the most memorable wet dream they’d had. 95% of the attendees loved this game-did I too? Well...as Eric announced that the game was about to begin, there I was, gazing at Sam's blue piercing eyes and I suddenly realised that he was the very same guy I'd been having sex with in my sleep for the past couple years. I had been keeping this to myself because I thought it would eventually stop. But I was damn wrong! It all started back in High School when Sam wrote a remarkable essay for the Life Orientation assignment-it was about how he accepted his sexuality as an openly gay individual. His story sounded a whole lot like the bounded side of me, the one I'd been ignorant about, the one I've never wrote or talked about to anyone. This is the very first time. When I'm not asleep, the idea of me getting undressed with another guy simply sounds silly and unreal. I mean, Beyoncé was my obsession, not One Direction! I have absolutely nothing against homosexuality. 

Sam told me about his "Wet Dream from Heaven," but I cannot remember a word he said, I couldn't pay attention, it felt like I was having my "Wet Dream from Heaven" right there and then. To tell the truth, lately dreaming about him felt great. Almost right! I'd literally fallen in love with him, only in my sleep though! For years, I was having "The Wet Dream from Heaven" with Sam. I think it's time I cough this out, I said to myself silently. Sam eventually told me come on now buddy, let's hear it (with his charming smile.) At that moment, I thought to myself, "I probably should make something up to tell him," but the problem was my entire brain was reviewing all these "Wet Dreams from Heaven" I'd had with him during this conversation and it felt unfair not letting him know. I wanted to tell him but had zero ideas how to. I'm speaking from the heart!

Njabulo Mbutho came to terms with his sexuality at a very young age regardless of the negativity and discrimination in the society he grew up in-Kwazulu Natal, in a rural area called Mthwalume (South Africa.) He is a Freelance Writer, Blogger and Fashion enthusiast.