Day One: Lately, I find myself gravitating towards the music of women, books written by women, the poetry of women, women-centred films, information about and by women. I find my world become calmer. Stronger. More inspired. Hope flowers. Day Two: Do you remember reading that thing saying, “Do one thing every day that scares…
Tag: home
Postcards from Istanbul /10
“She broke up with Hao-hao, but he always tracked her down. Called her… Begged her to come back… Again and again. As if under a spell or hypnotized… She couldn’t escape. She always came back.” – Millenium Mambo 千禧曼波 (Hou Hsiao-Hsien 2001) This is the last of the nights I will spend here in…
Postcards from Istanbul /7
“You are a colander, sometimes losing things. Sometimes what keeps you alive is a mystery.” – Aracelis Girmay Another night, another room, in another hotel in a city so many thousands of miles away. In my life so often it occurs to me that the more I love, the further the object of my…
Texts to my mother
I’m a 41-year old teenager. Maybe I’m 12. Or 22. Who cares. Not old enough. Mum wasn’t there when teenage shit the fan. But when I ask her now, she tries. She’s so bad at this. It makes her feel awkward to see me weak. If it’s someone else I’m crying over, she will cluck…
Home: Memory falls silent
The looms have fallen silent. You couldn’t imagine the stillness of the lake behind the house with its handloom factory. Men and women often on their second jobs, second shifts. The mills worked day and night and were filled to capacity, bench against bench. The local municipality even offered electricity cheaper at off peak hours…
part-broken, part-whole 