Freedom

Could I learn from you – freedom? I felt your heart wasn't chained your mind wasn't chained. You had no securities and you were at times fragile and naked like a snail or the wing of an insect, still moist and sticky. . Is this enough to be happy? . I wondered how you'd come … Continue reading Freedom

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Found in one of the suitcases

Pasha, I remember your room full of suitcases, wigs manequins and – what the heck else? One of 7 rooms. Was your mum's spirit in there? . I remember they were made of leather, not plastic, and one of them said 1956? I remember the photos from Cambridge. How did you get through there as … Continue reading Found in one of the suitcases

Language and trauma

/*this is a mild article on trauma related to cultural alienation from the perspective of someone whose migration experiences weren't dramatic or violent thank God, so no trigger warnings. Brief and non-graphic mention of a friend's refugee camp story*/ This morning found myself looking at the signup information for a professional course in trauma therapy … Continue reading Language and trauma

Berlin mon amour, migrant dilemmas

as they do in Romania, a pig probably has to be slaughtered. the question is in the choice of pig. some good candidates are pride, identity, comfort, psychological defences, love, money, career, or perhaps home, childhood; the past, the future, memories, or hopes. it's a good menu. apparently slaughtering nothing leads to nothing to eat … Continue reading Berlin mon amour, migrant dilemmas

Crumbling the Berlin wall

People are different here. They don't send money back home to their parents. Instead, their parents buy them cars or houses. . They don't hang on to life and sanity with the last claws of their humanity, will power, focus. Many walk placidly. There is indifference and distance. . They are reasonably comfortable. Perhaps explore … Continue reading Crumbling the Berlin wall

Iron Curtain 2018. (Wherein I cross my childhood border and revisit spiritual remnants of the Berlin wall.)

I crossed this border once again. The mythic border, across the river in the mist in the mornings, heading towards the sunrise, when i was a very small child. it's ingrained in my brain, perception and heart even though there is no border here anymore. Even the Syrians can apparently pass. No one controlled me. … Continue reading Iron Curtain 2018. (Wherein I cross my childhood border and revisit spiritual remnants of the Berlin wall.)