On Human Folly
At night, when I hold conversations with myself, I cannot logically justify my constant preoccupation with human folly.
“He is a little bit late, isn’t he?” asked Emina, opening the door. With her hair wrapped up in a wet towel she headed back through the narrow hallway. Slightly confused, I stood there for a few seconds trying to figure out who she was talking about but it was scorching outside and all I wanted was to feel the cold tiles under my bare feet. Nastavi čitati “The Smell of Mothballs”
They said it would rain for seven days in Sarajevo, but it still hadn’t; and it was day three since they’d announced it. I couldn’t tear myself away from the fresh air on the balcony and the noise from the next-door apartment, where a turbulent couple lived. I’d got used to the noise because if it weren’t for it, I would hear the noise in my apartment. Nastavi čitati “A Red Crayon”
I never played with a Sindy. She was my older cousin’s best friend though. I knew a Barbie once. But we never got along well. I’d see her occasionally. She never saw me though. I neither liked her nor disliked her. With time, she made me feel uneasy. I couldn’t comprehend her hair, her face, her body, the way she’d feel under my fingers, her existence. Nastavi čitati “Foundation”
Ramadan has just begun this year—a time of restraint and self-reflection, a time where I intentionally build moments to return to myself amid the everyday chaos of living. Four years ago I was living in Sarajevo; my last month in the city coincided with the holy month. As a Muslim woman who grew up in America, I had never experienced this month with people who knew or celebrated Ramadan. Nastavi čitati “How Sarajevo shaped me: forgiveness, poetry and the holy month”
She was sent off into the world with one piece of advice from her esteemed sire. He told her: “Don’t let them win you on penalties. If it comes down to it, bow out and walk away.” Her father considered himself to be the Confucius of his age and with such an excess of nose and ear hair, she often thought of him as a relic from some Lancashire-based monastic order. Nastavi čitati “Unnamed German”
Sarajevo meant a lot to me, means a lot to me still, my time there has shaped me, in fact. Everything I took for granted, every dream I was realizing; all painful laborious struggles. The warmth of every hearth I was drawn beside, every silently proffered plate of food; a realization of some eternal purities. Nastavi čitati “A Scottish Girl in Sarajevo”