Elif

“Hulpverleners vertelden dat Palestijnse ouders hun kinderen zo graag willen troosten, dat ze zeggen: morgen. Of: over een uur. Maar de bombardementen gaan door en de kinderen verliezen het vertrouwen in hun ouders, hun laatste schuilplaats. Dat mis ik het meest in de media. Beelden van kleine kinderen die wegkruipen in een hoekje, en hysterisch hun ouders slaan en schoppen omdat ze helemaal in de war zijn. Verhalen over pubermeisjes die zich verminken omdat ze dan pijn voelen die ze zelf in de hand hebben. Hoe tijdens het bombardement uit de luidsprekers van de moskee Koranverzen klinken, om mensen door hun doodsangst te slepen. Dat zie ik nooit, ook niet bij Al-Jazira.”
― Joris Luyendijk, Het zijn net mensen: Beelden uit het Midden-Oosten

“Writing is routinely described as creative —this has never struck me as a correct word. Planting tulips is creative. To plant a bulb(I imagine, I've never done it) is to participate in some small way in the cyclic miracle of creation. Writing is control.”
― Zadie Smith, Intimations

“It’s summer now, and you're craving a simpler existence.
You want to read. You want to write. You want to meet strangers for dinner, and not refuse another drink at another bar. You want to dance. You want to find yourself in a basement, neck loose, bobbing your head as a group of musicians play, not because they should, but because they must. It’s summer now, and you're looking forward to worrying less. You're looking forward to longer nights and shorter days. You're looking forward to gathering in back gardens and watching meat sputter on an open barbecue. You're looking forward to laughing so hard your chest hurts and you feel light-headed. You're looking forward to the safety in pleasure. You're looking forward to forgetting, albeit briefly, the existential dread which plagues you, which tightens your chest, which pains your left side.
You're looking forward to forgetting albeit briefly, you feel light-headed. You're looking forward to the safety in pleasure. You're looking forward to forgetting, albeit briefly, the existential dread which plagues you, which tightens your chest, which pains your left side.
You're looking forward to forgetting that, leaving the house, you might not return intact. You're looking forward to freedom, even if it is short, even if it might not last.
You're looking forward.”
― Caleb Azumah Nelson, Open Water

“How beautiful is beauty?”
― Caleb Azumah Nelson, Open Water