Renee Godding

“I’d imagined that the day he lost his memory was the real moment that death came for him, but as I watched the sun disappear over the years, I began to wonder whether this erasure was, in fact, a form of death for all of us. Who are we if not just a collection of memories locked in a container made of flesh and blood? If we ceased to exist in the memory of those closest to us, then how could we assume that we were as alive as we’d been before? It made me realise that, despite what people said about it, death was not so straightforward after all.”
― An Yu, Sunbirth

“There's something Fascist , don't you see, in the idea that your genes are your story?
I have learnt this: there are no border guards at the chambers of your heart. It's only the immigration officers who might care, where your mother was born, what passport your father carried.
If history grants you the chance, be free of all that, that's my advice”
― Sarah Moss, Ripeness

“Romantic love was a clear-cut institution, bolstered by orthodoxy and ritual. When a man lost his wife, it was expected that his world would unravel. But friendship… friendship was a wilderness with no guide. There were no courting rituals one might follow to pursue it, and little sympathy for the gut-wrenching horror of its loss.”
― Sheldon Costa, The Great Work

“Despite the hurt, I understand. Many days passed when I wanted to be away from moms grief, which filled every corner of the boat cabin. Even memories aren’t safe. A glimpse of a picture or smell is enough to catapult us back into the past when dad and Jay were alive, and rudely snap us back to reality. I share this grief with mom, and yet no words have ever made us better.”
― Trang Thanh Tran, They Bloom at Night