On happiness Those Hollywood moments of happiness, which we are all meant to crave – triumph, being proposed to, winning a race – aren’t ever so simple and happy in real life. Happiness is always more complicated, and always coincides with other feelings of concern, stress, doubt. Happiness for me has not been those moments, … Continue reading
Category Archives: Vignette
The Human Voice, by Galeano
Some prisoners spent more than ten years buried in solitary cells the size of coffins, hearing nothing but clanging bars or footsteps in the corridors. . .[they] survived because they could talk to each other by tapping on the wall. In that way they told of dreams and memories, fallings in and out of love; … Continue reading
At a Deportation Centre by Warsan Shire
Well, I think home spat me out, the blackouts and curfews like tongue against loose tooth. God, do you know how difficult it is, to talk about the day your own city dragged you by the hair, past the old prison, past the school gates, past the burning torsos erected on poles like flags? When … Continue reading
No peace, no rest
No peace for the poor Yesterday the rich protested against the poor. They protested their rights, their growing dignity here in Ecuador. I walked among them with a big metal brick in my chest, watching them in all their fine clothes and white skin calling a democratically elected, popular president “dictator”. They waved their black … Continue reading
Injustice / Tiny stories / Vignette / Writing
What its like to read or write:
The stress of the world, of rushed long work days, of all the injustice, the organized routine hypocrisy makes aching holes in your chest and labours your breathing and hangs from your cheeks as a disproportionate, unreasonable, impossible weight. Then you read something – a poem, a story – little drops of humanity – and … Continue reading
On borders: Dot and Dash
Between your people and my people there is a dot and a dash: the dash says you can’t pass, the dot says the road is closed. And like that, between all the peoples: dot dash dot dash. With so many dots and dashes, the map is a telegram. Walking about the world one sees rivers … Continue reading
Criminology
Every year, chemical pesticides kill no fewer than three million farmers. Every day, workplace accidents kill no fewer than ten thousand workers. Every minute, poverty kills no fewer than ten children. These crimes do not show up on the news. They are, like wars, normal acts of cannibalism. The criminals are on the loose. No … Continue reading
