In my old diary, I discovered notes I had taken down from a little photo book called About me and Kuwait. (Uncharacteristically, I haven’t written down the names of the writer + photographer team, and googling didn’t help.) The pictures and the text capture the sense of the ongoing moment with few words and such vulnerability.

 

“We did not come to remain whole, we came to lose our leaves like the trees, the trees that are broken and start again, drawing up from the great roots… – a passing thought on the post-war reconstruction in Kuwait

on the road to Basna – “Living is a form of not being sure, not knowing what next or how. The moment I know, I begin to die a little.”

“Some days my confidence shrinks to the size of a pea and my backbone feels like a feather. I want to be somewhere else but don’t know where, want to be someone else but don’t know who.”

“Too often are minds are locked on one track. We are looking for the colour green so we overlook the beauty of the desert. Many “happinesses” have been washed down the drain because someone did not expect the unexpected.”

“I think one must learn a different, less urgent sense of time here, one that depends more on small amounts than big ones.”

“Strange feelings…just a sort of unexplained sadness that comes each sunset when the new day is gone and there is nothing ahead but increasing darkness.”

 

 

 

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