A forestation of art — Soft words for a rich forestation. I am not blaspheming when I use soft, humble words to describe an artwork. I see the paintings in the museum of Madrid and there are different scenes of full lives in them. More than the naked eye will witness at first. In the…

This is how we win for everyone — Hello. If you are reading this piece, you are the second reason I am writing it. A few years ago, I visited a public mental health center for the first time. It was a cold Wednesday or Thursday. I was sitting on a small red worn-out couch. …

After destruction, how do they build Rome? — Prologue I am in love. My phone rings from friends’ notifications. I have sent them pictures of my life in Belgium. The city is clean. The community caretakers have placed tulips along the bridges by the river. I feel fresh. When the environment holds this way, your silenced desires wake the…

Hatidže navigates her existence, proving that the human element does not need a city to capture the soul. It is she who climbs the mountain. — On Sundays, my relatives and I used to go to wild places of Greece. Wild, untouched by the human hand. Anyone can spot rugged land when the corps are rich and tall. One day, we were walking along the edges of a small safe mountain to reach a hidden waterfall…

In the science of sleep, I hide my memories — How eruptious to talk about sleep. Those that nap in this moment instead of talking are 10 percent healthier actually. Because it is 4 pm on a Sunday and a nap is currently a very generous gift. Yet, I find myself attracted to this topic. Sleep is made of interesting…

As if a playlist turned into Boch paintings — Oh, how the doves sing and schildpadden hide in roosts. It is a glorious Saturday today. Unsarcastically said, I do feel bathed in glory. My throat hurts terribly 2 weeks after covid and my priorities are stuck on an imaginary board of bureaucracy. I do quite hate the sound of…

Learning how to breathe — The keyboard makes a screeching sound. It seems to be imitating the black petals of a stealthy rose. Classically beautiful but god, a rude reminder that I haven’t written all day. To a writer that already is a lot. I’ve been writing medical emails. Belgium welcomed me warmly but my…

Leaving Greece — It’s an early evening. Barely 11 pm on a summer month. That means half and half for us. The mind is ready and the desires are unclenched, yet the rhythm knows that soon it’s time for bed. And I’ll sleep. I always sleep like an obedient child. I have long…