She took the same pathway she always did that day while many preferred the library on West Georgia St. She couldn’t take the lung sucking, dark walls anymore. At the end of the pathway, right there, she saw the man-made waterfall that sprinkled a few drips on the marble steps she intended to quickly climb. She felt… refreshed and said to herself, “The best in town. It doesn’t get better than this”. She was right, it was right in the middle of the tall piles of bricks.
She found her spot on the stairs at the very top. Carelessly slamming her messenger bag on the ground, she took out a crammed stack of papers, some discolored, a couple perfectly white, and placed them on her lap to grab a bite of the crab apple she brought for lunch. Before getting her pencil to do its magic, she took a look towards the Art Gallery standing across the marble stairs, with stairs of its own, so gracefully. Her eyes followed the engraved phrase below the roof of the building: Placed upon the horizon (Casting Shadows). “Sounds Biblical”, unimpressed, she said it out loud this time. On her right, there was a woman worshipping her coffee, trying to place her phone at the right spot to update her social media feed. “Similar things”, she thought. Continue reading “[Short Story] Placed Upon the Horizon”→
2018 was my ride or die. It was full of moments that left me in awe, put my capabilities in a trial, overwhelmed me with joy and with its last bit, challenged me with deep sadness as well.
I love the photoblogs because it has always been hard for me to see the small successes. As I looked through these moments, I said to myself, “I did all this?“. Believe me, there were a lot of question marks, not just one.
As always, thanks to the many friends I made along the way.
I’ll try one more time. Hello. I miss writing here.
I have a lot that I have been holding close to my heart that I would like to share with you. I’ll try justify why I haven’t been able to pour myself out to Hazal’s Camera. My time in Washington, DC, came to an end. Just couple of weeks before I left the penthouse apartment, my one-year-old laptop let me down. Don’t even ask me about it, in the words of one of my favourite co-workers at the little organization I spent most of my days in DC: it was “tragic”. I left writing all together for a little longer than I would’ve liked, and embraced being upset about leaving yet another place– And, returning home.
So it is. I am torn into pieces, but I am also home to collect one that I left over here. With the courtesy of Hazal’s Camera, where I see things more clearly: Here is home.