Something about her written emotions
really touched me
p.33
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p.65
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[...]
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[...]
Diaspora
– you know already what that means. Originally, in Greek, it meant “to disperse
seeds”. It was a designation for the expelled Jews, and later came to be used
for people who have a shared cultural heritage but have been forced to leave
their native country and are now living in different places without the
possibility of returning. These people
are scattered to the four winds, only certain that their bodies cannot be snatched
away from them.
p. 79
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It seems
to me that there is no way back, no matter where I go.
I feel
there is something common between the silence of the burnt piano and the
silence on my way home, and that this is deeply hidden in my heart.
The
threads are interwoven into each other. Get entangled. Are torn apart. And
disentangle themselves. It is like a mirror of feeling.
p. 131
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[...]
p. 131
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[...]
Days
later, the wind carried the smell of the extinguished fire over to us. I then
felt, every time I smelled it, that the smoke made me lose my voice.
This
happened twenty years ago. I always carry this silence with me. Deep in my
heart. When I try to express it, I lack the necessary words. But the silence
lasts. The more I think about it, the stronger it gets. The piano loses its
voice, the painter does not paint any more, the musician stops making music.
They lose
their function, but not their beauty. They even become more beautiful.
My true
word has no sound.