For the last few days, every night at 8, we go to our windows or doorstep and we applaud people working in healthcare. They don’t hear us, we’re not facing a hospital, but it makes us feel we are actually doing something. Continue reading The Closed Shutter House
A few months ago, I was telling my friends about something I had been through half a year prior. Something felt off. It seemed too close, yet further away. It is only the next day that it hit me: it had happened a year and a half before that. I had missed an entire year in my story. Where had it gone?
Continue reading The Vanishing
You know I’d rather trust my instincts. You know I look for goodness in people. You know that I do that with life.
You all know that and still I sometimes forget.
Continue reading La Vi got inked
My speech is faster in French than in other languages. My words are hit on a tapan* in Macedonian, half-munched in Spanish, careful in Dutch and round in English. I only speak in metaphors in French, English or Spanish. I am direct in Dutch and Macedonian. My many languages give me so many identities… or am I giving my many languages an identity? Continue reading La Vi has many voices
I was tired from the night bus trip from Sydney, heartbroken, lonely and scared. I sat next to a group of strangers on the hostel’s terrace and before I knew it, I was sobbing, telling my tale to a compassionate girl from the UK. Continue reading La Vi is grateful
– Maria is a writer.
All eyes were on me. Awe silenced the table and I quickly brushed it off:
– He’s exaggerating. I’m not a writer. I write. I’ve never been published. Continue reading I am a writer