The walls speak. Now, they are asking me to speak as well.

A grandmother, but also something more—the balance, the fixed point one can return to with every turn.

جنگ که شروع شد، من تقریباً هیچ کاری نکردم جز ماندن. نه قهرمانی در کار بود، نه فرار، نه پناهگاه، نه حتی اضطرابی که بشود اسمش را ترس گذاشت.

The act of collecting enables us to reframe context and create an entirely new composition.

از ساختمان سفید سنگی که بیرون می‌آیم، لحظه‌ای متوقف می‌شوم. چشم می‌دوزم به برچسب ویزا که وسط گذرنامه‌ام جا خوش کرده.

Lost in the cloud of the internet blackout, a black cloud that has been hanging over the Iranian plateau since January, anything becomes internet.

I recall the past to untangle the present, to understand how glimpses of possibility and promise can be muddied by forces outside of our control.