
A Child of Various Tongues
My Mum is driving. Her skinny body sinks into the leather seats as she takes control of the vehicle. When we turn onto the half-murrum,
My Mum is driving. Her skinny body sinks into the leather seats as she takes control of the vehicle. When we turn onto the half-murrum,
I am 4 years old. Learning to read, in tears because the words don’t follow the rules. My mom patiently helps me pronounce the
Why does disability matter in a craft essay? Whether we’re aware of it or not, we’ve already been told narratives about disability. Allow me to
“Write what you know.” Fiction writers have heard it a thousand times with a thousand different meanings attached. It’s a phrase that, when taken at
“What does it mean to be like a rhizome? It means to be without roots, a deserted plant drifting in the desert. In Arabic, to
The streets of Oklahoma were pitch-dark, I thought the power was gone. How come these gringos don’t use light poles? I asked. Saturday at noon.
This is what war does— to women— makes them warriors— cuts their breasts stops the gushing of their wombs— changes their nails to bayonets— Their
Which Love? I knew the tongue but not the weight of the words. I learned that love—so heavy where I come from it
Artist Statement: Sinejan Kılıç Buchina has for the last several years been exhaustively working on a series focused on time, material growth and social diaspora.