To live, to speak, to die.
There isn’t much I could say about myself that I could explain correctly, I know so little and too much. Culturally, I’m a Kurdish man's daughter, religiously I’m a sister in Islam. Imagine this, God before culture, culture before you. You do not exist as your own. The pilgrimage to Mecca to be referred to as a Haji, and the inevitable pathway to be a man's wife, then to be referred to as Dhaka, as a son's mother, You are never your own name. Mind and body that belong to God and to family. You're only left with your eyes. The collection of moments that allow something to exist completely. This is an explanation of silence. These things are seen. .
