the knowledge that your immigrant parents have a whole world of knowledge to them, that they know myths and legends that you don’t, that they know pieces of culture that you don’t, that they know a tongue that your tongue will never taste
the knowledge that your parents’ knowledge is incomplete
the knowledge that your immigrant grandparents know even more, that the things your parents know come from your grandparents, who learned from their parents, their grandparents, every piece becoming more and more fragmented as it’s passed down
until there’s you, holding onto a sliver of something magnificent, something too big for you to comprehend, something unbelievably rich and complex
there are lands your feet will never know
there are stories your heart will never hold
there are words, heavy words, fluttering words, words of every color and shape that your tongue will never utter
there is so much that you are a part of
and yet, so much that you will never grasp
the weight of that knowledge—that you have left, not of your own volition, but of your circumstances—that you can never go back, that you have lost upon your very birth—is almost unbearable
but what do I even know
I know so little
and what little I know, hurts with its incompleteness
Imagine stabbing someone with this knife.
It would instantly cauterize the would, so the person wouldn’t bleed, so it’s not very useful.
if you want information it is
and above, in order, we see a gryffindor, a ravenclaw, and a slytherin
why would you stab a PERSON when you can have TOAST?
There’s the hufflepuff
This week I visited Selcuk, Sirince and Ephesus. In Selcuk, I visited a weaving school where I observed silk spinning, wool spinning, and knotted pile carpet weaving. Pile carpets are made by tying colored strands of wool or silk in knots (the “warp”) around vertical strands (the “weft”) fixed to a wooden loom.
I had lucky timing for this visit, because hundreds of swallows had just arrived from South Africa and were darting around the workshop. Above are two small swallows sitting atop raw silk. Raw silk looks and feels just like horse hair.
The pool, Robert Fowler
Storeroom of the Archeological Museum in Olympia, Greece.
Architectural Watercolors by Maja Wronska
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I may seem to be all flowers on the surface, but if you dig deeper, I am even more flowers