From Assimilation to Belonging
What do we see when we look at someone from a different culture? Do we notice the things that connect us, or do we see only what sets us apart?
What do we see when we look at someone from a different culture? Do we notice the things that connect us, or do we see only what sets us apart?
I hadn’t expected my doctoral research to lead me back to my father’s death. Yet a poem about loss opened a door to memories, questions, and meanings I thought I had already understood.
What language do you think in? A seemingly simple question from my supervisor sent me down an unexpected rabbit hole involving family stories, found poetry, and the peculiarities of translation.
I have a habit of stumbling across things I didn’t know I was looking for. But what if those seemingly random coincidences aren’t quite so random after all? And what if recognising the connections between them is an art in itself?
What do a new car, a long hot shower, artificial intelligence, and a Hungarian grandmother have in common? More than I could possibly have imagined.
I went looking for words in someone else’s writing. I hadn’t anticipated finding words for my own story.
I thought I was simply deciding how to frame three pieces of Hungarian embroidery. I hadn’t anticipated what would emerge from the conversation.
I thought I was simply explaining my research to an ethics committee. Instead, I found myself understanding it in an entirely new way.
Perhaps the stories we inherit are not carried forward word for word, but in the feelings, images, and truths that remain long after the details have been forgotten.
The most important writing is not always done at a desk. It begins in the quiet places where the mind is finally free to wander.