Home from Home

Once upon a time, my grandparents lived here with my mother and uncle. Last week upon a time, I suddenly came across this house and realised it was the one. Now, the buildings and cars have encroached, but my family's stories keep the place apart.

Nothing to Tell

'We have neither of us anything to tell; you, because you do not communicate, and I, because I conceal nothing.' In times of confusion, I often turn to Jane Austen for clarity and a pick-me-up. This quote resonated with me last week; it helped put a (full) stop to an ellipsis. Marianne Dashwood to Elinor … Continue reading Nothing to Tell

My Back Yard

Long ago and not so far away, was my first home: 47 North Hill, Colchester, Essex, UK. It was there that my sister was born, and there that I was raised to realise that we are our stories. There, too, I learned to respect other stories, others' stories: to understand that history is always in … Continue reading My Back Yard