1.5.2021 “Rummaging through rubble, what was, what could be, what is.” I wrote in my notebook.

“Every piece is a trace, an evidence of a home built, a desire fulfilled.

Discarded, replaced, built over, erased. One day a piece in a pile of rubble.”

1.8.2021 Today while walking the girls to the park, my 8 year old picked these, “For your art” she said. I am amazed at how aware she is of conversations I am yet to have. 

3.8.2021 Something inexplicable happens to time. It slows down and quickens simultaneously. Moments become ravines you can climb down into. No past, no future, just a succession of here’s and now’s. 

4.8.2021 “For your art”, she said. It is beautiful how attuned we have become to each other’s needs. Since her birth I have waited to reclaim myself when every day I lost more to them.  Their existence folds into mine and mine into theirs. I think of reclaiming myself, aware of having not lost anything to claim. 

Mahreen Zuberi

Pieces of home, 2021