Knocking to the Closed Door

(some self-reflections)

Eight and half years in college, two masters degrees from pretty good universities. The well-known in academia scholarship named after U.S. senator from Arkansas, the fellowship at Fund having a name of prestigious photo agency.

I wonder when and where I did a wrong choice?

I have been knocking to the closed door. I believed I have a key, I thought that door is open. After a while you start doubt. You doubt yourself. You try to blame someone's arrogance, someone's bad taste... or maybe it is just bad times.

I decide to knock longer. I stop really care, I just knock because I know it is a right thing to do. In some point I even forgot where I try to go or who I need to talk to. It become kind of repetitive action with no passion or interest.

As longer I knock as more I lose seance of who I am or what my dreams are. Do not doubt I try do not think.

I wonder where is the line which should not be crossed. ... mean words with no sympathy, said with anger and caused by having no control over other. I have been that other before. Lack of love caused violence. I wonder is it your weakness or is it my fault. I wonder if love is so black and white.

Where is enough? The pain will be gone and replaced by sour memories of what have not happened. I look back sometimes and imagine what have not happened. I look forward - maybe men are no the place to look forward to.

After butterflies are gone in your stomach there is nothing left in your chest. The dark hole of loneliness.

reediting brings back a lot of faces with no names, many places with no location, a lot of thoughts about memory and photography. The world of countless digital memories - does our brain really can proceed them? which of those are worst of history and eternity?


memories broke into the out of focus snapshots in my brain. going through whole take. no answers...
swollen eyes hurt from the red light. the negatives, the photo books, the clothes on the floor i do not recognize. hand writing in the notebook - someone's deep monologue ended with moving back to the city from being tired of jerking off in some state, where the sun comes from the mountains. i was not able to place it on the map at the moment.

I close the eyes... my fingertips are feeling dry surface. i wonder what shape has a skin as a whole? i try to imagine - my mind draw the human body shape. but i know my vision is a lie.
impulsive touch... the touch regrets about come only the day after when you wake up.

the dream and reality blended into dangerous feel. gamble at the bar you always lose... I look at dark marks of reality on my arm and back. maybe stairs?     


Do people with answers are able to hear the questions? Questioning.... could it ever bring u answers?

My feet are cold, my eyes are tearing from the smoke from burning wood in the trashcan. People sitting around the fire are dozing off. Half asleep people stand up. I barely hear the national anthem and following christian prayer. Either does not evoke any high patriotic feelings at 6 in the morning. I have got bothered by the mix of the religious and political discourse.
I look at the stars on the sky. They does not make a circle. The red fire glint in my eyes.


"Are you alive? Ah OK, you are asleep" - my mom voice woke me up in the morning. Comfortable bed, cozy warm apartment of my friend I am staying with in Kyiv. It is sunny and cold outside. Could be perfect Sunday to stay home, drink coffee and read the book.

The second I hang up the phone, the wave of fear, worry, and uneasiness sweeps over me. I scroll down the posts on Facebook about attacks during the night, killed and missing people and images from center of Kyiv what you would imagine post-appocalipses would look like. It makes me more troubled. I hate this situation from the bottom of my heart and want to cry from overflow of the emotions.

It is the bare hand fight with the system... It is a choice either to knock the head against a brick wall or to get pushed in the tight corner. I look around for the door - there is no door in this room. Making this choice you wonder who else in the game? Why do you feel the bear breathing on your shoulder? How much of it is paranoia and how much is someone's sick mind?  

There are the real faces on the coin we pay to handle someone's grid, desire for money and political power. I want to believe that is the only option at this situation to start changing this unreasonably corrupt and rotten system. But can rotten become green again and how long does it take? 

There are more and more questions. The mind is hungry for explanations and the heart is looking for high ideas to justify the sacrifices. 

I light the cigarette and gaze the horizon - there is the smoke and fire and others in that side of the barricades. It calms you down. You seance no fear in the air. 


The land I call my home is further and further away. The events are happening two hours earlier before I realize the change.

We lined the bodies under the brick wall that we believe has fallen. We left part of our heart, mind and peaceful sleep on that side of the barricades. While fighting the other self and burying the friends the neighbor came and took away my home. I am called nazi and fascist for having the other opinion.


1 comment:

  1. Emine,
    You have a beautiful eye for photography. Images are stories and the ones you tell are of humanity. I'd love to connect with you. Keep shooting!