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Interviews for the project "Crossing Borders"

on January 21, 2018

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Silence. I hate this word. Silence. Makes you invisible. Silence. Illuminates you from the precious present. Silence swallows your voice and makes you vulnerable. Silence is always there for those who live in fear. Once you are caught by silence, you are a victim. The victim of your own choice of being silent. Strangers came to our house as if it was a slaughterhouse. They brought the death of humanity with them. I knew that the end was inevitable, but one can never be ready for it. And then I understood that I was not afraid to die and to join the most of my family and friends. I couldn't accept one thing – the loss of my husband. It meant the end of the world. Apocalypse of my being. As soon as this thought broke into my mind choking their voices, I saw my beloved and heard one word: “silence“. He showed me with gestures that I had to hide in the cellar and then he just pushed me there because I could not move. I was devoured with fear. Everything happened in several momen...

... and than one day he was gone. Not that it made much of a difference. He was an old man by passers smiled at when they saw him. Once they walked past him he was long forgotten. Took his place among those faces we forget on a daily basis. Nobody remembered his name either. He was the old man of the neighbourhood whose time was long past. And after he went to meet his maker all he caused was more inconvenience. They carried away his furniture. They gave away his clothes. His mantel went to the beggar. His shoes were too old and battered to give away. When the last piece was gone, they were ready to lock the doors of his house. It was as if he never existed. Sema Nur Ketenci

Budapest 1955, its a rainy November day. She is sitting by the window, her slim elegant hands crossed and her eyes fixed on that dammed phone, waiting for it to ring. Its been two weeks since the gentleman from the dancing audition shook her hand and left her with a promising smile. She is beautiful, young and fresh as the spring breeze. Her make up fixed her hair loose and that smile that never leaves her face, fades away the sadness in her eyes. She is still waiting, her eyes still sad, her face still smiling and telling millions of stories and laughters, but the phone never rang ... Lina Chihabi

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