FIN DARNA?

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This project combines Poetry, Illustration and Design. Anna Benarrosh and Tarek Lakhrissi are two children of the Moroccan diaspora in France. Respectively Graphic Designer & Illustrator and Writer & Poet, they both create art that is steeped into their own cultural heritage. Anna draws bodies, Tarek writes stories. Our very first collaboration is about questioning double nationality, identity crisis, unbelonging feelings and the joy to be in between. Fin Darna ? Where is home ?

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TEXT:
ANNA BENARROSH & TAREK LAKHRISSI
MOROCCO / FRANCE

إحتواء

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عندما تشعر بالاختناق بعد ما كابدت طول العناء
أن تكون خاويًا حتى من الهواء
ترى الشمس تغرب عند المساء
الظلام الدامس يغطي السماء

فتبحث عن أي مصدر للاحتواء
ليخفف عنك تعبك كجرعة الدواء
كأن تسمع موسيقاك المفضلة وترتمي إلى سريرك الدافئ على حد سواء
وتتناول وجبة ساخنة وتبلّ ريقك الجاف بالماء

وكأن تدفن وجهك في حضن من تحب بعد يومك المليء بالشقاء
وكصوت يطمئنك، ويقول لك بأن كل شيء سيكون على مايرام 
وستكون بخير بعدما تتناول وجبة العشاء
فتشعر بعدها بالامتنان لوجود مكان تلجئ إليه ويمنحك الأمان والدفء عند كل لقاء

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TEXT & ART:
ABRAR ALGHAMDI
SAUDI ARABIA

MANGO ETIQUETTES

Focusing on the ideals of cultural displacement, and looking in to the term ‘identity’, Nava Rizvi a Pakistani expatriate born and raised in UAE has always been a subject to questioning what from the two is meant to be home.

‘Mango Etiquettes’ is a series of images that focuses on everyday actions that are carried on in certain ways – ways in which one may not realise that they are a result of culture or rather tradition. By serving mangoes cut only in cubes in Pakistani public – formal gatherings, this series is a highlighted contradiction – a behind the scenes – of how one would be in an informal situation, at home, at comfort; in peace – relaxing and enjoying their mango on their own, in a comfortable surrounding, something that has become impossible to do as a result of defining, perfecting and eradicating the comfort and ourselves to the likes of others.

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PHOTOGRAPHY:
NAVA RIZVI
UNITED ARAB EMIRATES

PAPER WINGS

I do not make amends; I pack bags. I do not write goodbye letters; I leave batter on the kitchen counter. I do not seek forgiveness; I book plane tickets. I do not leave; I vanish each time in search of redemption, in search of recognition, in search of something bigger than myself. You, you smell like lust, shattered dreams and petrichor. You’ve built monuments from the hurt and forts high enough to protect you from the prying eyes of strangers. You have hung out all the heartbreak to dry. The day I met you, I unpacked my wounds, laid out my memories and exhaled. I hadn’t realized until the moment I let that breath slip that I have been holding it in. I never thanked you for not flinching at the mess I made on the bedroom floor. I grew up with paper wings in a family that carried sharp objects in their purses, threw around kitchen knives like darts not once missing their targets. My punctured wings can no longer carry me, my feet have been rooted to this ground for too long; this ground is quicksand sucking me in, the abyss so vast my breath catches and my wings, my paper wings they’re trying so hard to fight against the odds, against the currents, against the holes that have damaged them. Hope is the only thing greater than fear except when fear is the mouth of a shark I once called home and the mouth has been clasped shut and all that is left is darkness and the restlessness that I will never find the more I need to remind me how to fly again. You grew up believing there are two types of people, those destined for greatness and those that aren’t. You grew up believing you fell into the latter and I grew up without being taught not to try to save the ones who do not want to be saved, no one taught me how long to hold on or when to let go so I grew up letting go too soon in fear of burning my hands, little did I know they were made out of flames. They say you leave a piece of your heart with every person you love, then why does my chest weigh heavier after every goodbye? My heart is in shambles left behind with those who needed it more than I, my heart is in shambles left behind because I wanted to stay.

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TEXT:
AISHA
UNITED ARAB EMIRATES

LITTLE KNOWN SECRET

I live in a city that shows a huge contrast in areas of development. They do more renovation than rebuilding, hence there are many abandoned old buildings and factories.

I got into the habit of urban since I’m interested in photography and am always looking for nice views to capture. While practicing some steel wool spinning, there was a couple that were also rummaging nearby, and saw the light of the flames I was using and came by to see what I was doing.

After talking a bit, I came to find out they were also into urban exploring (because why else would they be at an abandoned factory). They share a list of places I could go, but since all these places are abandoned, they don’t have titles, they are all coordinates.

This is 37.5132989, -77.4508040. the rawest art space in the city. A little-known secret among graffiti artists, urban explorers and skaters (who have a very interesting habit of cleaning up hazards in this space)

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PHOTOGRAPHY:
MOLHAM
SUDAN

رسالة إلى البيت

إلى بيتي العزيز،
هل يكتب لك الناس الرسائل؟ أنا أكتبها، ولكن ولأول مرة أنعتك بـ "بيتي" في بداية رسالة.
لطالما كنت البيت، ولطالما كنتُ الغريبة عنك..

أنا أنتمي إليك، ولكنك أحيانًا تقصيني،
وتستنقص مني أحيانًا أخرى، وفي الغالب تتجاهلني.

لماذا تفعل ذلك بي، وعلام تعاقبني؟ 
قبلتي هنا، محرابي هنا، مصلاي هنا، صلاتي هنا
يا ماضيي البعيد ومستقبلي القريب:
أنا هنا، على هذه الأرض.. أرضك
أنا هنا، مقابلة لهذا الساحل.. ساحلك 
أنا هنا، في وسط البلد.. في قلبك
بيتي العزيز، أنت تملك بحرًا
ليس بأجمل البحار، ولا أزكاها ولا أصفاها،
ولكن بحرك هو بحري، ومينائك هو مرفأي، والمنارة فيك هي أنا وكل ذلك عندي يعدل جمال بحار العالم ومحيطاته.
بيتي العزيز، سأظل فيك وستظل فيّ، وإن كان ولا بد من البُعد فستسكن أحشائي، فهل تحويني أحشائك؟

مع محبتي،
فاطمة

30-9-2018
٢٠/١/١٤٤٠

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TEXT:
FATIMAH
SAUDI ARABIA

A CHECKLIST;

i can’t stop thinking about the palestinian families
who have pulled apart their homes to salvage expensive building materials
before the israeli army can destroy them.  

in airports i have lost:
heartbreak
hard drives
home
h(my mind) 

enter queen alia international with your american passport
cross allenby bridge with your palestinian authority passport
guest appearance by your west bank id
leave queen alia international with your palestinian authority passport
enter john f. kennedy international with your american passport 

but people are dying
& all you’re talking about is
papers
papers
papers
just papers

a lack of home makes a need for home
filled by a thirst for things that look like home
but all home looks like is people
who hurt (others) like you (do)

i can’t
stop
thinking
about
the families
who have pulled apart their homes
before the army can destroy them.

 

& how, on some level,
many of us have always been doing the same

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TEXT:
RYAH AQEL
UNITED STATES

يوم الرحيل

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منذ ٣٤ دقيقة وانا أشتم رائحة البصل والبهارات متسلسلة الى هذا الحمام المهجور. اسمع أصواتكم وأنتم تدندنون يالزينة لاحمد الجميري

 ابحث عن دلائل تركتموها خلفكم قبل ليلة الرحيل. لم اجد سوى نفسي وبضع قطط هربت عند وصولي. رحلتم وانا وصلت. اهديتم المكان الصمت كهدية واتيت انا لاكسره بخطواتي الخوافة. سبقتوني في فكرة الرحيل التي لم تخطر على بالي. فتشت في نفسي بين قصائد غادة السمان الضعيفة الخائنة وبين آهات خالد الشيخ التي باتت ذكرى لعشاق فاتهم القطار

اتخيل جلوسكم على مائدة طعام جديدة وتحِطُّ خدودكم على وسائد تكسوها ذكريات ذاك المنزل المنسي. كيف من السهل ان تغادروا وانتم لستم على عجلة

اقف انا الآن على نباتاتٍ ميتة لا اسمع الا خشخشتها. امامي بحرٌ حار. حرقته الشمس وقرر ان لا يجف الا بعد ان تعودوا لتحط اقدامكم في مياهه. إن قررتم العودة، سأعلن الرحيل. وإذا اصرّيتمْ على النسيان، سأُقسم على العصيان والبقاء. ستبقى لي زيارة كل بضعة ايام لأشهد على دمارٌ يكبر وجدرانٌ تشققاتها في طريقها لخط النهاية. وجودي هنا ليس الا تقديرآ وصلاة لحنينٍ يخصكم وفُضولٍ غزاني كالمرض لأرحل ولكني هنا اقف إلى ما نهاية

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PHOTOGRAPHY:
AHMED AL KUWAITI
KINGDOM OF BAHRAIN