whiplash

Back to "reality" by Maranie Staab

A somewhat obligatory image of a smiling child in a displacement camp ... I couldn’t help but smile when I saw her myself. But I was also struck by her shirt and in that moment saddened as I wondered how she ended up wearing it and whether she might ever leave the Bajad Kandala camp, let along have the opportunity to see and “love New York.”

Sitting in New York now, as it’d be, I’ve started to go through the several thousand frames from the past few weeks and struggle for the right words, should they even exist. A density and intensity of experience is had when in such a place and it’s a bit of whiplash when one returns to a society of comfort, excess and relative disconnect.

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