(The beginning of a new writing piece, exploring the connections between topographies, belonging, and fears):
“It’s the TOPOGRAPHY” my brain screamed down my stomach, the word punching me hard right downhill, more precisely on the right-winding curb between Golomb and Arlozorov, on my monthly way to the local Haifa story writers’ group meeting.
This urgent need for belonging to a physical place – all these years – it’s all been nothing more than an artificial illusion.
In the middle of it – I dream of Andalucía.
In the beginning of it – the feelings of the extinction danger – the deletion.
But in the end – it all collapsed downhill, on that hot-morning Huzairan on that curb where Golomb stops being and Arlozorov appears, peaking at me from the right.
It all collapsed into Haifa’s topography.
(more to come soon)
(c) khulud kh, June 2012