Tag: politics
The Chronicles of a Memory Cartographer: Russia 2
“The Artery Between” I wash my hands twice before picking up the phone—ritual, not hygiene. Crossing a river at night is easy compared to crossing back into the currents of my own alliances. First call: Hasna. She answers on the third ring, her tone clipped, the thrum of a foreign airport in the background. “Did…
The Chronicles of a Memory Cartographer: Russia 1
Ivangorod The kitchen smells of burnt tea and cigarettes, which nobody smokes anymore. Ludmila keeps touching the icon above the stove—Saint Nicholas, patron of travellers and thieves—like muscle memory from a childhood that predates fear. I spread the map across sticky linoleum, weighting the corners with whatever’s handy: a jar of pickles, Sandi’s phone, the…
The Chronicles of a Memory Cartographer: Narva & Ivangorod
On Russian Women, Social Media, and the Quiet Labour of Future-Making. Leaving the golden hush of KUURORT, we drive north, pine shadows pooling in the dusk as the last of the summer crowd melts into their dachas. The resort is an old imperial relic given a facelift—wide corridors, a whiff of disinfectant, and rooms with…
The Chronicles of a Memory Cartographer: Narva 2
Navigating Narva Arriving at the University of Narva with my bag slung over my shoulder, I was greeted first not by faces but by the collision of languages: Estonian, Russian, the odd ripple of English ricocheting off the hallways’ linoleum floors. The place felt less like an academic fortress and more like a border post,…
The Chronicles of a Memory Cartographer: Narva 1
“Between Borders and Buns: Fieldnotes from the Fog” I find myself ruminating over last night, slouched into the headrest—a tongue worrying a cracked tooth. Tarmo’s heat, spilling into me; the absurd sweetness of his tears mapping silent tributaries down my cheeks. Sometimes I think we’re all just vessels—bodies for sorrow, for joy, for liquids longing…
The Chronicles of a Memory Cartographer: Zürich 4
Zürich, Late Night, Kreis 7 Zürich, late. Sodium vapour stains the facades of Kreis 7, washing the curbs and empty intersections in a spectral orange that feels both alien and familiar. Outside my window, the Limmat runs ink-black beneath the bridges, swallowing up every stray flicker of light. In my study, the paper maps of…
The Chronicles of a Memory Cartographer: Zürich 3
Where the River Defies Its Banks He’s silent above me, chest rising and falling, still lost in that bruised borderland between possession and surrender. I can see traces of old awe in the set of his mouth—like he half-expects a Norse god to step through the firelight and strike him down for having the audacity…
The Chronicles of a Memory Cartographer: Zürich 1
“I am being hunted by the safety protocols of UNESCO, and we’re landing in Zurich of all places—Tarmo, WTF?!” He didn’t flinch. “Here are my headquarters too—Amellal Trust Heritage. And I have a house here.” He let the silence linger a moment, then added, more quietly:“Proximity breeds advantage—the city’s walls are thin, and I prefer…
The C.O.M.C. Files 