I have always written only for myself - to clarify things, to clarify things with myself, to understand in an inner way what is actually happening.

Who can take a single step with his head?

I have packed myself into silence so deeply and for so long that I can never unpack myself using words. When I speak, I only pack myself a little differently.

My flesh was burning where the skin was scraped off my knees, and I was afraid that I couldn't be alive anymore with so much pain, and at the same time I knew I was alive because it hurt. I was afraid that death would find its way into me through this open knee and I quickly covered my knee with my hands.

What can't be said can be written. Because writing is a silent act, a labor from the head to the hand.

If you live with death threats, you need friends. So you have to risk that they might spy on you.

In this county, we had to walk, eat, sleep and love in fear.