THE SUITCASE
Suitcases have secrets – the clothes and items piled up inside have their own stories and destinies. I have a thing for old, dusty, abandoned suitcases. I run my hands on the scratches left on their surface over the years and the eight metal cornerpieces, I breathe in the unique smell of the suitcase, the kind of smell that only comes from elderly people, I study for hours the pictures of girls glued to the walls of the suitcase, I take out the soap placed between the folds of mother’s nightgown and then put it back. Suitcases are the symbols of leaving and returning.
When my parents would separate twice a day and then get together again, I would always come across suitcases that looked upset. They were tired of being filled and then emptied again. When the moment came to sa
