This was a film of events that played in my mind. The wind was my consciousness, the sand dunes were my hope, the desert was my distress and the restless rolling thistle was myself. Everything around felt alien to me, just as I felt alien to myself. It’s always hard to put up with the emptiness around you, but it becomes utterly unbearable when you know that such emptiness stems out of your innermost soul.
I can remember my grandfather telling me how tears turned saltier and saliva turned sweeter when the body started giving up on him, in a fanciful attempt to give out hope and a will to fight on. I knew I was going through it then and there. I could sense my held-back tears at the edge of my eyes making them sore from the high salts in them, whilst my throat cloyed with a bitterly sweet
