The starting point for this work was the phrase “I am writing to fill my waiting,” taken from the novel Night Mail by writer Hoda Barak, and a small photograph adopted from the Archive of Ordinary Story Collections (ACHO). It is an old image: a woman, one hand resting on a railing. Her posture evokes waiting—perhaps the very act of being captured in the photograph.

 From these references, I explore various forms of writing as an exercise in reflecting on the fragmentation of time. A time without rhythm, scattered from lived experience. A time without permanence, without the duration of the present. Writing emerges through small gestures that come from the body—the body that perceives and recognizes itself in slow, repetitive movements. Repetition soothes, anchors us in the present, and in that state, we become whole.