Dear Yves

Image result for new york postcard

Dear Yves,

Thank you for the lovely postcards! Look at you gallivanting around the world. What an exciting life! As I write this, I sit from across a souvenir store here in Washington D.C. There is a T-shirt with Trump’s face on it and I’m looking directly at his eyes. I try my best not to shake my head of disgust. Tomorrow is his inauguration as President of the United States of America. What have we done, am I right? I still hope the day would come where I can just erase him and his existence from my memory. But for now, I guess I’ll just swallow all this hate. I believe we’ll get through this. We are, after all, a super generation (despite the older people thinking otherwise). I was thinking, I never really cared for who lived inside the White House. Now I realized that because Obama lived there before, someone who I respected and admired, I didn’t really worry because of the safety and peace of mind his leadership gave me. Now that Trump will be living there, I hate the idea of the White House all of a sudden.

I’m going on a road trip with my family to Louisiana in two months. We’re stopping by Tennessee, and who knows, maybe decide to go to Texas while we’re at it. I don’t know why I feel fearful. I just don’t know what to expect from visiting states that aren’t as blue as New York or Maryland. I’m not prepared for racial encounters. I don’t know how to handle stares if we decide to eat at a restaurant full of only Caucasians. I didn’t really worry much about me as an immigrant before. But now I don’t feel as safe as I used to. Anyway, that’s my life.

I’ll try to send you postcards from Louisiana and smear some gravy on it. I can’t wait to taste original Southern chicken and biscuits. Soul food makes the soul good. 😉 Ciao!


Ma cherie,

Last Thursday, we went to see the Jewish Memorial here in Berlin. What follows are my two favorite things in the museum that really made me sad.

1. A postcard from Suzanne Burinovici to her daughter Claudine, written in the transit camp Drancy near Paris on September 26, 1942 (via Centre de Documentation Juive, Contemporaine, Paris)



It says,

My dear,

don’t separate from Michel. Don’t let yourself be taken to the children’s home. Write to Papa, maybe he can help you, and write to Paulette. Ask for the furrier across the way for his advice. Maybe God will pity you. We are leaving tomorrow, for who knows where. I’m hugging you, in tears. I would so much have loved to hug you again, my poor children, I will never see you again.


2. An excerpt from Oskar Rosenfeld’s diary, a Viennese writer and journalist. He recorded the events from September 1942 when the 15,000 Jews were being transported from Lotz to Chelmno. He was also deported from Lotz to Auschwitz and was murdered there. (via Yad Vashem, Jerusalem)


It says,

Autumn now. 1 September. September resettlement with its horrors. A story in itself. It doesn’t especially needed to be recorded here. If something like that was possible, what else would be? Why war still? Why hunger still? Why a world still?