South Sailing on the light blinded by the sun, riding on the violent luminosity of the afternoon. The dreadful, sweet whiteness blowing onto my face. Twinkles of greens, gentle trees dancing while I spin below, feet on the flowers arms into the air. Those summer afternoons, the only memories that are not meaningless.
North West It was far away and it rained. That was enough for a while. Those were the days when we rebuilt trivial happiness. A fragile bubble, the imposture finally became boring.
North The sum of all the sorrows in the still, frozen winter of Labrador. The cold had never been so violent: a thousand knocks painful as thorns hitting our faces, while death pierced our souls. We had never been so lonely, so numb or so sad, so lost or so dark, as in those long winter nights.
East On this island of days without sea and seasons without sky, maybe it is time here, to stop, to suppress the temptation of the next escape.
Carolina Tytelmanis an anthropologist living and working in the Canadian province of Newfoundland and Labrador. Originally from Argentina, she now lives in the city of St. John’s with her family.