“I looked uncomfortably for cues of inclusion, and swallowed the loneliness of cold, silent nights in my tiny hut. People were not unwelcoming. They were just going about lives which were unfamiliar to me. I quickly understood how alienating such an experience of dislocation from culture could be.”
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I, Benoît Oury, son of Pierre & Sylviane, brother of Chantal, Jean, and Vincent, grandson of Emile, Jeanne, Marie Thérèse and Jean, nephew and cousin of many, former partner of Claire, will honour their stories, aknowledging the cultural background, understanding and sense of belonging they provide.
I will transmit them to Zsuzsa, Sidney and Jean. I will do this in whichever language seems appropriate, without feeling guilt or shame if that language isn’t my mother tongue at that time.
I owe it to my creators.
I owe it to myself.
I owe it to my children.
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Yes. We had another train ride. Melbourne won by four goals.
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