my sandbox, then the real world is my hourglass – and hourglass that drains grain by grain. Literature gives me life, and life kills me.” Each manuscript, once completed, is exiled into boxes in the empty rooms and bathrooms of her apartment. Aaliya's life's work is uncommunicated, unknown, invisible – much in the way that Aaliya is, herself. She is keenly aware of this obscurity, and Alemeddine writes of how alone she is, “how utterly inconsequential my life has become, how sad.” Aaliya manifests…
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