My name is Sia Anthal. I live in Constanta, Romania. I write poetry and prose, and I am deeply passionate about art, sports, and literature. I decided to submit this work after discovering this open call on this topic, which resonated with me, especially as I have experienced certain health issues that were underdiagnosed.
Currently, I am learning German and French, and I work as a massage therapist. I began studying biology at university, but I had to interrupt my studies because my health concerns were not taken seriously at the time. Now I am doing well, and I am determined to resume my studies. In addition, I am currently taking a storytelling course, and I am also working on a historical fiction novel.
The light
You cannot look me in the eye, unless you pass through the black of my lenses.
I prefer the darkness;
Light attracts insects.
Pain is a hand turning me from one side to the other;
Pain is a cocoon grown too narrow. Light settles upon my eyes as if it knows that is where it hurts.
I embrace you, but carefully, so as not to wound myself in the light of your phone screen.
When it hurts, I listen to a book; when it hurts, I try to write,
Using methods they said I wasn’t “sick enough” to use. One more image, one more letter in enlarged font,
One more step on a surface too steep.
The rope between my temples stretches, ready to snap;
The ciliary muscles groan in an excruciating spasm.
I haven’t kept pace.
It’s as if all the writing in books has been erased for me.
My head burns.
I have volcanic rocks in my sockets.
And yet, I must always prove what I feel through a piece of paper.
I need a paper that never comes.
I am a prisoner between a graphic world and a world of sounds.
I insert meaningless symbols into a document, guided only by a screen-reader,
In the hope that I will set myself free
That someone might understand
Everything I am ashamed to say,
And all the pain…
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