Monthly Archives

November 2016

Child sexual abuse: Berlin, on memories and loss

  • 28th November 2016

I was sitting in a corner, looking for a brief reprieve from the morning’s hubbub, and chancing upon a magazine on... Continue Reading

Child sexual abuse: On Spotlight

  • 28th November 2016

Recently, I was handed a copy of David Brooks’ article “The Moral Bucket List” in the Sunday Review of the New... Continue Reading

Child sexual abuse: On forgiveness and healing

  • 28th November 2016

There are three things to remember as you reach this stage of your journey. First, is forgiving your abuser a necessary... Continue Reading

Child sexual abuse: Goodbye Grandma

  • 28th November 2016

“You’re the light, you’re the night, You’re the colour of my blood You’re the cure, you’re the pain You’re the only... Continue Reading

Child sexual abuse: Grandpa

  • 28th November 2016

“I am terrified by this dark thing That sleeps in me; All day I feel its soft, feathery turnings, its malignity.”... Continue Reading

Child sexual abuse: On the folly of age

  • 28th November 2016

On the telly last night, a teacher posed a question about what the tale of Romeo and Juliet was really about.... Continue Reading

Child sexual abuse: On a love story

  • 28th November 2016

Writing a paper, I am plugged in, listening to Taylor Swift’s “Love Story”. Marry me, Juliet, you’ll never have to be... Continue Reading

Child sexual abuse: On custodians of our memories

  • 28th November 2016

If you remember me, then I don’t care if everyone else forgets. – Kafka on the Shore, by Haruki Murakami. In... Continue Reading

Child sexual abuse: On handwritten notes

  • 28th November 2016

In The Age of Discretion, Simone de Beauvoir wrote on the importance of handwritten letters: “You are not alone as you... Continue Reading

Child sexual abuse: On the flotsam of memories

  • 28th November 2016

Margaret Atwood once wrote, “In the end, we’ll all become stories”. To be the detritus of memories, flotsam. Washed up on... Continue Reading