I have lived in Kvemo Alvani for 17 years, the village where a woman is not encouraged to pursue personal development or career growth. It can be felt in every aspect, every issue, stereotypical thinking of people and the attitudes towards a woman’s role and
„I identify myself as a queer. Being a queer for me primarily means confronting with heteronormativity, recognizing and realizing that sexual orientation and gender identity is not binary, but a spectrum. Before getting there, I walked a long and difficult road. For a long time I
„A scene in a kindergarten: - Why are you crying?! You are not a sissy, are you?!” – The preschool teacher scolds my son. - Calling someone sissy is rude! Besides, boys cry too! – My angry son retorts. I am summoned to the kindergarten. In my opinion, fostering
„War! Even the sound of this word is terrible and imagine surviving the actual war. It was June 22 of 1941. I was a 10th grade pupil. In the yard where I lived, a radio was installed on a tree, broadcasting news. That morning they
„My twin sister and I were born in Chechnya. We were very small when the war broke out and our parents took us to Georgia together with other refugees. Since then we have lived in the Pankisi Gorge. Now there are already six siblings in
Elene Dariani’s personality has been wrapped in mystery in the history of the Georgian literature. 14 poems in the literary works of Paolo Iashvili, a famous Georgian poet, are combined under the name of the ‘Darian cycle’. Therefore, until recently it was thought that these
„I know for sure that I would have a different life if I were not an internally displaced person. All the difficulties in my life are associated with this status. I used to work as a teacher in Gali. My kid was very small then,
„The worst period of my life was the time I spent in prison. I avoid remembering it as much as I can. I think I have talked about so much that I’ve finally exhausted it, but I still have to relive my horrible experience every
„All my life I’ve seen nothing but suffering… I was six when my mother died. I remember myself running in our land plot, yelling “mom’s dead”. At 7, I went to school. I didn’t have any clothes to wear. They cut up my mothers clothes,