To this very day I don’t know if I have a peace-loving spirit or if I was just frightened. I still don’t know if I was afraid of fighting in the mountains, if I was afraid of taking up the gun, or if I truly believed that the liberation of Kurdistan couldn’t be achieved through the barrel of a gun. This plagued me: maybe I was a coward; maybe my cowardice redirected my thoughts towards a preference for peace, redirected my thoughts to privileging the power of the pen, compelled me to pursue cultural expression as resistance.
