The Island of Missing Trees

by Elif Shafak

A map is a two-dimensional representation with arbitrary symbols and incised lines that decide who is to be our enemy and who is to be our friend, who deserves our love and who deserves our hatred and who, our sheer indifference. Cartography is another name for stories told by winners. For stories told by those who have lost, there isn’t one.

But, then again, anyone who expects love to be sensible has perhaps never loved.

People assume it’s a matter of personality, the difference between optimists and pessimists. But I believe it all comes down to an inability to forget. The greater your powers of retention, the slimmer your chances at optimism.

Some day this pain will be useful to you.

If you go to Cyprus today, you can still find tombstones of Greek widows and Turkish widows, engraved in different alphabets but with a similar plea: If you find my husband, please bury him next to me.

If you weep for all the sorrows in this world, in the end you will have no eyes.’

I believe in legends and in the unspoken secrets they try to gently convey.