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I'm not from this neighborhood, no. I'm not here to document or to understand what's going on. There is magic and grief on this neighborhood's semi-rotten streets. The ground beneath this place's everlasting trees and buildings became invaluable. This place is called Tozkoparan: Named after the powerful winds that rip off the dust from the ground. These are the same winds that always protected this neighborhood from demolition - until last summer. Earth diggers came around. The police threw tear gas, cut the gas and the electricity. Several streets have been completely evacuated. Even though they eventually managed to terminate this destruction, some of the residents who are primarily middle-aged, lost their lives during the resistance. What's done cannot be undone. Why am I here though?

I became a long-time guest of this neighborhood. A guest of my boyfriend and his family, living here for three generations and waiting for the inevitable end. In the meantime, I wander around during the evenings, after the trade center surrounding the neighborhood shuts down. As the legal alien, I wonder about the resemblance between here and the Ship Of Theseus. Will this Tozkoparan remain the same Tozkoparan with all its original components replaced? 

I am not from this neighborhood, but my pictures are. I'm leaving behind a family album to my hosts, an album of grief and love. I take a final look and ask myself, what will we become after all is done; this neighborhood and this town?

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