Photo by @sheelios
I’ll be honest – I’m not sure exactly why I write.
In a world where we ought to be sure of everything, it feels good to say this.
I want you, whoever you are, to know that it’s okay to be unsure. To know that I move through my work with uncertainty, with questions and doubts and an ever-evolving set of beliefs. That I feel my way through my thoughts and words, and through my experiences in this world. This doesn’t mean I don’t stand for things, but rather that my stance is constantly being shaped the more I live and learn about myself and others. We ought to be open to this type of moulding.
This uncertainty brings a deep curiosity to my work. Whether I’m talking about loneliness or joy or buildings or bodies of water or masses of land or the histories that have gotten us here or a rad concert that made me feel connected to others in a way I usually don’t, that still reverberates through my body today, I’m guided by a sense of wonder. By an urge to know more, to understand more, to feel more. I’m not a minimalist by any means, and it’s difficult for me to see things in a concrete way. Because none of this is concrete, is it?
I’m intrigued by our bodies and our worlds. The relationship between memory, identity and place, psychology and space, community and well-being, and how we choose to express these experiences – through language, art, movement, and more. I breathe and read and write to understand this all.
I live with a desire to be known deeply but am also terrified of the idea. This fear tends to subside most on the page, in fragments that I revisit to make stories of. I’d probably be a singer/songwriter if I could carry a tune. Maybe in another life or a past one. But in this one, I write.
I have a deep love for listening. To music and the birds and other people’s stories. And as I’m doing so, I often find myself making connections between seemingly disparate events, concepts, and experiences. I encounter the world in this way and communicate that best on the page.
And maybe, above all, I write to figure it all out – this world we live in, both physically and within ourselves.
Maybe I write to simply be me.
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Were you looking for my bio?
Yasmin Afshar is a writer who is interested in where and how we live, and the impacts this can have on our identity and wellbeing. Her curiosities are broad but almost always tie back to a landscape of some form, whether that be physical, theoretical, sensory, or emotional. As a city builder who works at the nexus of urban planning, design, and community engagement, Yasmin has a deep appreciation for the impact that connection and belonging can have on our lives, and the importance of histories and lived experiences to place and space.
She has written about loneliness, affordability, grief, and human-centred urban planning and design for publications such as This Magazine, Spacing Magazine, The Possible, Alternatives Magazine, and elsewhere. In 2020, Yasmin also co-published a zine with illustrator and urban designer Eunice M. Wong which documents a temporal reflection on self, home and community in 2020, in support of ESN.
Yasmin holds a Bachelor of Environmental Studies, Honours Planning, from the University of Waterloo, and a Masters of Fine Arts in Creative Nonfiction from the University of King’s College. She is currently writing a book about loneliness and belonging across geographies.