<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8" standalone="yes"?><rss version="2.0" xmlns:atom="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom"><channel><title>Poetic on Garfish Tank</title><link>https://famous-garfish.neocities.org/tags/poetic/</link><description>Recent content in Poetic on Garfish Tank</description><generator>Hugo</generator><language>en-us</language><lastBuildDate>Thu, 30 Apr 2026 00:00:00 +0000</lastBuildDate><atom:link href="https://famous-garfish.neocities.org/tags/poetic/index.xml" rel="self" type="application/rss+xml"/><item><title>The long and winding road</title><link>https://famous-garfish.neocities.org/the-long-and-winding-road/</link><pubDate>Thu, 30 Apr 2026 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate><guid>https://famous-garfish.neocities.org/the-long-and-winding-road/</guid><description>&lt;h2 id="origin"&gt;Origin&lt;/h2&gt;
&lt;p&gt;My daughter has a different mother tongue than I do. She is unique and separate from me in many ways. But I also recognize myself in her often. The anxious summoner of imaginary monsters I was as a child and sometimes still am; the analytic, structured and pragmatic adult I morphed into; the restless collector and experimenter I have always been. There is genetics at play, projection on my part as well, I must assume, probably mirroring habits and behaviours to each other. I observe, guide and protect, she grows, delineates and becomes.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;When my father died, me and my siblings went on a sort of biographical pilgrimage through the country he was born and grew up in. It filled blanks in my head that I didn&amp;rsquo;t know were there. I picture taking my daughter on a trip through my old homes, so she would not fill those blanks by herself. To understand where I came from in time to ask me questions about it.&lt;/p&gt;</description></item></channel></rss>