Imad Afdam

I firmly believe that closed doors don’t mean words don’t matter, so here we are. This was originally going to be sent to Mr. White alone. I’ve even created an IMDB Pro account and attempted to contact a few of his representatives —but to no avail. So, on this merry day I reckoned, why not just share it with the world? What began as a letter to Mike White became a meditation on storytelling, homecoming, and why we’re all just droplets waiting to return to the ocean.                                                                              Photography by: Nathan Perkel/Vulture Dear Mike, I’ve been wanting to write to you for sometime now — after watching the gut-wrenching finale of season 3, I thought, now it’s the time. To thank you maybe? To tell you how much I appreciate the artistry, the h...

Hello M — , Whether you will be reading this whilst still at your layover in Beijing, or maybe you will finally open it in a different land, know that it has been composed while both of us share the same night sky. I am wondering whether I should be introducing myself through these lines — in fear this email might end up in the junks, I must uphold with rules of conduct. This email is not dedicated for potential business collaborations — I am sure you get so many of sorts, especially with your recent surge of followers, nor is it a scam attempt at spamming you with any ads. In fact, I come to you from Instagram. One day, as many things in life, you just popped in my feed, and I have observed your meticulous lifestyle, as any other of your many fans, I’ve relished in the exquisiteness of details you seem to have a particular knack for. Aviation has been one of my closest domains at heart, not that I had dreams of accessing it, I am as clumsy as one can get. My best friend though is an a...

  #3 Sing that song in your head, Do it now. Finish that book, don’t skip the pages, Play the piano, if you don’t know how, Pretend to. Listen to the waves clashing, listen to Ancient instruments from civilizations Who disappeared from the face of the earth. Ask old people things you Won’t find online. Listen to a stranger’s story. Try and read what the clouds are telling you, Teach a small child something, as simple as Not picking up a growing flower, halting its process, as big as the importance Of a daily embrace. Tell that person how much you love them, and share Your many ways of loving. Forgive those who wronged you in the peace of night, In the privacy of your mind, be at peace with who You really are. Accept how you walk, eat and speak.Always, be kind. Laugh whenever you can and when you can’t, Jump at opportunities like a frog jumps on a pond, Live as in a fairy tale, believe in things like Fairies and goblins, write down your dreams and Remember to dream even in daylight....

  The continuation of Part One: A Gallery from my ongoing writing project: Liminal Space. Her ‘’I believe it’s not working,’’ he told her.  Thank Goodness, he isn’t mute, she thought, ’’yeah…’’ She looked up back at him, his eyes weren’t studying her as she suspected, as she had hoped perhaps. His phone in his hand, he typed so fast he could easily break into its screen. Then when she didn’t return a satisfactory reply, beside half smiling half muttering to himself, he met her eyes finally and shrugged, nervously. ‘’You’d expect everything to work so perfectly in areas like these…’’ he continued.  ‘’There’s a coffee just around the corner, next to the toilets—‘’ ‘’Oh, really? That’s cool—‘’  She could sense a thread of conversation was brimming with possibilities, but neither of them dared to touch base with it. He lowered his head to his phone again, his black scarf hiding half of his face. She allowed herself to linger at his wide shoulders for a while, his gaunt c...