Maud Eikenaar

“Nou… dan weet je eigenlijk genoeg.”

A train rumbles past. Flashes of light stream in through the narrow windows above the bar. The deafening noise almost knocks Marit off her stool. The windows look as if they’re about to fall out of their frames. Any moment now, the lamps will shatter violently onto the dark brown tiles.

The barmaid stoically waits out the racket, managing to catch Marit’s glass just in time. Marit doesn’t seem to be taking any of it in.

“Eierstokkanker. Fase 4.”
 

LIMBO explores what remains when death is given a date. How do we cope with loss when it threatens to swallow us whole?

Mijn moeder had longkanker.
Ze was bang toen ze stierf.
Heel bang.

Marit staart vooruit, onbewust van de in- en uitstroom van de mensen in de kroeg.

Nou, ik wil dat in ieder geval niet.
Ik wil in ieder geval voorbereid zijn, Ja…

Uiteindelijk zou ik heel graag euthanasie willen.
Want dan heb ik het zelf in de hand.

Je gaat slapen, en het is klaar.

Ja, en palliatieve sedatie... Nee. Dan krijg je het toch nog mee. En ik hoef dat niet mee te krijgen. Nee. 

Maud Eikenaar (2002) loves people and their emotions. Turning big things into something small and personal. Within her autofictional and prosaic stories, she believes in breaking taboos and discussing feelings, even when they are ugly, because that is what makes us human. Her work often revolves around themes such as death, drug use and family trauma. The things we would rather hide away and ignore. 

In her final-year research project, Kutzooi, and her final-year project, LIMBO, several years of curiosity and fascination come together in a quest to answer the question: What do we do when death is given a date?