Finally, I was found.

Have you ever found something you made —And had no memory of making it?I found a letter twelve days before I turned fifty.I wrote it when I was fifteen.A month after arriving in Canada.In Farsi — because I didn’t have English words yetfor what I was feeling.She wrote of sadness, loneliness, profound feelings of invisibility.I don’t remember being her.But she kept everything.Every painting. Every poem. Every midnight letter.While her mind was forgetting the darkness —her hands were keeping the record.At sixteen in English she wrote:“The night is black BUT it holds all the colourful things inside.”She wrote BUT because she was hoping.I answer her AND it holds all the colourful things inside.Because I’m fifty now.And I know what she was making in the dark.Is there something in a box somewhere —something your hands kept —that your memory has let go of?I’m Roya Nava.And Everyone deserves to be truly seen.Come join the full conversation in the comments.Related articles for this podcast: See the Googoosh paintings and my reflection on those here» This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit royanava.substack.com