Exile has a way of making everything feel far — your people, your purpose, your self.
During one of the most isolated periods of my life, I began writing letters. Not to be sent, but to survive. In these letters, I poured out rage, longing, memory, and hope. They became both personal therapy and political testimony.
In this blog, I share excerpts from some of those letters — and how they evolved into the foundation for larger works. I reflect on how the letter format allows for intimacy, and how writing across borders becomes an act of reclamation.
This post is for anyone who has felt displaced — physically or emotionally — and found comfort in words.