Amidst the whispers of time, I unearthed my roots—hidden in old files, books, and relics that bore silent witness to lives once lived. Inked trails of ancestors stitched together my lineage through letters, recipes, and faded photographs. Rusted chains and cursed objects spoke of pain and resilience, pressing their weight upon my heart, urging remembrance and honor.

In the East, where the sun rises with ancient wisdom, I found echoes of my spirit. The sea, once a vessel of torment, now cradled my history. Its salty embrace carried memories of voyages and lives traded like commodities. On its shores, I felt the ache of history in my bones, the pulse of furious drums and sacred rites reverberating through me. Rituals etched patterns on my skin, invoking ancestral strength as I danced—a vessel of memory and defiance.

Sweet words and songs lit forgotten narratives, their melodies weaving through my veins. Lyrics of love, rebellion, and survival echoed across time, while the color of my skin bore stories of struggle and triumph. Each scar and shade painted a canvas of resilience, my soul carrying gashes that bled history but healed with pride. In me lived the collective memory of my people—their laughter, tears, and dreams flowing through my being.

At the crossroads of time, I met myself. The mirror reflected not just my face, but the mosaic of generations—heroes unsung, warriors and visionaries etched in constellations. Their courage guided me, anchoring my identity. In this revelation, I found solace. My roots, once scattered, now intertwined. I embraced their complexity—the beauty and the scars. And so, I whispered to the wind, “I found them. Finally, I met myself.” ❤️🙏🏾

©️ Beatriz Esmer

Oil painting 50X50 cm.