Through You. I Find Myself Again.

(a visual essay about twinhood, closeness, contrast, and the return to self)

I watch them.

One looks down. The other runs toward the light.

One is quiet. The other loud.

They stand side by side, and yet their worlds stretch far apart – and still, they touch.

Born of the same body. At the same time.

But each, in her own way.

They are not mirrors. They are a conversation.

A duet – one soft, the other in rhythm.

And I am somewhere in between. Observing. Silent.

Sometimes I laugh. Sometimes I press the shutter.

Rebeka looks to the ground.

Sára looks up at the sun.

One builds her world inward, the other runs out to explore it.

One is like me.

And the other… perhaps the girl I always wished I could be.

Through them, I am learning to love the parts of myself I once tried to quiet.

Their difference is healing.

It teaches me that closeness does not mean sameness.

And that love does not require unity.

These photographs are taken in ordinary places – a playground, a window, a hallway.

But through the lens, they become something more.

Light. Shadow. A layer of what remains unspoken.

Two beings, two worlds – and between them, a silence that breathes.

I watch them every day.

And in the gestures that repeat, in the light that returns,

something quiet shifts within me.

As if, through their presence, I glimpse echoes of my own girlhood.

Not through memory, but through body, image, and touch.

Motherhood is not only a path to them –

it is a slow, gentle return to myself.

And in that silence, I finally begin to hear myself.

Through you – wordless,

I find myself again.

Your mum.