Borderlines to the Soul

Four Passports: A Journey to Acceptance

Moroccan. Israeli. French. American.

One soul, four identities.

In the raw stillness of a building in Paris 12, between Belleville and Saint-Paul, I peeled memory from the walls.

Torn wallpaper, layered with time ,as if the city itself was offering its skin.

I carry four passports, each a fragment of where I come from.

But paper does not hold identity , only echoes of it.

A passport is proof of origin.

Acceptance is proof of self.

This work is my way home.

Diaspora of One.

Borderlines of the Soul