Migration carries the promise of a better life, but for families from the Middle East, it often comes with a hidden cost — separation. When loved ones scatter across continents, the family unit fractures. Years pass. Distance becomes the new normal.
I am the youngest of nine children from Kurdistan, Iran. My two eldest sisters, Shehin and Shahla, emigrated before I was even born. After that, our family was never whole in one place again. We were spread across Iran, Switzerland, Denmark, and Germany — connected only by phone calls and fading photographs.
Our mother dreamed of seeing us all together. We made plans, again and again, but bringing nine people from four countries together seemed impossible. The cost was too great. The distance was too far.
Then, on June sixth, twenty twenty three, our mother passed away. In losing her, we finally found the urgency to fulfill her wish. Even without her, we would try.
Twenty days in Istanbul. A city that was not our home, but where we could finally stand as one. Through my camera, I felt her presence — like a motherly embrace holding us together at last. And for the first time, I captured what our mother always wanted: a family photograph, complete and whole.
