The yellow one

“Mom, are we watching the movies, or are they watching us?”

“Well, of course, we are watching. And if it’s the other way around, what do they see?”

“That we’re shouting, fooling around”

When I was a child, my mother kept a notebook of the things I said — small phrases, or our little dialogues. I embroidered one of those conversations on a yellow sweatshirt — the one I found in a thrift store in Tbilisi this May, when I met up with my parents there. The sweatshirt is about 30 years old, almost the same age as the phrase.

I often stitch fragments of my childhood and life because it feels important to make memory wearable, and embroidery functional, not just decorative.

It's interesting that even as a child, I was exploring the idea of being seen. Now, when I read this dialogue again, it is no longer only about the joy of being noticed, but also about unease. If the world is watching us, what does it see? Wars, violence, destruction, irresponsibility? To be visible brings warmth, but also responsibility: if we all look at one another, what do we do with that sight? Do we witness, do we protect, or do we use it to harm?

Right now, I’m going through a difficult time of reflecting on my own visibility. I'm watching those who are watching me. In this period I’ve had the most genuine, profound conversations, and also the most honest and painful ones — both with loved ones and with strangers.

“Mom, I already know so much and have learned so much, I didn’t know such happiness when I was 4 years old”

To wear this line on my chest is a reminder: to keep sounding out, to keep showing up, and to remember both how we look, and how we are looked at.

IG: @masha_and_film

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