Voices & Stories
The Voices project shows faces, stories, and what lies behind them.
Preface
For those reading between the lines
This is the story of a child whose beginnings are largely unknown.
What we do know: he was born in India and arrived in Germany at nine months of age. Everything in between is a fog of missing names, forgotten places, and silent records.
His adoption was anonymous. The conditions – most likely difficult.
And yet: someone opened a door for him.
This book is about what happens when a door opens. About becoming a bridge between worlds. About turning uncertainty into possibility.
The pages that follow speak to children – in simple words and big images. And they speak to adults – between the lines, between the pictures, between the memories.
This story is an invitation: To listen. To reflect. To tell your own story. To become a door-opener. A bridge. A builder of what comes next.
#1
Where I Come From
I was born in India, but nobody knows exactly where.
Many people came and went – but no one stayed long.
I cried a lot.
They gave me sugary water, but little closeness.
I was tiny. And I waited.
#1 Where I Come From
More Context
#2
Someone is Searching
Far away, two people wanted to help a child.
They had no idea who I was.
But they wanted to find me.
They believed in me before they met me.
And they came.
More Context
BACKUP
#2 Someone is Searching
#3
The Journey
A man came, lifted me up – very gently.
I was very weak.
But I could fly.
Above the clouds.
Into a new country.
#3 The Journey
#4
A New Home
Everything was new: smells, voices, colors.
I got a coat, a name, a voice.
I grew.
Slowly.
But I lived.
#4 A New Home
#5
True Color Friends
We connect by feeling, not by status.
Some stay. Some leave.
Some surprise us – in the best or worst ways.
Real friends let us be.
And sometimes, less is more.
What did friendship mean to you?
#5 True Color Friends
#6
The Heart Map
I learned what matters:
Listening.
Compassion.
Being real.
And that every person counts.
#6 The Heart Map
#7
Back to India
I returned at 18.
It was loud, colorful, strange – and familiar.
I was excited.
But it also hurt.
Sometimes both at once.
#7 Back to India
#8
Who I Became
I grew older.
I worked with words, with people, with ideas.
Sometimes I won.
Sometimes I failed.
But I kept going.
#8 Who I Became
#9
And Thailand?
I went to Thailand too.
All alone, to a monastery.
It was quiet – unlike anything before.
I felt light.
And I brought a little dog home.
#9 And Thailand?
#X
To the North
Many homes. Many faces.
Cats. Jobs. Friends.
Deep connections.
A true companion.
Seasons passed. I stayed.
And changed.
A lot.
#10
Crossing Points
Some waves don’t come from the sea.
Some arrive in your heart, all at once.
A place you must leave.
A goodbye you didn’t expect.
And somehow, a new place to begin.
Every end can contain a new beginning.
You have to move. And learn to stand again.
IMG: A teenager (around 16–18 years old) stands alone in nature at a visible fork in the path. quiet, not sad.
@tk2:
Scene: View from behind or slightly sideways. The figure appears calm and thoughtful. Two clearly defined paths branching gently: One slightly shaded and narrower. One more open and lightly sunlit. Surroundings: soft hills, a few scattered trees, light movement in the grass, peaceful natural setting.
Idea: Real component: A typically path in a Thai forest (for example, because eThailand is a crossing point for me since the last 25 years. Again and again.)
#10
#10 Crossing Points
#11
Goodbye
My mother got sick.
I went to her.
We talked – so much that had been silent for years.
Then she left.
And I stayed.
IMG: Hospital / Hospice scene with soft light. Mother in bed, me holding her hand. Real room from photo.
@tk2:
From the real photo of her last room
Idea: Real component: Maybe + little lamb
#11 Goodbye
#12
Back to the Beginning
I moved back to where it all began.
Back to the city of my childhood.
I was close to my father again.
This time, I had something to give.
And give back.
The circle closed.
IMG: The three buildings were I have lived in Fürth (last one the current one). And in formt of this one maybe me with a bx under the arm - symbolizing my relocation back to this place
@tk2:
Idea: Real component: The building(s) it self - or a nice viel of the beautiful street in which I lived in different houses (maybe easier to draw)
#12 Back to the Beginning
#13
Create Connections
I started the India Child Care association.
For kids who struggle like I did.
And even more so.
We initiated a school.
Connected with beekeepers.
And launched art projects together with Teresa.
Because stories can open what fear keeps closed.
#13 Create Connections
#14
Who Stays
Some talk a lot. But do little.
Others say nothing. And simply stay.
Not everyone who stays, stays well.
I’ve seen it all.
And I’ve learned, once again:
The quietest presence is often the strongest.
Because actions speak louder than words.
Always.
IMG: A few children painting or playing. They are completely absorbed, without excitement, without seeking attention. The surroundings are quiet. No chaos, no noise. Perhaps one child is painting with watercolors. Another is sitting on the floor and putting together something from building blocks. A third is looking up at the sky or quietly drawing.
@tk2:
They are there. Simply there. Without calculation. Without tactics. Without a mask. And that is precisely what makes their presence so strong. An adult (or even better: a couple) stands slightly in the background, observing them quietly. Not from the center, but from the edge. They may smile slightly - as someone who has just realized: "This is it. This is real existence." We are the couple 😍
Idea: Real component: The whole image idea. Maybe NM- kids + Priyanka
#14 Who stays
Who Stays
Some talk a lot. But do little.
Others say nothing. And simply stay.
Not everyone who stays, stays well.
I’ve seen it all.
And I’ve learned, once again:
The quietest presence is often the strongest.
Because actions speak louder than words.
Always.
#15
#15
And you?
Here’s what you can take with you – if you like:
A. You matter – even when you feel small.
B. Everyone is different – and that’s a good thing.
C. Grown-ups are just kids – with more stories.
IMG: Three doors. Behind each, a child. Each door is different. A ray of sunlight connects them.
#16-20
#16-20
Dad’s path > Mom’s path > My review > Conclusions (PCD) > Next
……
His Path
Born just after the war.
An older brother.
A wounded father. A loving mother.
Photos of the first child.
Few of the second.
He felt it.
Even when no one said a word.
Stepped-Down Child: boy sits in the shadow – above him, the brother’s portrait shines. Post-War Silhouettes: A father with a war wound – only echoes of the past behind him.
Her Path
Worked too young.
Cried too much.
One night changed something.
Love mixed with fear.
Lost children.
Truth came late.
Wounds stayed long.
Idea: A little girl stands on an upside-down crate at a steaming kitchen table. Her small hands are wrapped in bandages.. The pots tower over her. Rising steam creates shadows — one of them forms a looming, faceless male figure in the background. Her posture is weary, her eyes tired. Style: Childlike drawing in dark, dusty pastels. Strong contrast between the girl’s fragile size and the overwhelming kitchen. The steam symbolizes both heat and hidden tension. Emotional, symbolic, but simple in form.
My View
Some puzzles take time.
Some truths take decades.
Too late, things begin to click.
The hidden wounds of my parents.
Words too late - or never spoken.
It changed the picture.
Of us. Of others.
Deep Lines
So much was said.
But not truly heard.
So much was shared.
But not really known.
Profound wounds never healed –
just managed.
Together, yet alone.
Connected, yet apart.
Health on the surface –
but storms underneath.
Decay came slow,
then all at once.
And near the end,
the picture began to change.
Afterwards, completely.
There are better ways.
Better choices.
Come closer.
Now.
From Ubon to yuu
It began at the night market of Ubon.
Where children drew.
Week after week.
Together. With her.
They felt seen.
Safe.
And something opened.
A friend in Bangkok –
her closest one –
sent brushes and colors.
The children never met her,
but they felt her care.
This story carries their spirit.
And the love of two women –
one by their side,
one from afar.
If you hold a story too –
or wish to walk with ours:
Get in touch.
Text us – we’ll answer.
Afterword
What Became of This Story
The story you just read isn’t only in the past.
It continues – in real places, with real people, in real projects.
Today we support children in India who might’ve been forgotten – like I once almost was.
We make honey with schools, work with youth –
and tell stories so that hope can grow.
If you’d like to help, you can find out more here:
www.indiachildcare.org
Your story matters, too.
Maybe you’ve lived through something.
Something hard. Something beautiful.
Something that shaped who you are.
If you’d like to share your story, we’d love to hear it.
Some stories may become part of printed books.
Others might be shared online – or grow into something completely new.
If you’d like to be part of this growing circle, just reach out.
You can send us your story, your questions, or your ideas. We read everything – and we answer with an open heart.
The Book behind the Book
For those who feel there’s more:
This story is based on real experiences.
Many things could only be touched on here –
too deep, too complex, or too real for a children’s book.
Another publication is in the making:
“The ABC- Book” – for adults and older teens.
It speaks of roots and ruptures, of silence and truth,
of what heals us and what we can become.
If something in this story resonated with you –
if you carry a story of your own,
or want to build bridges, plant seeds, or open doors –
Join us.
We work with the stories of children, families, adults and real communities
in Germany, India and Thailand.
And every time someone joins –
something changes. For them, and for us.
