Letters Sent and Never Arrived

I have always loved to write letters and to receive them. There is something about a handwritten letter that captures the soul, rather than an email or a text, and I have a treasured box of received letters that are keepers. As a teenager, way before the digital age, I was so terrified of someone finding my writings (or of them getting lost in the many moves), that I ended up sending my musings, much like diary entries, to a trusted friend. She kept them sealed and safe for me. Letters to myself to be read by an older version of myself again one day. Twenty some years later, when I was finally ready to read them, my friend sent these letters back to me. Long story short, they got lost in the mail. 'Letters Never Arrived'. Almost ten years ago, I wrote a blogpost about my lost letters. In the end, those letters did not matter -- the memories that I shared with my dear friend did. The act of sending my writing to a 'safe place' gave me the courage to write them in the first place. Perhaps those letters were only meant to be written and never meant to be read again.

Both pictures taken in Gouda, the Netherlands (2019/1987)

Megan Norton, who I met through FIGT, came up with the wonderful idea for Letters Now Sent, inspired by Ruth Van Reken’s Letters Never Sent. She "wanted to invite people who have lived cross-culturally to write letters—not polished essays or anonymous journal entries, but real, signed, vulnerable letters to and from the people who have shaped their journeys [...] in these letters, there is an invitation: to lean in, to listen with curiosity instead of judgment, and to honor the complexities of our shared humanity." (Why I Compiled Letters Now Sent by Megan Norton). Anja certainly shaped my journey and leaves a treasured mark in me and in so much of my writing. She passed away on November 29, 2024. Thankfully, I was able to still see her one last time a month earlier and say goodbye. I miss her every day and yet I feel her presence within and around me often. When Megan approached me about writing a letter for this new collection, it only seemed fitting to write my letter to her, and I have to trust that it somehow has reached her.

Letter Now Sent

Lieve Anja, 

You were definitely my favorite primary school teacher, and I cannot remember a single thing you taught me. I will always remember the way you made me feel: heard, seen, and safe.

I will never forget the moment I walked into that school building in Gouda. I was nine years old and we had recently moved back to the Netherlands (to the little Dutch town where I had spent the first five years of my life) from Switzerland, where I had attended an international school since kindergarten. I was nervous, scared and excited all at the same time. 

Early that morning, my mom and I walked into the school building and the hallways were still quiet. All the other kids were playing outside in the courtyard. You walked down the stairs and greeted me with a warm smile.

“Hi there, can I help you? Are you new here?” you asked. 

“Yes, I am.”

“Which class will you be going to?”  

“Third grade,” I replied.“Oh, what a shame — I teach fifth grade! I wish you’d be joining my class.” 

We stood there for a few minutes as you asked me questions about where I had lived and how I felt about being back in the Netherlands. All I could think was, I can’t wait to go to fifth grade. And even now, forty years later, third and fourth grade are a blur. Fifth grade was probably my happiest year at school ever. And as the years passed, you weren’t just my teacher any more—you became like a second mother to me and a dear family friend. You welcomed me into your life, into your family, and we created so many memories in different places, from Gouda to  Switzerland to Ghana. 

You stayed in touch while I moved, again, and again, and again. You encouraged me to always follow my heart. You taught me that life was not always going to be easy, and gave me the confidence to manage the tough times. When things got difficult, you always encouraged me to “chase the bears away” whenever I’d find them on my path. For our wedding gift you gave us Going on a Bear Hunt,  a story that has been read with so much love, so many times, to Josephine and Madeleine. And whenever I came to you in tears, I always left our conversation with a smile on my face and usually a good belly laugh.

2017 with Josephine & Madeleine and Anja's sister Dorien

Almost two and half years ago you called me on my birthday — to wish me a happy birthday and also because you finally had found the courage to tell me that you were suffering from Alzheimers. 

The road was quick from there and unfortunately it all happened while my father was also very sick. I was not with you in those last years as much as I wish I could have been. Meanwhile, my dad also struggled with his memory as mostly dark clouds settled over his mind in his final years. 

You however, always found ways to highlight the bright side, at least to me. You always reminded me to find the light and to treasure those we love. “Life is nothing without friendship” you once wrote to me and then years later you sent me the song “You can’t make old friends.” 

People often ask me if you actually gave me a version of a My Moving Booklet when I moved, as you were featured as ‘Juf Anja’ in my book B at Home: Emma Moves Again. You never did. 

You did model to me what it looks like when a teacher cares. You did model what it looks like to approach difficult conversations around identity and belonging when we’re only 10 or 11 years old. You did model that even in your fifties there’s no reason not to jump off the mountain with a parachute. You did model that value and purpose cannot be measured by your bank account and that sharing the little we have can be even more rewarding. You did model that we can make small changes that have big impacts. You did model that transitions happen through all walks of life to people everywhere, and how to support them. And, you did model that you can dream big no matter what. 

August 2023

The last time I saw you, just a month before you passed away in November 2024, there was nothing left of the larger than life woman I was so proud to call my favorite teacher and my friend. However, you - your soul, your being, your presence - left such an incredible mark on all of us who were lucky enough to have known you.

You always encouraged me to write. As a teenager I was mortified that someone would find my writing so I would put it in sealed envelopes and send them in packages to you instead. You kept them safe for me for years. Unfortunately, they became my letters that never arrived — when I was finally ready to read them, you sent them back to me and somehow they must have gotten lost in the mail. Perhaps they were never meant to be read, and only meant to be written. It only seems fitting that my letter here is written to you. I trust it will reach you somehow. 

I treasure all the memories that we built together. Yet, it is that welcoming smile and those words of kindness on my first day of school that stand out to me the most. And as I became a teacher and passionate about the transitions-care work I do, I often reflect on the power of a simple act of kindness, especially in the moments when we feel in between worlds and unsure of where we belong. I am so grateful that at an early age you taught me that a strong sense of belonging can be planted in a very small gesture of kindness. 

Dankjewel lieve An — ik hou van jou.  Kus, Valérie 

First published in the book "Letters Now Sent", a collection of cross-cultural experiences by Megan Norton-Newbanks

If you would like to explore more personal reflections and stories from people navigating cross-cultural lives and complex emotions, consider reading Letters Now Sent (2025) compiled by Megan C. Norton. This beautiful collection of letters reflect growth, healing, and the human experience across different cultures. Get your copy today!