Dear Anna,
for the day you turn 18
The morning you were born, the whole world went quiet. I want you to remember where you came from — and how loved you are, from the very first second…
— Mum
SEALED · 30 MAY 2026
THE STORY
Why Nestori exists
I go through my parents' photo albums more often than I admit. Every time, I'm looking for the same thing: to turn a photo over and find something written on the back. The place. The year. One sentence.
A few have it. Most have nothing.
There are landscapes without people and people without context. A long table, faces I can't all name any more. I don't know what they were celebrating. I don't know who took the picture.
I ask my parents and they usually remember — roughly. "That was the summer when…" They look at each other, correct each other, settle on a version. And that version is what stays. Not because they're lying, but because that's what memory does after thirty years: it rounds off, it gets negotiated, it thins out until only the outline is left.
The small details are gone. What I used to say. What made me cry. What an ordinary Tuesday looked like.
My childhood exists, but as their story, not as my memory. And I'm lucky — I still have someone to ask. Not everyone does.
Someone close to me once told me they'd set up an email address in their child's name. They sent photos there, little videos, things they wanted the child to see later. I thought it was a good idea.
I asked them about it a while afterwards. They'd stopped. Not because they'd stopped caring — it had simply faded, the way things fade when they take effort and have nowhere to live.
So I started asking other parents. The same pattern everywhere. Either they dump the whole camera roll into a folder nobody opens again, or they start well and stop after two or three years.
And the ones with more than one child all said the same thing: for the first, they did everything. When the second arrived, there wasn't time. And at some point, not for the first either.
Nobody misses this for lack of love. They miss it for lack of anywhere to put it.
I'm not a parent yet.
When I am, I want to be able to write two lines about what happened today and know they won't be lost. I want my child, twenty years from now, not to depend on how well I remember.
I built Nestori for myself — for the parent I'll be. That other parents are already using it is the part I didn't expect.
You can start today too. The first letter takes two minutes.
Andrei
founder Nestori