always love each other, never get married

When I was a younger, I discovered a white briefcase filled with photographs and fragments of my parents’ early life together — their youth, their wedding, their beginnings.

The briefcase was among other things meant to be thrown away. Once opened, I realised it contained the traces of a life before mine, and I instinctively tried to rescue something. I took a handful of images and hid them in a box beneath my dolls’ clothes.

A few days later, the briefcase disappeared — and with it, the visible remains of my parents’ shared memories.

Over time, I began to revisit the rescued images — organising, reworking, and reanimating what had survived. In these photographs, I trace the sedimented layers of affection, silence, and disappearance that shaped my family’s story. The images have become both an archive and a site of erosion, where what was once vivid has faded, and yet continues to resurface.

Through this work, I attempt to reconstruct my parents’ story — not as a faithful restoration, but as an act of transformation. By layering fragments of the past with my own presence, I explore how memory accumulates, dissolves, and reconfigures over time — how what is buried can still speak through its remains.