The Fire After the Night Before

About a year ago, I lost someone close to me. After the funeral, I found myself staring into flames—candles, burning clothes—without knowing what I was searching for. That gaze became this project: The Fire After the Night Before.

About a year ago, I lost someone close to me.

After the funeral, I found myself pausing in front of flames.：The candles at the service, the fire where my loved one's belongings were burned—I would stare, without meaning to, for long stretches. I didn't know what I was looking for. Perhaps nothing. Perhaps it was precisely because there was nothing that I kept looking.

That's when I began this project:

The Fire After the Night Before

It is a work of fiction, born from grief.

Its starting point is a town on fire. But what comes after the fire—that is what I'm truly searching for: how memory is reshaped by flames, how trauma gives birth to new faith. The unspoken things that keep whispering—about that town, about the ones who survived, about something taking shape in the ashes—formless, invisible, yet capable of reshaping a person's reality.

The longing for truth, the fear of the unknown—they've haunted me. And they've led me here, to this pursuit. This reckoning.

Ashes. Symbols. Vague outlines in the dark.

I don't know what lives inside the fire.

I'm still looking.