Photos help us see things, and also help us not see things.
We forget, and yet—we remember.
We remember through fragments that are not ours, through scenes we never lived but somehow feel familiar.
Memory becomes not a record, but a reconstruction. A blend of truth and invention.
I photographed eight students—myself among them—who were born in China and crossed oceans to study in New York.
I asked them of home. Of early years. Of what still lingers.
Then, I photographed each one in a space that evoked a feeling—not of fact, but of memory. Places that were not from their childhoods, yet stirred something within: a sense of déjà vu, a sudden nostalgia, the echo of a moment never truly lived.
It was a fun, sentimental trip.
Memories are gems that people neglect. I try to pick them up again, but it is not easy.