him
For over half a century, my great-grandmother and grandmother shared their lives under one roof. When my great-grandmother passed away, my grandmother was ensnared by the grip of dementia for years.
In an attempt to understand my grandmother's fragmented world, I tried to imagine her scattered memories and emotions. Through this exploration, I created an unfinished 1:36 animation. I hope that, in time, this work will evolve into a completed piece, perhaps in another form.
He pulled my rib out, then I became a chair that lost one piece of wood.
“There's no trace to find his path,” they said.
“You'll discover him when he wrinkles your skin like crumpling a paper,” some argued.
But the truth is, you can simply notice him, from the imbalance shape of us. Equipped with the same function and living for the same purpose, yet, oddly we can not blend into each other.
He sprinkles fairy dust as we bow our heads and dive into work. Suddenly, he took you away, along with my thoughts. Then, words crumbled and slipped through my fingers. The dust is getting thicker and no longer sparkles. Now I stray in this concrete container, staring at people come and leave every day without heeding my existence. Sometimes, I fade away from my body and realize that even I forgot I was there.
Weeds sprang up and got messier than yesterday. They danced and danced like children's laughter, tickling my tongue and itching my ears. They are like soil absorbing all my memories and emotions, leaving my throat dried out. Yet I sit still inside here, silent, like an old dull trunk.
My breath is the footsteps of the man I've never met. I count it carefully and wait for him. May he remember to take me away before too long.
