Oficialmente parte del tercer piso 🌞
lil admin update: said goodbye to my 20s with a much needed weekend in the middle of (somewhere). No WiFi and exactly one channel playing back to back Clint Eastwood movies
(Anything but working on my thesis, which is, without a doubt, coming very soon and is NOt being procrastinated)
In December it’ll be one year since I left (my precious)
So please enjoy a recap with fragments, footage, and the people who accidentally held my experience together
Lately, I’ve been collecting slide film—stuff people left behind, tossed in dumpsters, thrift store bins, forgotten in someone’s closet. Memories that weren’t mine, but somehow found their way into my hands.
It started with old negatives from my own past, images I didn’t know existed. There was something painful about it. Seeing photos of my grandma I’d never seen before felt like a quiet hello in passing, exciting at first —brief, simple, real—before the weight of absence settled back in, leaving the moment caught somewhere between old and new. My dad, twenty eight, blowing out a candle while I watch. In another photo, I’m in my mother’s arms—still a kid herself. None of us knew what the fuck we were doing, but we smiled anyway.
I’ve been scanning these pieces of film from Colombia, though what comes through isn’t really geography. It’s a quiet ache, too beautiful and raw to look away from. The colors are sun worn, like they’ve been holding their breath for decades. Seeing them feels like eavesdropping on someone else’s dream—except I’m in it too. Forever nostalgic for a place and time I barely remember.
