Places we call home. Inside out. Outside in. 

As I watch many buildings in my neighborhood, as in many other neighborhoods across the city, being  pulled  down only to be  replaced by ugly wannabe modern buildings, the loss of building name signs, handrails, mail boxes, pavement decorations and many alike tap into a kind of nostalgia for many of us who feel ever-more alienated to the city we are living in. And I am very much aware it is pretty much the same story all around the world. 

Landmarks like an umbilical cord bond  us to the places we call home… When all those familiar places  are gone, fond  memories of childhood stare at us  awkwardly. Were they for real or an illusion? As we age, we  realize how much it matters to be rooted somewhere. A part of me is weeping while another part of me is practicing “letting go” and growing up. Desperately documenting the feel of my neighborhood before it vanishes right in front of my eyes.

 

 

 

  

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