I found an old magazine from before the most recent revolution in my country. It came from a time that was more progressive than now, yet even then, discrimination was extreme and undeniable. The pages were filled with direct hostility, women and minorities are made fun of, degraded, reduced to warnings and insults. Back then, we were at least acknowledged, even if only to be attacked. Now, we are erased entirely. And there seems to be no place in time, where we would fit in.
I glued my own photos onto these pages, fragments of life, of people close to me. I edited these images with the topographical map of my homeland, reducing its weight to nothing but lines. As if that could lessen its hold on me. My homeland is more than just a place, but it has never been a home.