In the face of pressures that can lead to feelings of isolation and disconnection, familiar objects and spaces can be a source of resilience.
They remind us of our roots, our personal histories, and the communities we belong to.
Imagine a world where a catastrophic event or a deliberate act of oppression has wiped out collective memory. People wake up in a society where history has been erased, rewritten, or simply forgotten.
This scenario mirrors the Khmer Rouge’s attempt to erase Cambodian history and culture.
They destroyed records,executed intellectuals, and forced people to conform to their ideology. The goal was to create a new society unburdened by the past.
The brutal actions of the military junta in Myanmar, including the Rohingya genocide and the suppression of dissent.
In Laos, the legacy of the Secret War and the ongoing marginalisation of ethnic groups reveal a persistent struggle for autonomy and human rights.
Even in Vietnam, economic progress exists alongside the scars of war, limitations on political expression, and a one-party system.
Remarkably, even in the face of adversity, memory is resilient. Even when it’s suppressed or distorted, it finds ways to surface.
By intimately portraying daily lives in those countries, I seek to dismantle the romanticised notion of childhood innocence, revealing the diverse realities, often unseen.
This is my perception of childhood and its intricate, ever evolving relationship with the environment.
It delves into how the landscape we inhabit, both physical and cultural,shape our formative years and how, in turn, our experiences leave an enduring mark on the world around us.
I aspire to foster a dialogue about the urgent need for structural reforms that prioritise well-being and empowerment.
Disparities in access to education, healthcare, and basic needs that disproportionately affect children and youths from marginalised communities.
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