moom bookshop

Every time I see what is beyond my brother’s eyes, “something” that had been lost comes back.
At the same time, I realize that I have memories I have forgotten.
My brother and I were born and lived in the same town for a long time, in a house with a blue roof.
The view from the window hasn’t changed much for as long as I can remember.
There are houses and apartments, and I can still see the mountain over the hill.
However, even though nothing has changed, there was a moment I could feel that the view was different.
Not that a tall building had actually been erected, nor the mountain carved.
But as I stare out of the window, various memories bring images, like a kaleidoscope.
The tense atmosphere on a snowy day, my brother’s back as he sits facing his desk, the sound of the bunk bed squeaking…
A while ago, a wall had been built down the middle of our room.
The room was split, and my brother and I had our own spaces.
Shortly after, I couldn’t understand my brother.
Every time he talked to me from the other side of the wall, I would ignore him and sometimes hurl abuse at him.
I considered him crazy and despised him.
I still cry every time I recall this memory.
I can’t say it’s not a sentimental feeling but it’s more like instinctive weeping.
Like pulling your hand away when you touch something hot.
I think this may be why I had forgotten most of my memories in that room.
What if I’d listened to what he said back then?
What if we had shared like we used to?
These regrets were always a wall in my heart.
I wasn’t conscious about this at first.
I didn’t know how to face him.
Little by little, we began to have conversations and the images from my brother’s words started to stick in my mind.
Also, another piece led me towards my brother.
During the winter of 2015, when I sat on the living room sofa.
Something caught the corner of my eye.
It was a piece of paper on top of an overflowing waste bin, and I quickly picked it out and unfolded it.
I felt a mysterious, impatient feeling.
“Something I know but I’m not sure what it is”.
It was a feeling of vague certainty, creepy, a déjà vu, like turning the corner at a road you’re walking down for the first time.
The writing on the paper was surely my brother’s.
It made me more curious about my brother.
The piece of paper and my brother’s words were my clues and I started to photograph them.
By figuring out what was written on the paper, I thought I’d get close to what was beyond my brother’s perspective.
This may be my monologue of trying to see my brother’s world.
However, what I’m sure of is that this is my gift to my brother.
My brother was what inspired me start photography in the first place. I wanted to show him a different world.
My brother moved to my grandparents’ house nearby shortly after he left the piece of paper, so I turned the space he left into a darkroom.
Sometimes, I borrow my brother’s eyes and look out of the window.
Then I close the curtains and turn on the red safety light to fix the kaleidoscopic images.
These images here are only a part and they are the whole.
——Yuki Morita