ZIYUN ZOU
I AM FINE: Not Completely Falling Apart

During the lockdown, the quarantine room brings me back to the isolated room where I was born and lived there until I was two and a half years old. That room is like a scar that lies deep within my flesh, which will never be erased. Memories can be like scar tissue drawing lines within your process of becoming. Imagine the shock of seeing the literal scars on my mother’s body.
So, I am back within a confined space. It is as if my first room is folded into this room. Maybe it is like an echo chamber. In this circumscribed space, I see some other silhouettes.
In this third space, I finally experience an acceptance of my life. It should be understood as just another texture or even a text already written. I say to myself that this space is the fold of my exteriority, a meeting point of the fragility of life within its endurance of the conditions which sustain it.
Life is fragile, but it endures within a curvature of becoming other.

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