This year, during another medical examination, I once again found myself in a space of waiting. Waiting for a diagnosis, an answer, something unknown. This state sharpens perception. Everything around becomes fragile and strange, elusive and unfamiliar. I Myself become vulnerable and tense. Photography has always been a way for me to look at the world and at myself. it is precisely in such periods that images begin to enter my field of vision that would normally go unnoticed. I see them and capture them: a bent spoon, the moon behind a fence, a distorted hand behind glass, a body dissolved in a translucent surface, an aquarium refracting familiar shapes. These frames are foreign to my usual gaze. They appear as if on their own, as though my inner state were searching for a way out and finding it through the lens. In them, tension, fear, and uncertainty reveal themselves—but also the desire to endure, to live through, to preserve. I believe that every photograph carries not only an image, but also the inner content of the one who makes it. if the pictures seem strange not only to you, but also to others, then perhaps they are speaking of something larger than external reality. They become reflections of the soul, its echoes. For me, these photographs are not just visual fragments. They are traces of my waiting and my experiences, my conversations with myself. A doctor once told me: “You must speak about your pain, you must put it into words and not keep everything inside.” At that time, I could not. Now I speak through images. Perhaps this is their strength: they capture not only what can be seen, but also what is most difficult to express.