2000 — Banqiao, Taipei County, Taiwan
SLR Photography
The apartment was small.
Around 700 square foot (twenty pings), more or less.
A trapezoid layout that made furniture placement slightly awkward.
But somehow, it felt just right for us.
It was our first home together.
That afternoon, sunlight came in from the window without asking for permission.
Warm. Yellow. Almost thick.
The kind of light that turns everything soft.
A wooden chair by the wall.
A simple cushion.
A small plant on the table.
A few books stacked carelessly.
Nothing expensive.
Nothing designed.
Just things we slowly gathered, one by one.
I remember standing there, holding my camera, noticing how quiet the room felt.
Not empty.
Just quiet.
Like it was breathing with us.
So I pressed the shutter.
No big reason.
I just wanted to keep this light.
Back then, Pat had just started his new life in Taiwan.
It was only his second year.
We didn’t have much.
No proper furniture.
No decoration plans.
No idea what “adult life” was supposed to look like (at least to me.)
But we built this place together.
A chair from one store.
A plant from the market.
IKEA shelves.
Things carried home by hand.
Slowly, this small apartment became our nest.
Not perfect.
But ours.
I think that was the first time I understood what “home” really meant.
It wasn’t about space.
It was about who you come back to.
This photo was shot on film.
Fifteen years later, when I sent the negative in to print out the photo, the colors had naturally turned yellow.
At first, I thought something went wrong.
But then I realized —
it looks exactly like how the memory feels.
Warm. Faded. Gentle.
Like time touching the surface of everything.
Now when I see this image, I don’t just see a chair or a corner.
I see two people at the very beginning.
Before careers.
Before plans.
Before we knew how life could become.
Just two people learning how to live together.
Building a home from almost nothing.
Sometimes I think —
maybe that small apartment was the richest we have ever been.