In this project, I explore how objects can transcend their physical presence to evoke profound emotional connections to the past. Two years ago, my grandmother passed away, leaving behind the apartment she had called home since 1970s. To me, this apartment felt like a monument to memory, a place where the past remained tangible. However, shortly after her death, the building was declared unsafe, leaving me with a sense of loss that extended beyond her absence. This year, during my travels, I came across abandoned houses and apartments still filled with forgotten belongings. These spaces brought back vivid memories of the time I spent at my grandmother’s place. Despite being nearly 1,900 kilometers away from her house, the objects in these apartments felt strangely familiar to me, as if they had once been a part of my life. These items—relics of the same post-Soviet era that shaped my grandmother’s apartment—bear the utilitarian design, muted colors, and worn textures of a shared history. They bridge the gap between distant geographies and deeply personal memories. Entering these deserted apartments was like stepping into my own past—a liminal space where memory and imagination are intertwined. It felt as if I were playing a childhood game, searching for “treasures” amidst the debris and constructing ephemeral forms, much like building sandcastles. Using these found objects, I began creating temporary installations inspired by memories of my grandmother’s home. This process became a way to navigate my grief, transforming loss into something tangible and meaningful. Through photography, I documented these fragile constructions, preserving them as visual markers of remembrance. This way they became fragments of both collective and personal memory, revealing how we can discover reflections of our own lives in the stories of others.