Sisa Masa | I have always been someone who resists change. When it comes to the things I love, I hold them tightly in my hand, afraid that if I loosen my grip, everything might slip away. 

Loss is inevitable, but it still hurts. I know that life will eventually demand the relinquishing of everything that I hold close, everything that keeps me connected to my heritage, that brings me home. My family, my childhood home, even my own memories. I see it in the peeling paint, softening edges of familiar furniture, and aging hands performing acts of care I have seen all my life. Time reaches everything, as much as I wish it would not. The familiar becomes tinged with longing. Sisa Masa, meaning “what’s left of time” in Indonesian, considers home as a site where time, loss, and inheritance converge. The work pays attention to the ways permanence gives way to impermanence, how life keeps moving even as pieces fall away, and bears witness to how the past hums beneath the surface of the present.