Thirty years after leaving Hong Kong, distance has quietly reshaped what remains. My mother, now in her 80s, my father in his 90s—time feels compressed, fragile. Each visit carries the weight of knowing there may not be many left. They have been together for over sixty years. Five children, a lifetime of ordinary and extraordinary days, and still, a tenderness between them that endures. In their presence, love is not a gesture but a condition—steady, unspoken, lived.
This series holds that fleeting proximity: the last times, the small moments, the quiet evidence of a life shared, and the slow realization that time, once expansive, is now finite.
