The summer after my entrance exams, I went back to my old kindergarten with a point-and-shoot camera.
The hallways were empty. The paint on the slide was peeling. Dust floated in the sunlight. I walked around alone, taking photos, like I was trying to find something — or say goodbye to something.

That was probably the first time I realized photography wasn’t only about recording things. It could also be a way of returning to the past and trying to understand myself through it.

I had wanted to come back for a long time, because my memories of this place had already become vague. Not even complete images anymore — just scattered fragments. I remember eating there, taking naps, playing with water, running around, and waiting for my mum in the playground. Back then, the sunlight felt physical somehow.

Everything looked the same as I remembered, but also completely different.
Maybe taking these photos was just my way of checking that this place still existed.

中考完的夏天，我带着一台傻瓜相机走进了曾经的幼儿园。空荡的走廊、掉漆的滑梯、阳光下的尘埃——我一个人按下快门，像是在寻找什么，又好像在和自己道别。试图抓住某个瞬间，也是在那一刻，我第一次意识到“拍照”不只是记录，而是回到过去并且理解自己。

我一直想回到这里，因为记忆已经变得非常模糊，甚至不是一帧清晰的画面，我失去了动态的回忆片段。我记得自己坐在那吃饭，睡午觉，玩水，奔跑，在游乐场等妈妈。那时，阳光是有形的。我想去面对这些再也回不去的瞬间。

这里一切都和记忆里一样，又完全不同。我像被时间折叠了一次，拍下这里，也许我只是想确认，它还在。