Semin Hong

Impression of a birth home

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Discovering the real estate ad of the house you were born in feels weird. 

 

400 N. Neville St 

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Small apartment building in North Oakland of Pittsburgh was where newly wed young Korean couple decided to settle down.

One bedroom in Stephen Foster Apartment’s third floor with the view of  Wallingford Street from living room window. 

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Everything recycled.

Shelves made out of bricks and wooden panels. 

Second hand furnitures.

Ready to leave.

Ready to be empty again.

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At the bottom of the estate website was the VR tour of the apartment.

Scrolling in and out of the bed room, toilet, hallway, and the tiniest kitchen I’ve ever seen.

Only the naked skeleton was drifting before my eyes. 

Old white walls and brown carpet floor.

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And as I was looking at the stripped out empty property, images of old photos in my head completed the home I was born in. 

Having the vast amount of photos taken there compiled in several large albums without actual memory of it can also feel weird.

I never grew up in it, but its impression follows me around and forms indescribable attachment until today.

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Bachelard said the house we were born in is physically inscribed in us - it’s more than an embodiment of home, it is also an embodiment of dreams.

Our unconscious force crystallises our remotest memories.