In the summer of 2003, I came to visit Japan for two weeks. It was my first visit to Japan since leaving in the winter of 1999. This was my first time to come to Japan for such a short period of time. It was also the first time for me to feel like a tourist here. Looking at these photos now (taken with an analog camera), recalling the sensations I experienced during that short summer visit feels so far away, and a distant sensation, even though I am here now. It makes me ask myself: “to what extent is Japan a home to me”? How come the way I feel towards Japan, which is so, so different from the place in which I grew up and lived most of my adult life, are emotions for homeland? Is there a difference between the definitions of the words “Homeland” and “Motherland”? During my last visit to Israel, I met a friend, a photographer I have a deep appreciation for. He was talking about his memories from his childhood in Russia, and told me about a poem he used to recite as a child at kindergarten. The name of the poem was “Where does the Motherland begin?” He said that as years go by, he often finds himself wondering: “Where does the Motherland end?”
