The project began with my observations of my grandmother’s life in old age. She worked as a teacher when she was young and now receives a retirement pension. More importantly, because she gave birth to a son, she is cared for by my father in her later years and lives with our family. In traditional Chinese filial piety culture, the eldest son is expected to support his parents in old age.
My mother quit her job after giving birth and became a full-time housewife. Since then, she has been financially dependent, lost her voice within the family, and taken on the heavy labor of caring for everyone. However, her work remains largely unrecognized.
As part of the next generation, I am now at an age when marriage and reproduction are expected. Economic pressure, social expectations, and the fear of repeating the lives of my mother or grandmother have created a deep sense of uncertainty about the future for me and many women of my generation.
Throughout the process of working on this project, many questions kept floating in my mind: If my grandmother had not had a son, what would her later years have been like? If my mother had not become a housewife, would her life have had more possibilities? Would she have been happier? If I choose not to marry or have children, or if I leave my hometown, who will take care of my parents when they grow old? Will they blame me? What will my own later life look like?These questions may never have clear answers, but they continue to shape the lives of women in China, generation after generation.
My encounter with this community began in Guangzhou’s ballroom scene. During these ballroom events, I met many queer individuals who openly expressed themselves through fashion, performance, and attitude. In this space, people dressed brightly, moved confidently, and embraced who they were. For the first time, I felt a strong connection within a community. However, when the ballroom ended and everyone returned to their everyday lives, I felt a sharp sense of separation, as queer identity in China remains largely unaccepted. As a result, many people live cautiously and suppress self-expression in public life. Expressing one’s identity can lead not only to social judgment, but also to potential legal consequences.
I began photographing the everyday lives of my queer friends, including myself. The images capture moments of intimacy, hiding, memory, struggle, bravery, fear, and hope. The people I photograph are ordinary, like many others who are still exploring their identities, yet even our existence is often misunderstood, unaccepted, or treated as illegal.
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