JELLYFISH

In 1997, during the Albanian Anarchy, a stray bullet fell between my legs narrowly missing me. My parents’ fear meant that a few days later we took a ferry to Bari. They had visas while my sister and I passed as others’ daughters. To look like the legitimate girls, my mom cut our hair and dyed mine blonde. In the documentary, I retrace the route to my hometown in reverse. The Bari-Durrës ferry trip becomes dreamlike from an underwater perspective: a swarm of jellyfish, moving countercurrent and invisible, symbolizes our crossing. When I arrive in Shkodër, I reanimate my childhood home by painting the walls the blue they once were and seeking ‘90s furniture in the homes of elders. The house becomes a stage: the theater where memories take shape and the past resurfaces. As I delve into the places and events of my past, a cultural dialogue opens up with the locals. “How was I at two years old?” Memories have different layers: what has been has been. What remains may never be enough.