It was love before first sight and after her last breath. She was full of childhood wonder; it was what we had in common and why I considered her my sister. She taught me that love could save one’s life - and it actually saved hers’ once. We endured a lot together; she had a spicy character that would get her in a lot of trouble – which is how she got the nickname Chili Pepper.

And she was my permanent inspiration in photography. Last year the process of taking pictures of her become crystallized, every moment was full of power, it’s always happened intuitively and in agony, when you already know, but don’t want to believe, that your time together will over soon.

It’s over. I took part in a workshop on photo projections in May 2014, and our tutor asked us to project a picture of something or someone we want to send into space for extraterrestrial life to find, akin to the Project Voyager. I choose her, Chilya, from everybody I know. And on the day of the projection she died.

It’s scary to me, how new impressions are replacing my memory of her. In the end only photographs and videos will remain as memory, and they are finite in their scope: you can’t recreate the moments before and after, the memories are forever limited to a set number of gigabytes on a hard drive, with remembrance in your head, tying them all together.

I don’t want to forget and I wish we can meet again.

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