Ever since I left there, my mother seemed somehow changed.

She was a full-time homemaker who spent most of her life in this house. What concerned me most was that this house, where she was arguably the “ owner,” had no room with her name on it. So I launched a project titled “Mother’s House,” designing a space for her within our family home. But at some point, my mother had completely organized everything in the house, saying she’d “cleaned it up so we could move out anytime.” Looking back, for all of us, this house is now far from anywhere we go. Beyond family memories, there's no reason to live here. I imagine moving to a new place while watching my mother's actions. From feminism to my home: I contemplate two possible futures for my family centered on my mother. One world line attempts to “renovate” our 90s imported house, while the other reverses this, using my mother's tidying to unravel and reconstruct a matriarchal ‘home’ through a “ moving” process.