@farshad-mahmoodi

This house is not red; it is a condition, the embodiment of the moment when absence overtakes presence and the continuity of erasure becomes the norm. The color neither warns nor creates meaning; it is merely the result of accumulation, the consequence of prolonged disappearance. The house has no function except to record, to record the widening distance between “being” and “being counted.” What was once called human has here been reduced to a unit. I am standing, not out of survival and not as a neutral witness; I am standing with a burden on my shoulders, the burden of being in the face of those who left so that something beyond mere survival could be possible. My being is not a choice; it is a responsibility, the responsibility of carrying names that no longer have a voice, but still have weight. Loneliness here is not a personal experience; it is a logical outcome when freedom carries a cost that only a few are made to pay. This redness does not shout violence; it is quieter than that. It only shows that normalization is the final and most complete form of catastrophe.

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