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I guess it’s not completely unusual to go through a phase in which you question almost everything, but especially yourself, what you do, the way you live your life, and where on earth this all comes from. For a long time I had wondered why my parents were my parents, or how I could possibly be their daughter. After many attempts (without a clear plan) to make a film documentary about them, I turned to what comes more natural to me: taking photographs. Even though I had sworn that off for a while. I wanted to take a step back and look at them from some distance, but I couldn’t. Perhaps that made me realise they are my parents for a reason, and that it must have been love. Or something.