This shoot was taken on the one-year anniversary of my grandfather’s burial, held on my family’s ancestral land. Grief, I’ve learned, is unpredictable and rarely obvious unless accompanied by tears. It moves quickly yet holds you still. Internally, grief feels like a sharp, heavy weight pressing down on you, but externally, it’s invisible to those around you—peers and loved ones alike.

We mask grief in different ways: through humor, isolation, or even addiction. Sometimes, the weight of it feels so profound that it’s as if the version of yourself you once knew is also being laid to rest. Grief transforms you, leaving you feeling like a stranger within your own life.

It’s like being trapped in a glass room without a key. You want to scream, cry, and wreck the world—anything to regain a sense of control. But deep down, you know you don’t have that control, and that lack of power cuts the deepest.

The hardest part of grief is watching life move on around you while you remain deeply entangled in pain. Everyone else seems normal—or as normal as they can be—and you’re forced to accept it. Life continues, indifferent to the weight you carry, as you work through the raw, consuming journey of grief.