When I got married, my surname changed. And when I gave birth, I was referred to only as “Mama.” Who was I? Searching for my true self, I pulled out a picture album from my childhood that was stashed in a cardboard box. As I turned the pages, I felt my memory coming back to me. I also found albums that belonged to my mother and grandmother. The episodes come together and became a family history. This family history was a proof of my existence.