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I left my home country Japan when I was three months old.

The Japan I know is an amalgamation of stories and anecdotes told to me in a slow Kansai drawl. It is an amorphic compilation of memories that encompass me but don’t belong to me. It is the subtle motion of a bow, the aroma of charcoal-laden cedar, a coil of smoke rising from a stick of incense. To me, Japan is a feeling rather than a place.

面影 (omokage)–or visage, in Japanese–is an ongoing collection of images taken over the course of multiple visits to my home land. It is in no way a complete or journalistic depiction of Japan. It is, however, one immigrant's sensory exploration of a country that has served both as a psychological mainstay and a source of perpetual heartache, a subjective "home land" that perhaps only exists in the quiet recesses of the human imagination.