A day of waiting in the rain, in the mud, surrounded by trash, cigarette butts, and abandoned coffee cups. I stood in line for hours to cast a vote that was never taken. The ground became the real ballot box—dirty, saturated, indifferent. Small bursts of color—candy, wrappers, umbrellas—only sharpened the gray weight of the day.

This work is not about politics but about futility: the ritual of participation without result, the exhaustion of believing change might come. The photographs capture the clutter left behind when hope and resignation stand in the same queue. After this, I stopped voting. I stopped pretending I belonged to a country that didn’t want me to speak.