I grew up in a small village in Hungary, but after finishing high school I found myself in the North-East of Scotland. I try to visit my family as often as possible, but flying isn’t the most affordable mode of travel. I can only see them twice every year and even though I try to stay for about two weeks each time I go, that still means that I’m with my family for only about 30 days each year.

The place I still call “home” has changed since I left, and it feels more unfamiliar each time I visit. It’s not only the house and the surroundings that have changed; my parents, my grandma and I have changed too. I forget about these changes in my day-to-day life though, as if my mind froze time back home. An idyllic image lives in my head, fed by a steady flow of happy childhood memories, never the sad ones.

However, the moment my parents embrace me for the first time as I step outside of the airport, I’m met with their true reality. It’s not an unpleasant reality by any means, but certainly not how I remember it.

I bring a camera with me whenever I visit and try to take as many photos of my family as I can. Given how limited my time is with them, I want to make sure that I have physical memories to look back at. The moments captured seem to reflect the nostalgia I feel, an imagined reality, rather than a factual documentation of my family’s life.