
There was a time when I felt unsettled by my vague and uncertain sense of existence. I began to wonder: "If my presence could be visualized, would I feel more assured?" So, I created a "shadow"—a shadow that belonged to me.
This shadow was a life-sized human figure made of fabric and stuffed with cotton, practically a thin mattress in my shape. I decided to live with it for a month. Whether I was exercising, eating, attending school, going on a date, or doing grocery, it never left my side. Peter Pan might have envied me because my shadow never abandoned me.
This project led to many unexpected moments. One night, I was chatting with a classmate on the steps outside the department building. The night was dark, but my shadow was even darker. Our professor had just finished his work and was leaving the building when he saw us. He was utterly shocked—under the dim light, he saw two people but eerily only one with a shadow, as if I were speaking to a ghost.

However, the presence of my shadow affected not only the visual experience but also my physical well-being. On the volleyball court, players frequently stepped on my shadow, causing me to fall repeatedly and sustain new injuries on my knees. This made me question whether these physical wounds were mirroring my internal scars.
This piece did not carry a strong conceptual message; rather, it was an experiment in visualizing my sense of existence. I sought to explore whether excessively emphasizing one's presence is beneficial or whether it ultimately leads to self-inflicted harm. Furthermore, is my sense of existence something I define myself, or is it determined by how others perceive me?
This shadow was more than just an expression—it was an extension of my solitude, a silent companion in my quest for self-definition. In the end, it did not give me a definitive answer, but it allowed me to feel the weight of my own existence in a way I never had before—both emotionally and physically.