Every time I go back to my hometown (the one in which I was born – how lucky I am, to actually have two) – I get pulled into its little alleys, little buildings, people with big hearts. I get pulled in almost too easily, and I have to keep reminding myself – this is not your home. You’re only a passerby, a tourist in this particular story. Which, in all honesty, is the truth. My family moved out of Bosnia when I was 2 years old and I’ve only ever gone there during the holidays to visit my grandma, much the same as the time I took this photo, only it was her grave, not her, we were visiting. Perhaps it makes me too sentimental because the place is, in a lot of ways, all I have left of her – of my family history. Yet, I take these photos and think – perhaps, time is not everything. Time you spend in a certain part of the world, or with someone. Perhaps you can belong, even if only for a moment. A few hours. A day.