I created this series during a three-month stay in Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan, where, as a queer person myself, I explored questions of care, fear, tenderness, and everyday life within and alongside local LGBTQ+ communities. This work is part of my ongoing research into how intimacy, resilience, and survival are shaped by systems of oppression and resistance. During my time there, I met people from different cities, generations, and backgrounds — each navigating their own path through a society structured by patriarchal and homophobic norms. Many of us shared a common experience: a sense of vulnerability and the quiet, persistent effort it takes to negotiate safety in daily life.
In Kyrgyzstan, I formed close connections with gender-nonconforming, trans, and queer people. In the life stories they shared with me, I heard about recurring encounters with structural violence, human rights violations, insecurity, mental health struggles, painful relationships with parents and peers, and the impossibility of finding stable employment.
But I also witnessed something else — a deep love for their homeland, a desire to build a life there, or a profound grief over the need to leave it behind.
“On the street, I couldn’t hold my girlfriend’s hand.”“Keeping my parents safely unaware is both a blessing and a curse. They’ll never know how happy I am with my girlfriend, that we’re planning a family. They won’t know the real reason I can’t stay in Kyrgyzstan forever — even though I love it deeply.”
At the heart of this project is the story of D., a close friend. We lived together in Bishkek,
both having left Belarus after the political upheavals of 2020, uncertain whether we would ever be able to return.
Through our conversations and silences, I witnessed the intimacy and tension within her relationship with her Kyrgyz partner — a bond shaped not only by love but by the constant presence of risk.
My intention with this series is not to reveal or define, but to hold space for moments of connection and care. Some faces remain unseen — not to create distance, but as an act of protection, allowing individuals to choose what they share and what they keep for themselves. This refusal to fully disclose is, for me, a form of care — a resistance to the demand that every story must be visible or consumable.
These images carry fragments of shared time: gestures of trust, solidarity, and quiet resistance. I dedicate this work to those who continue to imagine futures where safety and recognition are possible — and to those who might see reflections of their own stories in these photographs.
This project is a reminder that love, in all its forms, persists — even when it moves quietly, even when it must remain unseen.
When I was working on the first chapter of this project and having conversations with others in the LGBTQ+ community, I asked one of the person in the project how to safely include her story, she replied:
“Just black out my name.”
That act — erasure as protection, invisibility as resistance — became a quiet foundation for this work.
The first chapter of this work was published in December 2021 by Kloop, one of the few independent media platforms in Central Asia reporting on human rights, discrimination, and LGBTQ+ issues.
In 2024, Kloop faced a government shutdown order, accused of threatening national security. Despite this, the team continues its work in exile, remaining a vital platform for independent journalism in the region.
In the summer of 2024, the continuation of the project was presented at Malmö Pride in Sweden.