What the hell is this… found in my grandmother’s crockery cupboard At first, I thought they were strange plastic bars, maybe cocktail accessories or pieces of an old Christmas tree ornament. But no: they were glass, light, fragile, and obviously made with care. Thin lines, translucent colors—orange, yellow, green… Different shades, but all shaped the same way: thin, with a little “bun:g” next to them. I held them in my hand, wondering: what could they be used..……..

The more I examined the objects, the more I found myself slipping into a state of quiet speculation, trying to reconstruct their purpose through fragments of imagination and instinct. They did not resemble anything I could immediately categorize, yet they felt too intentional to be purely decorative. I turned one slowly between my fingers, watching how the light bent through the glass, revealing subtle imperfections that suggested craftsmanship rather than industrial production. Each piece seemed slightly different from the others, as if they had been made

individually rather than as part of a uniform set, and this variation gave them a deeply personal quality. I began to imagine the hands that might have created them, shaping each curve with patience and care, imbuing them with meaning that extended beyond their physical form. It was impossible not to wonder about the lives they had touched before ending up hidden in this quiet corner of a closet. Had they belonged to someone who valued subtle expression, someone who communicated through objects rather than words? Or had they been part of a tradition now forgotten, their significance lost as generations passed and customs faded into obscurity? The longer I held them, the more they seemed less like objects and more like fragments of a story that had been paused mid-sentence.