MORITA YUKI

On the night of Tanabata in 2006, my older brother left home without saying a word. He was in the final year of his teens. About a month and a half later, he suddenly appeared at our grandmother’s house nearby. He was dragging a flat-tired city bike, nearly naked, and so exhausted he couldn’t even speak. He just stood there at the front door, blankly.

I don’t remember much from that time. But recently, when I asked my brother about his disappearance, he said that he saw the sea. The place was Yokosuka. He initially told me the trip lasted three or four days, though my mother says he was gone for over a month.

As we spoke, fragments of memory began to surface—being stopped and questioned by police in Yurakucho, cycling along the coast, sleeping rough under a railway bridge or by the sea, being yelled at from behind while looking out over the ocean in Yokosuka, and getting lost in the forest at Kannonzaki, where he finally thought about returning home.

This video work is based on the idea that the sea in Yokosuka was, in his mind at the time, the farthest edge of the world. It attempts to explore what might have driven him there—what “something” led him to that place. Through the lens of Yokosuka’s history and local legends, I retrace and interpret what he might have seen at the end of his journey—or along the way—through this deeply personal memory.