For fourteen years, I’ve been going on holiday with my mother. It’s our way of spending time together. In exotic locations, family dramas are being supressed. How can we feel bad when we are surrounded by palm trees, sunny beaches and a warm sea breeze? Our travels made me realize the similarities between us, but also the fact that I don’t want to become her. I feel like I live inside a matryoshka doll. I came out of her as her copy, and someday I’ll become the next layer of the dolls shell. It terrifies me. I’m an object, born from an almost identical object, who’s goal is to give birth to another layer of the matryoshka doll. The problem is that I don’t really know who I am yet. The only thing I do know is that the person I am, is not the person I want to be.