On stage, an impressive creature slowly makes its way toward us. It is a woman in a large costume made of multiple layers of fabric. She moves in slow motion, as if overwhelmed by intense emotions expressed through her face and every inch of her body. She seems trapped in another world, lost in her own bubble. Perhaps she is reliving painful memories, experiencing strong and negative feelings.
Meanwhile, at the edge of the stage, a pianist plays light melodies. He watches her—just like we do. He wonders why she doesn’t respond. He wonders what she’s going through.
Around her, light refracts through shiny materials. It passes through glass objects, forming colorful prisms and kaleidoscopic patterns—just like her emotions, scattering in all directions.
Eventually, the two characters come together to remember all their childhood superlatives: their biggest fears, their greatest shame, their worst mistakes, the things that felt most serious at the time.
As adults, what do we hold on to from all that? The performers invite us to the “grown-ups’ table” to talk about the marks the past has left—some still meaningful today, others lighter now, maybe even funny, even though they once felt overwhelming.