Zajdi, zajdi is a song rooted in timeless Macedonian folklore , carried by a deep and quiet melancholy. 

Through the image of the setting sun, it speaks of resignation: nature renews itself, but human life does not. What fades—youth, strength, joy—cannot return, leaving behind a lingering sense of nostalgia and acceptance. 

For a long time, I was haunted by a question: how can a photograph carry such a feeling? 

On the last day of my journey, in the autumn of 2019, I found myself crossing the Stone Bridge in the center of Skopje. There, I was struck by a vision. Standing above the Vardar River, I felt that something was about to happen. 

The sun was setting, and in the distance, on Mount Vodno, the peak was turning pale under the fading light. The air felt charged. People began to hurry, searching for shelter. Darkness slowly took over the city, and I wondered how long I could remain on the bridge before the storm would break. 

I had already shot one roll of film—twelve frames gone. With frozen fingers, I loaded another, waiting for what felt like a final moment.  

And then it came, relief. 

A sudden warmth emerged from behind the heavy clouds, and with it, light. 

Zajdi, zajdi became one of the first series of what would later grow into the project Makedom—an initial introspection into a past left behind. A search for traces of memory, still present in a place that holds the secrets of a once-innocent childhood.