Things Left.
Walls have memories. Not the poetic kind, but sticky, stubborn, very tangible ones. In kitchens, offices, and classrooms across the city, traces of past life cling stubbornly to paint and plaster. Glue streaks from a half-peeled poster, tape residue from a calendar that was never updated, or the faint outline of a sign announcing a long-gone event—these are the ghosts of walls past.
When signs, notices, and fittings are removed, they leave behind more than empty space. There’s a tactile evidence of human activity: the sticky smear of double-sided tape, the faint outline of an old corkboard, or the ghostly shimmer of adhesive left by a once-glorious sticker. Some surfaces hold on like relics, resisting scrapers and solvents with an almost mischievous stubbornness. Others crumble at the slightest touch, turning into a fine powder that drifts down like confetti from a celebration nobody remembers.
For maintenance crews and DIY enthusiasts, these residues are both nuisance and challenge. They demand ingenuity: rubbing alcohol, heat guns, or gentle sanding often become tools in a quiet battle against the invisible grip of the past. And yet, there’s a curious satisfaction in watching a wall slowly reclaim its smoothness, freed from the remnants of previous tenants’ intentions.
In some ways, these sticky residues are stories themselves: of students pinning exam reminders, office workers decorating cubicles, or families marking milestones on kitchen walls. Each smear or patch of glue is a fingerprint of someone else’s day-to-day life, stubbornly refusing to disappear entirely. Even in a modern, minimalist space, walls remember. And in their quiet, sticky way, they keep a record of all the signs, posters, and fittings that once mattered.
