Talk about your most memorable dream.

CHIARA - The most memorable dream I have ever had is, without a doubt, the sensation of flying. Especially when I was younger, I found myself returning to it again and again. It was not simply an escape from reality, but a way of seeing the world from an entirely different perspective. I still remember that feeling vividly: the lightness, the freedom, the quiet. It is an emotion I long to experience once more in real life. That is why one of my greatest aspirations is to obtain a paragliding license and truly discover what it means to fly.

Talk about your most memorable dream.

LILA PANKOVA - This is a dream my mother told me about only a few years ago. When she was pregnant with me, she dreamt of meeting me already grown. In the dream, I told her she would have a daughter, whispered my name, and assured her that everything would be all right. When she awoke, she carried with her a quiet certainty that I was on my way into the world. I like to think it was my future self reaching back to her, saying: I am coming soon—prepare your heart for me.

Talk about your most memorable dream.

HANA ALTOMONTE - To be honest, I rarely remember my dreams. Yet the one recurring dream I do recall is of gaining the ability to fly. Each time I awoke from it, I felt a quiet sadness and wished I could return to sleep, just to continue it. The sensation of flying carried such a profound sense of freedom that it lingered with me even after waking.

Talk about your most memorable dream.

HARRIET - I let go of most of my dreams the moment I awaken. Yet those that are too vivid, too insistent to remain unspoken, stay with me. When I give them words, what was once blurred and fleeting begins to take the shape of a story. That particular dream lingers because I confided it to others. I remember waking with a quiet laugh, only to feel a certain unease at my own conduct within the dream. And I recall asking myself—and even others—what it might reveal about me. In that dream, I was overtaken by irritation toward someone, so much so that I chased them down to strip away their hair with wax. The force of the impulse startled even the dream-bound version of myself, who spent the rest of the dream offering endless apologies.

Talk about the landscape of your hometown that comes to your mind.

CHIARA - The landscape of my hometown is the sight I wish to awaken to for the rest of my life. We live on a quiet plain in a small Italian town, yet what takes my breath away most is the distant view of the Alps and the Dolomites rising along the horizon. That silhouette of mountains has become such a constant in my life that now, whenever I travel, I feel strangely unmoored if there are no mountains around me. Somehow, wherever I may be, the presence of mountains alone makes me feel at home.

Talk about the landscape of your hometown that comes to your mind.

LILA PANKOVA - I grew up in Simferopol—a place that feels at once so close to me, and yet so distant. It is a city embraced by hills and softened by the gentle warmth of the Crimean sun. Stone walls there seemed to whisper stories older than any of us. In summer, the air carried both the sweetness of apricots and the parched breath of the wind. In spring, the hills encircling the city unfolded into carpets of green trees and wildflowers. Simferopol was both quiet and alive. My childhood felt like sunlight spilling across rooftops, and every path seemed to lead toward the mountains on the horizon, calling me to dream further.

Talk about the landscape of your hometown that comes to your mind.

HANA ALTOMONTE - The landscape of my hometown is deeply chaotic, for I was born and raised in New York City. Skyscrapers, the tide of people, and the constant noise—these are the first images that come to mind when I think of New York. Yet within that chaos and restless energy, I find a sense of comfort. There is ease, too, in how people do not intrude upon one another but simply move forward along their own paths. Among all the cities I have visited, Tokyo most closely resembles New York. And so whenever I am here, a quiet nostalgia rises within me—one that feels warm and reassuring.

Talk about the landscape of your hometown that comes to your mind.

HARRIET - London is far too vast to capture in its entirety within this short space, so I will speak instead of the small corner of North London where I live. The land undulates endlessly, like the gentle rhythm of waves. Having grown up among hills, I feel a quiet safety in their presence, as though they are watching over me. As you descend into Crouch End, the trees line the pavement, and their branches frame the London skyline like a natural border. The towers of glass and steel rising from the city stand beyond the still, green ponds of Hampstead and Highgate—distant enough to feel safely apart, yet near enough to glimmer back in the sunlight. Each time I rise and fall along these quiet slopes, it is as though I am remembering and forgetting the city I inhabit. In that rhythm, the Shard emerges through the greenery, only to retreat once more.

Talk about the oldest memory you can recall.

CHIARA - One of the earliest memories I can clearly recall is strikingly vivid. It was when my mother still had to take my two older siblings to primary school. Since I had a couple more hours before my own school began, and she couldn’t leave me at home alone, she would gently wrap me in a blanket—like a little burrito—and carry me out to the car. I would remain bundled in the backseat, half asleep, warm and content, continuing my nap while she drove my siblings to school.

Talk about the oldest memory you can recall.

LILA PANKOVA - I must have been about two years old, at a large family gathering. The table was filled with dishes, voices, and laughter. Beside me, one of my uncles leaned down, intent on teaching me the trick of curling my tongue. I tried again and again, but it never worked. And even now, after all these years, it is something I still cannot do.

Talk about the oldest memory you can recall.

HANA ALTOMONTE - The earliest memory I can recall is from when I was about two or three years old, visiting Hawaii with my family. I remember little of that trip, but one scene remains vivid: I was chasing lizards around the yard while my mother called out for me to stop. Somewhere on my family’s old video camera, there is a recording of me running after them and shouting in delight. I still hope to find it someday.

Talk about the oldest memory you can recall.

HARRIET - I went to nursery from as early as six months until the age of three, and so many of my very first memories are rooted there. Like with dreams, the oldest memories can blur into fantasy or reconstructions shaped by photographs, yet this one I know to be true—perhaps because the vivid mixture of shame and elation left such a lasting mark on me. When I was about three, I had short, curly red hair that I was rather proud of, and it happened to catch the attention of a boy I liked. One day, I decided to cut off a small ringlet for him—perhaps as a gift, or perhaps as a gesture of rebellion meant to impress. But when the moment came, my courage faltered. Afraid the teacher would scold me, I hid under a table. To my astonishment, the boy hid there with me. For a three-year-old, it may have been the most romantic experience of my young life—perhaps even of my life since. In the end, the teacher discovered what I had done and made me sit for a while, staring at the severed lock of hair. Yet I did not mind, for Jay Brown had hidden with me, and that was enough.