The life of these ordinary objects spans over two centuries. They witness a Ha Noi of Indochina, then another one before me and after that my Ha Noi. I have no reason to open the old cupboard which keeps inside hundreds of years because I always remember exactly the form and texture of each object. They recall me their dearest owners. Their stories written at the beginning of the last century. I belong to their history, to a part of their time and share with them a home town founded more than one thousand years ago. This summer afternoon, in the saloon behind closed windows I could feel the passed time revives tenderly under my fingers, I could hear the pocket watch ticking again and see the fresh color of a red betel… My father talked about the use of each object, about the local humidity conditions which reduce everything slowly and surely to dust of time. I remember a soft light filtered through these old glassed windows making a clair obscur on century aged furnitures and the familiar noises and vibrations of a passing train over the French railway just in front of our house. Few day later I left Ha Noi without knowing the next come back trip. I live in a second home town ten thousand kilometres far away. And I bring with me My Heritage.