January 25, 2021 marked 10 years since the start of the Egyptian Revolution. I was in my senior year in college and life hasn’t been the same ever since. This day marks the proudest moment of my generation yet what proceeds after has become our greatest disappointment. Physical evidence disappears day by day as the new/old regime regains their authority and oppression. Walls that were once filled with murals of our revolution heroes; the ones who were injured, killed or imprisoned, have become melancholy grey walls intended to deny the truth. The only evidence that remains are our memories, the heavy weight on our hearts and memorabilia kept safe from authorities. In this story, I attempt to trace down memories of our revolution through collected stories, artefacts and archives from activists and protestors, most have set that part of their life aside to protect themselves and their families. This process has been both reflective and painful for collaborators and myself. Many of the depicted artefacts have been kept hidden away for years in an effort to shut down the resulted trauma and mental wounds. For many of the collaborators who’ve taken part in telling their story, this is their first time taking a look back to process their experiences during the revolution. May we always remember this day, those who left us and the bravest who remain in the oppressors’ cells.