In Marimo, Mon Amour, an “accidental” bureaucratic data collapse leads to a swift and silent quarantine. Zinger Zingiber—erased from official records—is furloughed from her part-time roles as a dumpling-maker and asylum specialist. Sequestered in her apartment with only her pet moss ball, Marimo, for company, she reflects on isolation, grief, and the slipperiness of memory, bearing witness to a world suspended in time. Her narration blurs the line between dream and reality as she mourns lost connections, interrogates authority, and clings to the beauty of small, ephemeral moments.