i don't quite know why I went to hong kong.

it was as if there was something calling out to me.
the mere pleasure of being away in a foreign country?
the mirror staging of identity in order to find what's so different between them and us?
some nostalgic return to a place I hated and grew to like it after the trip?
or to stare at some wall, grey and cold; ready for me to vandalise.
but I do not know what to draw on it.

took so many pictures.
but it is almost a mockery (a pleasant one) that this random picture turns out to be the best.
for reasons unexplainable.

Instead, I would like to dwell on the fact that it almost captured the precise moment when I felt I was alone, and not alone; myself and not myself; staring in awe and in shame; it was a sight compromised. An act I freely chose to do, but the patterns were not solely determined by me.

isn't this a perfect allegory of my condition?
I'm constantly in limbo. That is why every travel feels similar to that constant tension - to exist and not exist. free and chained.
I am in transit.
Every travelling exposes what I am and what I hid.
There is great meaning in such exposition.

But there are still some things that have no meaning.

The trick is not to rush to a UNESCO site.
the trick is to spend all waiting time (taking a bus, train, airplane, in a restaurant) to ask if you are alive.

all senses are filtered.
know your idiosyncrasies alone or to someone else. you'll discover a new and old you.

I think I spend too much time alone.
i don't quite know how to deal with the human other.