Have you seen the Bangkok aquarium?

It’s easy to explain why the Bangkok aquarium was where my bond with the city began.

It gleams like a mirror, shimmering and resplendent. An emblem of Asia’s famed Buddhist aquariums. Nestled in the urban centre, on the LG floor of Thailand’s largest mall, Siam Paragon, it holds the city’s essence — a kaleidoscope of colours, pulsing with its own heartbeat.

Yet, as I poured my gaze upon it, I uncovered another side — a side in disrepair, commercialised and tainted, marred by the clicking of shutters and the tyres of tour buses. In those splintered corners, amidst flickering lights, I raised my camera, seeking to capture what could be real.

But instead of leading me out, it pulled me deeper into the mire. I became entangled, using these images as anchors in a desperate attempt to affirm my place — the place of that initial gaze towards unfamiliarity. The boundary between illusion and reality frayed, and I found myself constantly wandering the streets, photographing people, imagining the lives they led. My identity teetered between that of a fleeting visitor and a watchful observer. I drifted.

To situate myself within the vast, exhilarating, and exotic waves of this grand tourist city was to engage in a mercurial pursuit — a perilous, ambiguous dance.

In one breath, I was elated, plunging headlong into the unknown, exploring its every crevice, reaching out as if to clasp its hand.

In the next breath, I was seized by a wave of desolation, a sense of alienation, as the city suddenly grew distant. I was ensnared in the routines of strangers, my existence reflected in countless eyes. I felt this keenly when my halting attempts at Thai, buying street food from a mildly serious uncle, led only to awkward smiles and my inevitable retreat — an act of escape that became a familiar refrain in my solitary wanderings.

But I do not resent such scrutiny and gaze. It unravels my senses and makes me tear up. I am lucky enough to be exploring the bizarreness of the world, much the shock I felt when a local confided in me that they would send money to wandering souls, lost in the aether. The jolt of this cultural collision, profound and disorienting, took hold of me as I walked, adrift, across the Chao Phraya River’s bridge in the quiet of night.

This place is a world apart from where I come from — here, devout bows to Buddha are extensive, more frequent than a prayer every three steps. Yet, beneath the surface, it feels familiar — the streets, the currents of thought. Everything feels somehow known. This is a tourist’s sense of feeling. Confirmed by the excitement I get from my images, which reconfigure the real and the unreal, serving as a medium for me to express my inner self, taking root in something new.

However, as I revisited those images, their significance waned. It occurred to me that even though I hadn’t fully grasped them, that sense would always linger. I laid down the camera letting it become my resolution. I breathed in, and felt the city move, hearing it whisper.

So, have I actually really been to the Bangkok aquarium or not?

Perhaps.

I might have been there, or maybe I just drifted by. And I might just have made everything up. But if you ask me, if I did go, I don’t have a single image of it.

我在曼谷的时候，住在离暹罗百丽宫几百米的旅馆里。

每天早上七点准时下楼，买咖啡，跑步，跑完步跟路边摊的阿姨买一包糯米饭，边走边把塑料袋撕烂，到房门口的时候袋子已经空了。

离开曼谷的前一天我还在跑步，每天早上都要遇见的咖啡店门口的爷爷说，今天又来了呀。

是的，今天是我在这的最后一天。

那送你这杯咖啡好了，他笑笑。

我接下他的咖啡，想到了三毛笔下描绘她住在沙漠里去赶那市集。刚开始的时候，赶上了是赶，没赶上就当是跟人聊个五毛钱天。那种愉悦地奔赴陌生领土的感受，那种一切未知飘荡在空气里的自然感觉。

天真而烂漫的，我是一名看什么都无比新鲜的中国游客。

我用相机记录下了所有，这座城市跳动的脉搏，它市中心富丽堂皇，车流的混乱与川息。富丽的另外一边，大概不到五十米的距离，映衬着城市的黑暗面，贫富差距，商业化，残破不堪。

我们对于游客身份认知，是对流浪本质的探索和解构， 这像一场反复无常的追逐，是一种危险而暧昧的关系。： 

 在那些破碎的角落和断断续续的光影里，我的主体角色逐渐变得虚幻；拿起相机确定真实的感受。当我通过镜头观看世界，虚拟和现实变得模糊。我的身份在游客和观看者中游离不定， 我在这里变得迷茫。

前一秒，我愉悦地奔赴这片陌生领土的各个角落；但下一 秒就变得失落，疏离，因为它突然变得陌生。我在陌生人的日常里出现，被无数陌生的目光凝视着。这种凝视充满了我的轨迹，在路边买炸串时，在嘴里蹦出几句生涩的泰语时，在用异样的目光打量着满街道的佛像时。

天真而烂漫的，我逐渐变成这座城市上方游荡的客体。我属于这里也不属于这里。

我很难定义流浪，但或许我是一种形式的流浪。带着文化上的冲击，与后知后觉它撕扯着感受的边界，它是好的也是坏的, 它是具体的也是抽象的, 把游离的我扯回现实的边缘。

这里与我生活的地方太不一样了，“‘举头三步有佛像’’。 但是这里与我家又太相像了，它的街区，人们说话交流的模式，都携带着故乡的痕迹。 我重新审视这些影像，他们似乎不那么重要了，于是放下相机变成我与割裂的身份和解的方式。，我呼吸着感受它，让它呼唤我的名字。

20多岁之后我的生活一直在全世界地理位置徘徊不定着，我很不明白我到底属于哪里。当我回到悉尼，这个曾经生活过四年的地方，熟悉的陌生感还是会扑面而来。

但或许是因为这种无法名状的流浪感，我想我会去慢慢接受它，不再感到失落和迷茫。