They know they are still on the way
to somewhere, to something, to someone
——it does not matter.
Their websites stay.
bgm: in love with a ghost | we've never met but, can we have a coffee or something?They know they are still on the way
to somewhere, to something, to someone
——it does not matter.
Their websites are liminal in space, in time,
in language, in culture, in identity.
They code like they walk.
Each keystroke corresponds to a step.
But it was not until its burial
that they realized,
it might be the leaving that kills.
The fish died in the summer
when Kai was back home.
Before they departed,
they managed to give it a pump.
Sometimes they feel like they are nowhere,
sometimes they are everywhere.
Like water.
They have been traveling in space, in time,
in language, in culture, in identity.
They know travel also shapes one's very being.
Kai moves a lot.
Across streets, across cities, across countries.
Travel can change one's physique
——can kill a fish.
It was the first time they were so close to death
——and also the first time they were so close to a miracle.
The cichlid started to swim after a few hours,
before sunrise.
At that moment,
all they had in their university dorm was water.
They changed the water,
and stared at the cichlid lying on the bottom of the basin.
When Kai first met the fish,
it was dying due to ceaseless travel,
loud sounds and stage lights.
They once saved the life of a blood-red parrot cichlid,
kept it for a spring,
before absentmindedly killing it.
Kai likes sea creatures as well.
When Kai thinks about boundaries,
they recall the coastline.
The coastline is a constant dialogue
among the land, the ocean,
the wind, the organisms,
the physics, the past,
the randomness, the chance...
In their eyes,
most of the things are like water.
Fluid.
Compound.
Ambiguity.
They were born in a port city,
on an island.
Kai knows nothing about Hawaiian,
but they do like the sea.
Kai, in Hawaiian, means the sea.
Kai,