Room Anonymous

On the 23rd floor, in the midst of darkness and a sea of repetitive buildings, I breathed freely through the footage I was editing. I was inhaling fear and exhaling joy as I trimmed through the videos in symphony with the emotions of the scene. As I edited, I was acting in a room in my mind; I was performing on a stage designed by my aesthetic memory and emotions.

I remembered everything about this room.

I was seeing the world through my mom’s camera in a tourist site filled with temples and crowds that made this place seem insignificant to a seven years old. I turned my lens towards things that spoke to me: the cracks on the red walls; the ants marching on the grass. The joy of collecting these items with my camera felt like getting new toys. Pleased with my mementos, I imagined a room where I would store my growing collection. Later, my parents found the photos interesting enough to give me my own camera.

As if allowing my eyes to be guided by the spirit of the room, I developed a habit of photographing mundane objects to make sense of an abstract world. Occasionally, I felt embarrassed when I aimed my lens at plastic bags floating in the breeze instead of the grandeur tourist sites. This situation made me question...