Bubble Tower

Last post, I skimmed over greedy capitalists who wanted to build hotels. When I was young, however, growing up in the 90’s and lugging around the pendulum-swung ideology of the 80’s, I wanted to be a yuppie. I blame all the Hong Kong flicks I’ve watched, featuring Chinese (illegal) businessmen in fancy suits, King of Spades, guns, and the mandatory martial arts scenes (I guess wanted to be Chinese too, the Bullets n Babes kind). I wanted to go back to that time, that place in Thailand, when I opened my eyes and faced this large window from the high floors and the sunrise greeted me and I said, I love life and I wanted to grow up and wake up to this every morning. I loved the cold room, the steely architecture sprawled and caressed by clouds, colors I could not name–all of these with me, we were looming over cars, streetlamps, and streams of people. Back then, melancholic ants wouldn’t be part of my vocabulary. Back then, I had been grinning from ear to ear thinking I was part of this and they were a part of me, and that everybody should be able to go up here.


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