ching

photographer, visual artist and language specialist.

Taiwan: Revisiting Hsinchu.

Hsinchu, Taiwan.

Hsinchu, Taiwan.
Hsinchu, Taiwan.
Hsinchu, Taiwan.
Hsinchu, Taiwan.
Hsinchu, Taiwan.
Hsinchu, Taiwan.
Hsinchu, Taiwan.
Hsinchu, Taiwan.
Hsinchu, Taiwan.
Hsinchu, Taiwan.
Hsinchu, Taiwan.
Hsinchu, Taiwan.
Hsinchu, Taiwan.
Hsinchu, Taiwan.

A lot has changed, yet at the same time, a lot hasn’t. I know that probably doesn’t quite make any sense, but that was exactly what I felt, walking through this place where I was once a different me, a me who was a lot more carefree.

On what used to be an empty land, now stands a strange few-storey high, pristine white and modern-looking building still half-built right beside the dirt-filled labyrinth of alleys and abandoned one-storey houses—one of which I lived in for two months—that I was told, used to house soldiers. Where I once chanced upon a TV production team, got barked at by large stray dogs, and saw history and culture, now sits cranes and power shovels destroying history and scooping it out of the way; where silence once hung in the air, now lies machines that cause rings in my ear drums.

But at the same time, where I once spent a Christmas Eve and received a bottle of shampoo as a gift, still stands the same church, but in brighter and cleaner coats of paint; where I once saw a lady carry a black piglet while buying a cup of bubble tea, still exists the same bubble tea shop; and where I had my first bowl of Hsinchu vermicelli and gong wan (pork ball/貢丸), is still the same franchise going strong.

A lot of places where I had made memories are still the same and I guess it’s probably me that has changed the most.