Drift

I grew up surrounded by islands, yet I never felt I truly belonged to one. I was born Taiwanese, but raised in Xiamen, another island city. In Taiwan, I was always the one who had lived abroad. In Xiamen, I was always the Taiwanese. And now, in Melbourne—a city not even an island—I carry with me this quiet sense of being an outsider.

That is why my imagination always returns to the sea. The sea has been my constant companion, the one place that accepts me without asking questions. When I hear the waves, or simply remember the scent of salt in the air, I feel a peace that no identity card can take away.

Here, on this island I have created, I try to give shape to that feeling. The tent stands as my temporary shelter: fragile, movable, but still enough to protect me for the night. The fire I light with my own hands is more than a source of warmth—it is a promise to myself, a way to push back the darkness when no one else is there to do it.

I do not reject this thin sense of belonging. Instead, I let it become something gentle. My island is not a place of exile, but of comfort. Even as an outsider, I can build a space that feels safe, where the sea keeps me company and the fire reminds me that I am never entirely alone.