Emotionally compiled by me with the help of akumahluk and Fei
The evening that i arrived in Lyon wasn't even dark. I'd expected the usual dark blue sky awaiting outside of the airport, but it was summer and i didn't know (or perhaps i simply didn't remember) that it was possible to have sunsets at 7 in the evening, just when the plane landed at Saint-Exupery. Half-asleep on the way to the apartment, I kept thinking that every single thing outside of that window, like the roads, the car, and the sunset, was new to my eyes, as much as I'd seen them a million times before back at home. Two hours later, I found myself in my new room, a 20 m2 studio located in a building The following 6 months were not far from the Rhône. a string of different I walked into the empty room feeling quite vacuous myself, too. Most of it was inhabited by thin layers of dust and some spots were left with remnants of scraps the previous tenants had left: empty batteries, a broken flashlight, some rusty tools. Later that night I emptied my suitcases, which my dad and my brother had painstakingly carried from the ground floor, and put whatever amenities I’d brought to fill the sparse spaces on the shelves. Now there was something, yet it was all still too fresh. But it was good enough for me and I slept on the redsheeted bed with one pillow by 10 pm.
adventures on their own, but my dumb ass had forgotten to properly document things at this time, so all I have with me right now is a bunch of materials that I've hoarded over the second half of my stay such as film photographs, sketches, and little notes. So basically, the same stuff that made up my previous zines. The only difference is that every single one of these pieces was conceived during a certain period in recent past that took place in a faraway place. And aside from the newlyadded digital text, they are the true components of this zine about being in the other place.
The way I see it, the idea of the "other" is a tiny detail that adds a whiff of charm to something that otherwise is very banal, almost like a being that we know the existence of, but not enough that it takes part of our everyday reality. There's something inherent and distinctive in it that we have to separate it from out general familiar category,
and yet it's not different enough to deserve its own position as an independent thing; in the end it's still related to the initial idea that we referred to, but we know that both aren't quite the same.Â
The other could simply be another item in the train of thought, patiently waiting in line until its time to shine. The other could also represent a possibility, a way that one might haven't thought of, an undiscovered treasure. But referring back to the title of this zine, obviously taken from the saying "the grass is greener on the other side", I think it could be interpreted in two (grossly oversimplified) ways: 1. This other place is greener, and thus better, because it's located in a more developed country with better infrastructure and economy and sort of everything else, instead of the endearingly chaotic (but nevertheless needs a lot of improvement) country that I call home. 2. This other place is greener, and thus better, because it demands me to grow up more as well as providing the space and opportunities to do so, especially given that I was alone and didn't know much about my surroundings most of the time. I suppose that ultimately, the actual place is a somewhat embodiment of both. But this wasn't meant to describe this place, at least not in itself. This is my best attempt at emulating where I've been, both physically and mentally, from January to June 2019; all alone, roaming on the other, greener grass.
I left the room feeling a lot less empty. As far as I could remember, almost every single part of the room has had some form of my trace marked on it: my drawings on the wall, 10 different tea types on the shelves, bookshelf loaded with half-filled notebooks. I tried getting rid of as much trash and excess before leaving—I’d like to return to a comfortable nest padded with the cushion of my choice, while still leaving enough empty room to move around. And so I combed through my lecture notes and handouts, empty milk bottles and scrap receipts, food waste and toilet paper piles and threw them all out before the ride back to the airport.
There’s a tiny part of me that longs for some worthwhile lesson out of this experience, but unfortunately I’ve never been the kind to be good at taking conclusions. I don’t even know what this will make of me just yet, for I am constantly fluid, gravitating towards any kind of spaces and filling in every crevice if there is one, if I have to. And so does the rest of everything. There are more incoming events and emotions to experience, faces and places that I will see, in the grander scheme of things. There's too many unknowns ahead. Maybe this grass won't remain green for long. Maybe things will stay the same. Nobody truly knows.
Truthfully, I appreciate the slight ignorance that the whole thing allows me to have; everything seems too unpredictable but you still have to carry on either way. So you better expect nothing. Get ready for everything, prepare yourself for anything.