• 
           
  I
  
  See those standing on the shore.
  There might be familiar faces, sometimes a few westerners with their blue eyes and high noses.
  Pictures are displayed, some kind of exotic landscapes, very yellow or blue.
  
  Where is that?
  
  Perhaps an oasis in a faraway desert
  
  It is hard to imagine it from here, a desert beyond seas. Everything here is damp and humid, soaked in sweat. Thick forests cover the faraway hilltops.
  Everything is a dark green. At the foot of the hill they built a hut.
  
  “A piglet house”
  
  ——————
  
  They set out on sunrise, when the sunlight hits golden on the crushing waves
  
  They say they might have found a whale - A rare animal in these waters. Propellers cut into its flesh. Wounded, It lets out a high-pitched cry. The bloodshed attracts sharks nearby, who end up in nets, carried to the world’s biggest shark fin trading port. The port where piglets also get traded to the promised land.
  
  Piglets, pigtails
  
  To the far East across the Pacific, the westernmost of the West
  
  
  
  
  II
  
  But the waves are still golden and golden waves are what they are really chasing. Waves of gold-diggers came under the yellow sky of the desert. A desert is always unimaginable, just like snow for a place that never snows.
  
  Those who went for gold stayed to build railways, the red dragon on your noodle-box.
  
  And now, those who stand on the shore: what are you trying to convince me? 
  You even bring back souvenirs: sponges, pearl necklaces, dried squids. Like colonists with their loot. You show me a map with red lines and dots. Squares of landscapes on your billboard. Beaches, rock formations, fishing villages, temples - a panorama.
  
  Shorelines chopped up into small squares. Like postcards, they become
  
  collectable. The newspaper at your stand preaches world domination - not too hard, when the planet is divided into squares and rectangles. 
  Alliteration: Control, commodify, conquer.
  
  
  
  
  
  III
  
  I boarded your ferry. Where are you bringing me?
  
  To the East, the magical Penglai
  
  You gave me a pill, said it was for immortality; but my body got lighter and cicada wings grew from my back. I got dragged by high tide and drifted to the moon. Now, stranded and frozen, I just want to go back!
  
  This isn’t what you promised.
  
  To go back to when the world was young, to make something great again. Ethically great, ethnically great; golden dreams of rejuvenation, chasing shadows. But how could that ever feel authentic? Like lemurs, traumatised by phony shadows. Even my nostalgia is anachronistic.
  
  Or perhaps it will be better to have an end, a giant tsunami that swallows everything. When will it be? Never, like the promised coming of someone who is always late.
  
  From afar, the moon looks so serene.
  
  Just like when the sunlight hits wonderfully on the sea and it becomes a giant metallic surface, even cargo ships look romantic on the horizon. Some day we will build our own magical Penglai on it, where only fairies can live. Rich fairies.
  
  Everything will be good as soon as we set sail! Just think about those tropical islands on my poster and all the colourful fish you will see.
  
  Your fear and sadness will be gone, flowing into the green swirls of the crushing waves.
  
  Trust me.