The grief of lacking a sense of place, combined with loose ties to French Guiana, France, and the brut noise of Hong Kong, has caused Ling to rethink his natal territory.

As a child, home was embodied in the living circle of his entire neighbourhood, but after residing in Hong Kong, that sense of belonging has diminished to the confines of four walls. 



Is the past merely an illusion of memory? Is it an illusion devoid of memory? The absence of photographic evidence from his childhood in Guiana leaves him lost in time.



Eternity and a day. Grief. The capability of a third-culture person.

 Ling can recall the sound of heavy downpours and thunder from the Amazon deep within his bones, the burning air from the Ariane 5 rocket engine, and the wild schemes of white European settlers. Yet, right in front of him stands skyscrapers, double-decker buses, and passers-by determined to head to work, all enveloped in a tropical typhoon. Ling is in Hong Kong, yet at the same time, he is in Guiana. In a sense, he is the green turtle from the Guiana coast. He has not returned to his birthplace after two decades, yet he longs for it.

The necessity of executing Natal Echo lies here. Natal Echo (I) preserves the minute details of Ling's residence in Hong Kong; it is an act to secure photographic evidence. When the house no longer exists, Ling will still have a foundation of prints from it on which to lean. The envisioned Natal Echo (II) will be the final chapter, documenting the neighbourly spirit, beaches, and moments of chance in Guiana, with its execution date set in the distant future.