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Good afternoon, everyone.

Now, as we move into the final part of today’s session, we’d like to take some time to reflect on the themes and discussions we’ve explored together.

On your table, you’ll find a blank boat ticket. This is a symbolic piece representing both personal journeys and collective experiences. We would love to invite you to think about your own memories—

whether it’s about relocation, identity, or even a personal connection to water and rivers—and take a moment to write or draw something on your ticket.

This could be a word, a phrase, a sketch, or anything that feels meaningful to you.

If anyone feels comfortable, please feel free to share your reflections or ask any questions about today’s themes. Your insights are a valuable part of this dialogue, and we encourage open sharing.

What inspired your memory?

How do you see this connecting with the broader themes of our seminar?

Thank you all so much for participating and for sharing your thoughts and memories. Your contributions have enriched today’s dialogue, and we hope it has been as meaningful for you as it has been for us.

Finally, don’t forget to take a picture of your ticket or any materials that stood out to you today. These are small pieces of a much larger narrative, and we hope they resonate with you even after you leave.

Thank you once again for being here with us. We deeply appreciate your time and engagement, and we look forward to connecting with you again in the future.

Have a wonderful rest of your day

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Our family hails from Shanghai, yet in the 1950s, the tides of the nation carried its youth far from home. My grandparents were among those sent to the vast lands of Xinjiang, 4,000 kilometres away, where they sowed their youth into the soil of an unfamiliar world. Now, in their seventies, they often speak of returning—to glimpse once more the landscapes that shaped their lives. But time, relentless as ever, has weighed down their bodies, rendering the 40-hour train journey a dream they can no longer reach.

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‘I was a stranger and you took me in’ by Olu Oguibe

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The first year I arrived in Kassel, the city known for hosting Documenta every five years, I was deeply moved by a monument in the city center dedicated to refugees and immigrants. On each side of the monument, the phrase "I was a stranger, and you took me in" was inscribed.

However, over time, I found this sentiment increasingly ironic. I couldn’t help but feel that immigrants, particularly those from Turkey, were not genuinely regarded as equal citizens. It seemed as though the invitation to "add diversity" was more symbolic than sincere—less about truly listening to these voices or being open to challenge and more about creating an image of inclusivity without real engagement.

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We are often seen as the "ideal immigrants," but we are so much more than that. I’m aware that my image often feels flat to others—like a one-dimensional version of who I am. People rarely remember my Mandarin name, and I’m exhausted from having to teach it to them again and again. It’s frustrating how Asian people are so often reduced to stereotypes, as if our individuality doesn’t matter.

我從未意識到我的黃，直到我在這裡

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"I transferred schools four times in elementary school, and over the course of my 27 years, I’ve lived in six different cities. Every time I move to a new place, in order to overcome my discomfort, I like to bring along some everyday items that have been with me for a long time. For example, I have a spoon that has traveled with me to three cities. Yes, this object may seem ordinary and insignificant, but it helps soothe my feelings of unease and nervousness. In fact, today, I’ve grown and can pack my bags and leave at any time, but this habit hasn’t changed."

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I've almost never left Shenzhen to live anywhere else in my 24 years of life, only twice, once in Beijing for a year, and once here, in London. When I was a junior in high school, I went to Beijing to learn painting. When I was a graduate student, I left for one year and went to London. During my study abroad, I suddenly realized that whether a city has immigrants or not, there is a very subtle sense of class among people, whether it is Beijing or London. People who have lived here since the beginning of the city, people who immigrated earlier, the second generation of immigrants, and people who come here to study or find jobs. This reminds me of my hometown Shenzhen, which is a very young city, she is only 45 years old, but also a city that has grown up entirely because of policies. At first here, the four types of people I mentioned earlier don't seem to make a difference. I realized that if everyone was foreigners , there would be no foreigners.