RETROPOLIS
Taipei is like no other, an atypical capital amid other East-Asian cities of strass and glitter,
where traditions and marks of history are confined to ever-shrinking areas,
giving way to the new and next-gen.
Singapore, Shanghai, and Tokyo are bright examples of flagship cities where beauty means order.
In some parts, Taipei does resemble these cities.
Stroll down the Xinyi commercial district, toppled by the iconic 101,
and you will find similar tropes of East Asian flagship cities.
But Taipei does not shine when it tries to emulate its neighbors;
it thrives when it embraces the grit of what came
before.
Gritty not only in character (take a look at the island's history) but in its physicality.
Taipei possesses depth, a mariage of matter with time.
This union results in layers of textures on top of one another,
making Taipei a real-life collage, a mosaic of chaos.
We all fear time, but Taipei does not seem to.
It reminds us of our ephemerality and offers brief glimpses of the artist
who hides behind its passage.
Brand new is not always better;
signs of wear possess a beauty no other entity can
ever emulate but time.
And this is where the beauty of Taipei lays, in its wear,
where time has kept some of its reigns,
and where the mist of
the new does not yet entirely take over.
