27/05/2026
๐๐๐๐ข๐ง๐
ๅพๅคๅนดๅ๏ผ
็ถ TK Sabapathy ็บๆ็็ฌฌไธๆฌๆธๅๅ็บ
ใSeeing Borobudurใๆ๏ผ
ๆ็ถๆๅ
ถๅฏฆๅชๆฏ่ฆบๅพ๏ผ
ใๅฏโฆโฆ
ๅฎๅๅฅฝๅๆ็ๅงๆฐๆๆ็จฎ่ฒ้ณไธ็ๅผๆ๏ผ
่ไธไนๆปฟ้ฉๅ้ๆฌๆธใใ
้ฃๆๅ๏ผ
ๆ็่งฃ็ใSeeingใ๏ผ
ๅ
ถๅฏฆๆดๆฅ่ฟๆผใ่ง็ใใ
่ง็ๆตฎ้ใ
่ง็ๅปบ็ฏใ
่ง็้ฃไบๅปๅจ็ณ้ ญไธ็ๆญทๅฒใ
ไฝ Camino ็ตๆไนๅพ๏ผ
็ถๆ้ๅงๅฏซไธไธๆฌๆธ
ใMy Camino, My Wayใๆ๏ผ
้ๅๅญๅปไธ็ดๅ่ฆๅๅฐๆ็ๅฟ่ฃกใ
ไธ้ๅไธ้ใ
ๆๆๆ
ขๆ
ข็ผ็พ๏ผ
ไน่จฑใSeeingใ
ๅพไพไธๅชๆฏ้ๆผๅฉ็พ
ๆตฎๅฑ ใ
่ๆฏ้ๆผ๏ผ
ๅญธๆ็ๆญฃๅป็ๆ้ๅไธ็ใ
็ๆๅ
็ทใ
็ๆๆฒ้ปใ
็ๆ้็ไบบใ
็ๆๅฐ่ฉฑใ
็ๆๆฒๅทใ
็ๆ็พใ
็ๆ็ฒๆใ
็ๆ้ณๆจใ
็ๆๆฏๅๆ
ไบใ
็ๆ้ฃไบ
ๆๅๅจไบบ็่ฃกๅๅฟ็ถ้ๆ๏ผ
ๅธธๅธธๅฟฝ็ฅ็่ๅผฑๅฐ็ฌ้ใ
ไน่จฑๆๅฝฑๅพไพไธๅชๆฏๅฝฑๅใ
ไน่จฑๆๅญไนไธๆฏใ
ไน่จฑๅฎๅ้ฝๅชๆฏ๏ผ
ๅญธ็ฟๅฆไฝ็ๆญฃๅฐใ็่ฆใใ
ไธๅชๆฏ็จ็ผ็ใ
่ๆฏ็จไธ็จฎๅญๅจๆใ
่็พๅจ๏ผ
ๆๆ่ฆบ้ๅๅญ โ
ใSeeingใโ
ๆ้ชไผดๆ้ๅธธ้ๅธธไน
ใ
โ
๐๐๐๐ข๐ง๐
Many years ago,
when TK Sabapathy suggested the title
โSeeing Borobudurโ
for my first book,
I simply thought:
โWellโฆ
it echoes my surname,
and somehow it works.โ
At that time,
I understood โseeingโ
mostly as looking.
Seeing the reliefs.
Seeing the architecture.
Seeing history carved into stone.
But after Camino,
while writing my next book
โMy Camino, My Way,โ
this word keeps returning to me.
Again and again.
And I realise now,
perhaps โseeingโ
was never only about Borobudur.
It was about learning how to pay attention.
To light.
To silence.
To strangers.
To conversations.
To grief.
To beauty.
To exhaustion.
To music.
To every story.
To the small fragile moments
we usually overlook while rushing through life.
Perhaps photography was never really about images.
Perhaps writing is not either.
Perhaps both are simply
different ways of learning how to see.
Not only with the eyes,
but with presence.
And somehow,
this one word โ
โSeeingโ โ
feels like it will stay with me
for a very long time.
