4 years ago, I visited Camargue, a marshy plain in the south of France, to watch flamingos. It was afternoon when the car stopped and its wheel softly sunk into the sandy ground. We gasped lungs full of salty frost. The flamingos screeched loudly as they flew by the flocks over our head. Their noise vibrated in my ears, drew a pulse in my chest and made my pores relentlessly sigh. I turned around to see ribbons of birds coming towards us from all directions, their wings pulled along a translucent veil of glistening royal blue that stretched from one end of the horizon to the other, which blended with the lustrous pearliness half-resting on the horizon like a slender body of someone who was waiting to disappear. Hundreds of flamingos finally settled in their resting marsh, about 300 meters from where we were standing. They were obviously not interested in us and didn’t mind at all the whole bird-watching thing. I wonder where they have been all day? The last of sunset glimmered on them, giving their blush pink feathers a final radiance before he too retreated. it took a while for long necks to be curled into their chests, with heads lazily hanging, like countless of question marks. I keep this beautiful memory in my heart everywhere I went. Once, I even dreamed about it. Everything was the same, except I could cross the water towards the flamingos, but I did not. ‘Flamingo Dream’ is about this dream. Beautiful memories are like dormant seeds of happiness, they will sprout in unexpected moments.