Rumour has it that all men need a cave to retreat.  Man cave is a place for man to withdraw from reality, a sanctuary for man to behave as their true self.

 

This series of near-monochrome minimalistic images embodies my solitude experienced in my second adventure to a subterranean labyrinth.

 

I have a longing for this revisit weeks after I discovered its location on the fringe of urban hustle and bustle. Its enigmatic allure captivates my imagination and seduces me to return, this time with Mr. Camera and better protective gears.

 

Descending to the entrance is less tricky if not few fun-seekers are ahead of me, whooping in awe of the startling scene unveiled before them. Next to the dirt covered concrete path is a slow flowing stream, trickling down one barrier after another. The gentle flow abruptly becomes turbulent, cascading hurriedly downstream. The rapids slower down. Water subsides in pockets of muddy puddles, and finally disappears in the complete void. 

 

I stare at my reflections on the still water but I cannot read my reflections.

 

Bypassing all other strangers, brightness succumbs to darkness, colours fade away as greys. Any man-made structures transform to abstract forms and shapes indiscernible to rationality.

 

Each faint flicker stimulates my senses. So sharp that any slightest gleam of light would pierce into my heart and soul, reaching my dark secrets and deep emotions. 

 

Trespassing further deep into the tunnel, each step treading forward - alone - takes courage and determination, or simply just a blind leap? 

 

In this uninhabited underworld, I turn off my torch. I close my eyes. I allow my senses to take over. I open my eyes once more.

 

"Mr. Camera, do you see what I see? Don’t you want to take a photo? For I am not the photographer, I am just a tour guide leading you to the uncharted space. Please take more photos of the silhouette of the silo, the solitude of my soul."

 

Away from all distractions, inside this man cave, I fall in trance. 10 minutes, 20 minutes, 30 minutes. Mr. Camera keeps taking photos with long exposure at ultra-high iso, irking me with his occasional beeps of shutter releases. Finally, he stops. I am awakened by my heartbeats.

 

Mr. Camera asks me, "Where are we going next?"

 

On the way returning to the original entrance, wondering whether I will be more resilient when I resurface to reality, light from the far side points me in a direction, but I cannot tell whether it is an exit or a cul-de-sac.