Santika

Bangkok welcomed 2009 in tragedy. A fire in a popular nightclub claimed the lives of young revellers, whose smiles were illuminated by the glow of sparkling lights just minutes before a wayward spark ignited their hellish end. I have been watching videos of the incident, feeding a morbid appetite within me to know their last thoughts. There are images of young women stumbling out of the burning building before collapsing, people in a tangle of limbs and fear reaching desperately for rescuers through bars; and shrouded bodies neatly lined on the parking lot. One video which contained a warning, showed a sea of barely distinguishable bodies after the fire was contained. A flashlight scans the area, catching the outline of a foot here, an arm there in the mound of bodies. Panning right, the beam of light exposes a knot of three women hopelessly entangled in each other. Their hair has been completely burned off and their faces are frozen in their last emotion. One's eyes spell fear, confusion and helplessness while another is caught seemingly in mid-scream.

Hours before, these girls were applying makeup and squeezing into deliberately chosen outfits to celebrate the last night of the year.