“The waiting rooms are designed to be uncomfortable.” This is the first thing I hear from my gatekeeper as I step into the hospital. It’s the first day of my fieldwork, and I’m being given a tour. I look around and see a cramped space, barely touched by daylight. People sit in rows, very close to one another, like in a theatre—but the purpose for being here is far less enjoyable.

I hope this message finds you all well and that your fieldwork is going smoothly. I’m writing to you during a transitional period in my fieldwork journey, having recently completed my research in the Netherlands and preparing to head to Denmark in about a month. This in-between moment feels like a valuable pause, offering me the chance to reflect on what I’ve learned so far and consider how to approach the next stage of my research.

There is something quite peculiar about conducting fieldwork in a place that should feel like home, yet it doesn’t entirely. As a Chinese researcher working in China, I navigate a strange in-between space—familiar yet distant; belonging, yet observing.

I hope this message finds you well. I wanted to update you on my recent fieldwork experiences in Peru, which were indeed rather different than anticipated in the research design plan you approved – as fieldwork typically goes, as well as seek your guidance on a few matters.

Dear Team, As you’re traveling to your fieldwork location by train, bus, or plane, I’m finally able to formally tell you: forget everything we’ve discussed about this research project, even what you’ve written down in your research plan, which – I know, I know – you’ve worked so diligently on for months. The plan that I, as your supervisor, ultimately signed off on with a signature that means “this is a good plan”.