The cover picture features a long-tail boat, a type commonly used for sightseeing in Thailand. Directly opposite, there is a similarly sized traditional dragon boat carrying royalty. Both exhibits are displayed in a gallery called “International Thai”. The intention is to show that each boat symbolises “Thainess,” though they are not equally well known to foreigners.

Decoding Thainess

Decoding Thainess is the theme of the main exhibition at the Museum Siam, where my family chose to spend the morning on our recent Bangkok trip.

The term “decoding” sounded dry. I wasn’t sure how that would reconcile with ChatGPT’s promise that the Museum Siam would be “lighthearted” and “youth-friendly” (you’d think by now that I would be more skeptical of Chat’s enthusiasm). With my limited worldview, I assumed the exhibits would mostly be interactive digital panels. How else could a museum be engaging? I’m glad I was wrong, in a much better way than expected. I left feeling embarrassed about how narrow-minded and ignorant I was about what a good museum experience could be.

Respecting Complexities

“Is Pad Thai uniquely Thai? After all, there are similar Chinese fried noodles.”

“Is the ‘wai’, the greeting gesture of a slight bow and palms pressed together, uniquely Thai?”

“Is Tom Yum instant noodle Thai enough? Isn’t it just adding flavouring to instant noodles?”

The exhibit opened with a video of three people comically bantering about what is “Thai.” This lighthearted exchange soon got heated, setting a clear tone that the organisers wanted to address the ambiguities head-on. I was secretly excited to see how they intended to unpack these complexities.

As I moved through the 14 galleries, each telling an independent yet loosely related story, I was impressed at how they framed and unpacked such a complex topic that means different things to different people across time. The organisers used multiple dimensions to frame the topic so that it was palatable and easy to understand. For example, in the first three galleries, the organisers started with the big picture of how Thailand evolved over time, subject to external and internal forces. Then they layered a second dimension of “nation - religion - monarchy” to introduce further depth to the narrative.

Once visitors had the big picture, the exhibits shifted to themes: architecture, fine arts, costumes, religion, toys, education, food, etc. In many of these, “time” remained a subtle secondary dimension, showing the evolution of things in Thai society. For example, the organisers used a flipbook style to show how everyday objects like the Loy Kratong festival lantern changed over time.

The message seemed to be: whatever you see now is not always what had been. It gives visitors something to think about. Maybe things served a different purpose. Then how firmly should we hold onto something?

The categorisation goes beyond time and things. It goes into something more subtle: Perception. In the gallery called “International Thai” the displays show what foreigners typically associate with “Thainess”, versus what is lesser known. An example is the display of the long boat which is familiar to tourists in the cover picture versus the lesser known traditional dragon boat (image below). The exhibits don’t try to say what is right or wrong, but simply offer food for thought that reality is shaped by perception.

The thoughtfulness in unpacking these nuances extended to the way the exhibits were displayed. For example, the various Thai costumes were arranged in concentric circles: those closer to the centre were deemed “more Thai,” and as you moved outward, the styles became less traditional, more contemporary, even a bit foreign. Nothing was labelled “right” or “wrong”; they’re just part of a spectrum (can you see Ronald McDonald?).

Designed for Discovery

The method of engagement played a huge role in communicating the nuances simply yet with impact. The exhibits across the 14 galleries used a variety of engagement methods without being overly digital or overstimulating, yet still feeling modern and refreshing.

For example, the first gallery was filled with drawers containing artefacts like photo albums, historical objects, music scores, that could have been mounted in plain sight. Instead, they had to be uncovered by the visitors, and that simple act of opening a closed drawer created suspense and made the experience more interesting than browsing the exihibit. The same strategy was used in the “Thai Traditions” gallery where artefacts placed in boxes, which visitors could pull out to touch and play with.

One of the most memorable moments was a simple game of coloured blocks placed around a table, no instructions in sight. Visitors would pick a block and place it towards the centre of the table. If the choice is correct, a green light would appear, otherwise, a red light appeared. It took a while for me and other players to realise what linked the chosen blocks. That shared moment of epiphany between strangers felt oddly satisfying.

You’d think people would get lost in all these complexities, but the organisers built in consistency by displaying the big picture message at every gallery. So, it served as a guardrail for a person who was on the lookout for structure across the different galleries. But even if you didn’t care about the details, and was contented floating through and soaking up the vibes, it worked just as well. Overall, the exhibit caters to everyone—from ages 8 to 80; from people who want to read every word to those who just want to interact and enjoy. That’s a real achievement.

Simple but not Simplistic

At the end of the tour, I found myself wondering how the organisers made the complex feel simple without being simplistic.

A friend once said something that stuck with me: “Simplicity is intentional.” I can imagine the behind-the-scenes debates: “Should we organise by time? By topic? By perspective — insider versus outsider?” In the end, they didn’t pick just one. They wove it all in.

This resonates with me. It reminds me of what I enjoyed most about research during my PhD days; the friction that comes from trying to reconcile conflicting perspectives. There’s something satisfying about sitting with a problem that won’t resolve, turning it over and over, sometimes on a morning jog, letting it simmer in the background. I’ve always thought of those moments as “meditation in motion”. The process of decoding the puzzle gave me more pleasure than getting to the answer.

I was so enthralled with the whole experience that I spent more than two hours exploring the galleries. My family had to keep moving me along, and I finally found three bored adults waiting for me in the corridors.

I left feeling satisfied and a sense of deep respect for those who put the exhibit together. Satisfied, because I’d seen something so well-made. Respect, because I recognised the care, the intentionality, the hours spent turning complexity into something people can actually enjoy. That’s what I try to do in my own work, whether teaching, writing, or just figuring things out for myself.

Sometimes, the most memorable experiences are the ones that don’t hand you all the answers. They give you just enough to start thinking and leave you wanting to keep going, long after you’ve left the room.