I use this blog as an excuse to explore London, Hong Kong and the world one weird place and person at a time. 

How To Not Write About Grief

How To Not Write About Grief

I've been writing religiously since I was eleven years old, when I made polar bears and penguins talk in my Year 7 English class. I wrote all through high school, I wrote my way into a creative writing degree where an insane, brilliant man made me throw snowballs at a wall and then scribbled a path into a couple of writing jobs here and there. Words have always made sense to me.

I’ve been finding out what the limitations of writing are recently.

There are things I can't write about - not yet, maybe. Not ever, maybe. It makes me sick to think about how to compress a feeling into syllables, how to find freckles and unicorns in the corners of the alphabet.

So instead I keep writing about myself and my pretentious feelings about myself writing and I keep on writing circles around this absence, like someone who knows better than to look into the sun.

There are some things I do know though.

I know what it is to stand on a beach barefooted, trap a year in a floating lantern and return it to the moon.

I know what it is to choke on a Facebook feed like a tidal wave, to wake up one day and see wordswordswordswordswords

I know what it is to climb a spiral staircase for the last time and see the skyline soar untouchable above me like hundreds of church steeples

I know what it is to chase the ladylike fingers of cigarette smoke until they melt, finally, into lamp light

I know what the beauty of a shooting star is and I know the way it danced, I saw it smile and I heard it laugh as it passed our universe by

I have looked at too many photographs and thought are these all of them, are these all we are ever going to get

I have thought about James Dean, not forever young in red jackets and cigarette ends, but I have thought about how the years would have washed over him, how the wrinkles would have formed in his smile and how he would have swapped to nicotine patches

I have thought of new festivals too bright to photograph, of faces golden with exhilaration and music racing each heartbeat to the next, of a walkie talkie streaming with voices and the manicured hands around it

I have thought about how to dismantle the English language, how to tear words apart and make a person whole again

I have thought about how to write about you without writing about you

I have loved the kingdoms in you too fiercely to be fearful of a world that roars on without you

Meeting Cath Love, Jeliboo's Mama

Meeting Cath Love, Jeliboo's Mama

Inside Hong Kong's Most Disgusting Dim Sum Restaurant

Inside Hong Kong's Most Disgusting Dim Sum Restaurant