slightly hangover. nervous. amazed by the beautiful weather. blue cloudless sky. bookshops. smell of oranges and tangerines. crowded streets and metro. triple cappuccino. a building fell down in hung hom. two people went missing. maybe hong kong is right when obsessing about old buildings and their renovations. staying up past midnight watching tv shows drinking white wine and talking into the air. many things gone from the list, another half a dozen added. tomorrow is another day, a week of sleepless nights lies ahead. but I am fine with it. it’s what I have chosen. tonight the apartment is completely silent.

dear ____,

what can I write? but honestly. things do not change rapidly around here. even though some times it feels like today I am living a life of somebody completely else than yesterday. I am becoming increasingly busier with each day. just as I have always wanted to be. somewhere in between the lines, I’ve started another chapter of my life. in the last few months I’ve become even more independent. not because I don’t need anyone, but because I’ve allowed myself to be needed. and to be there. for me it’s easy to wake up every morning and from the first sun rays of the day, do everything by myself. I am trying to let more people in my life. open the front door, let them in. knowing who your real friends are, that’s where the freedom comes from. but I am too stubborn. you know that. you have always battled with me.

events of this year so far have shown me that I have to start making small spaces, small sacrifices for other people. not just to help them, but to fulfill my own purpose. something I’ve been talking about for so long and never doing anything. often, people ask me, what I think the meaning of life is. and I always say there isn’t any. just to set them back for a little while. but I wonder whether I truly believe that, or do I always just say it because I want to keep my front door shut. some people don’t know it yet, but I am actually a hypocrite. I am a hypocrite just by admitting that I am one.

this weekend has been an amazing one. I’ve allowed myself to drink white wine after five years and I am thinking this should mark a new beginning of our relationship. even though I can hardly imagine it. I think you would understand this better than anyone.

signed oscar wilde.

a big day today. opening of the first edible arrangements store in hong kong. my parents have worked incredibly hard in the last few months in order to make this happen.

lots of fruit, chocolate, champagne and great people who have come to the opening party. it’s been a great start. hopefully things will just get better.

1. *, 2. tea time, 3. or maybe perugia :), 4. *, 5. where do you want to go today, 6. dappled pedrinhas, 7. :), 8. Untitled, 9. umbria love, 10. lomoleblonlove, 11. Untitled, 12. Untitled, 13. Untitled, 14. Untitled, 15. Untitled, 16. exhaustion, 17. those walls, 18. mornings here, 19. Untitled, 20. light, 21. + foggy lights, 22. Untitled, 23. Untitled, 24. Untitled, 25. untitled, 26. I had snow yesterday. :), 27. snow-keh, 28. mid-afternoon reading, 29. Winter Wonderland, 30. *, 31. papa, 32. Untitled, 33. Untitled, 34. Untitled, 35. Untitled, 36. 17 january

twenty-five years she’s been here
and still
a-me-ri-ka makes her mouth sour tight
sticks in her mind like spit-wet thread
caught in the eye of a needle.

twenty-five years of doing christmas
and still
she saves generation-old
bamboo mats for wrapping new year osushi/rice cakes
hums songs of japan
in the quiet dark of christmas mornings.
every year
for twenty-five years she plans new year

every year
for twenty-five years she plans new year
and still
one more dress to sew, one more bill to pay.
one more year passes.
She celebrates
sewing silk gowns for rich ladies.

twenty-five years
and still
she tells no stories of a war to a daughter
she saves marriage lace and
satin baby kimonos in a cedar chest for
a daughter who denies her conversation
watches her sew her life designs
into someone else’s wedding day

twenty-five years of city living
people calling her oriental or chinese
sometimes jap
and still
her eyes, like teardrops turned sideways,
say nothing,
with pride, she writes from right to left
of the greatness of a-me-ri-ka to her people.

twenty-five years
alone.
still
she cries in japanese.

Okasan/Mother by Sakae S. Roberson.

a few weeks ago he said, let’s hang out. and I thought he was crazy because we never talked to each other before. he kept calling and I kept making up excuses. until tonight. he seemed a bit desperate and I had nothing else to do. three hours we talked about everything and nothing. I have never met a boy who would pour out his soul the way he did. but maybe it’s because we don’t know each other, not well enough. we had a few drinks, he walked me home and I remembered a line, which perfectly fit into last night: I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship. and it really was.

I need more nights like this. honest and simple.