it's him and also you and me

In the distance there is a Macdonalds, a pikachu ride-thing, an old couple passing by and a security guard coming the other way. All this happening behind the glass.

The world is a big place and there are many stories happening everywhere. I don't plan to change anyone, but to merely see everyone for who they are. Because in them there is me and I'd like to think there's a part of them in me. This is a very peaceful kind of relationship. How nice it would be if someone says to you I like you for who you are. Better yet if when the person says it that you like yourself just as much. Surely I do like him!

past tense in my pocket

Sometimes I wonder if there is such a thing as a really good day and if you could make the claim by saying, "Yes, I've had a very good day," only to have someone say back to you, "Well, show me the good day that you've had," and you can't show it. You wish you could take it out of your pocket, rest it on your palm, and admire the many intricacies that glitter and dash within this thing that you call a really good day.

A really good day. My father bought for me the electronic dictionary that I had always wanted. We chatted while I was having my first MOS burger in 12 years. These, and more. A really good day.

my split mind

I shall come here more often less sleepy. But yes, it was another fine day. I had chosen sesame cheesecake over banana split

glow in the dark

Not too long ago we had drinks here in this lounge and I remember how my drink was glowing green and changing colours and how I thought it was something in the drink but you said it was the saucer.

may days

the gumball machine

That is the title of my painting. The other one with the monster on the left is created by my group. We were given only black and white paint, some sparkles, woodchips, and tape. I drew the monster.

planning sleepy

Spent most of the day at home here at the computer planning for Kaori's first visit to Hong Kong. Yes, my whole day, looking up stuff on the internet, here sitting by the window in my 51st floor apartment. In the last hour there were more windows visible but now most have turned off their lights and I am very sleepy.

of fish and birds that happen at night

You're everything... You're everything... anata ga... hanareteru basho demo...

The Friday night home alone with a Saturday all to myself, no appointments on the calendar, downloading some long-missed songs like picking fish from the wide wide ocean. Birds start chirping outside after 3 am. I hear them on nights that I happen to sleep very late, and tonight is one of those nights. The first time I heard these birds, I thought it was only my head. But I listened closely and confirmed that that is the chirping of birds.

And I will not think about the next day when today hasn't closed yet.

in the house with danny summer

He holds his guitar steadily; his voice rocks the room. How time flies. How the real music in HK is still alive and how these sounds construct the fabric of our city. He did a song that he wrote back in 1997 to say goodbye to Britain on that last day of June of that year. Then he ended the night with a song that sings about how every day is the same in HK, and how here, we're living in the same old HK, and everyone is trying hard here to construct how we are, and in the process, get some things done, and perhaps create some works that echo with the population. He said he isn't sure if he has found himself, but he is sure he's found a road.

how things we do connect themselves

So it's another day at work and I wonder how my work adds to my fiction or if I can work on my fiction while at work or if work gives me a little more inspiration for my fiction or if my work consumes too much of my time that I feel I have to struggle to carve an hour or half an hour for my fiction... and to say "my fiction"... It sounds like it's all me and all me and my computer at my desk while the people outside are working about getting better in their jobs and learning more to function more efficiently in society all the while I'm at my table contemplating the relationship between my work and my fiction to the extent that work feels a little fictitious.

the together project

The story I'm working on is about a man who buys a gray cardigan that reminds him of a girl who left him for a distant country just when he was about to tell her she is better off to leave him.

Writing is a most solitary act. As I sojourn on this path in writing, there will be times when I will have the chance to collaborate with other artists. I look forward to these times. At this point of my creative career I'm still very much into my own project, aiming for a story, a book, published in my name. What is in a name? It's too heavy, too solid a matter. It weighs me down all too often. How does this weight compare to the joy of seeing a joint project flourish?

The writer of the play I saw today refers to himself as a gentle emotional soul beneath the lonely mid-age bachelor's appearance. Born in the 70s and growing up entirely in Hong Kong, his deep affinity with the harbour can only be understood by those who have spent a considerable amount of time living it out in this city-entity.

platform

Was in the Mix Cafe in Central for more than four hours today chilling... Told my friend about how there is a missed opportunity in karaoke videos that are so lame and that there perhaps could be a chance for indie short film makers to explore different ideas in this platform since we all sit there in the karaoke room and staring at the screen anyways... If I were in karaoke tonight, what would I be singing?

and today we have the naming of parts

And these are the days.



And such is the view from the window of the meeting room where I did my one-hour presentation in front of the boss and the ladies in our marketing team. Hold on, I'm a teacher, so what am I marketing? You're marketing our product, of course, and if you're on a high, you can market yourself too! That's my white collar reflected in the window and my hand holding my cellphone camera. It's the 23rd floor of Times Square and that other side in the distance is the Kowloon Peninsula. Ages ago my father had a restaurant in the Elizabeth building with a harbourview like this, but what a dwarf of a building that is now amidst all these lanky shafts. How dwarfy is the clock tower too.



How this turns out looking like a film strip! Was in Causeway Bay on a hot and somewhat sticky afternoon, just crossing the street to buy a bottle of tea and I saw, hey, that's Lisa and Gaspard. They remind me of me and my girlfriend. Yes, we seem to identify well with things that people may call childish. I have a sticker set that has the theme of L and G traveling to various places together. One sticker shows them riding in a plane; another one shows them sitting together waiting for boarding.



So this happened while the train was moving. Was two stops away from home and I thought, "A day could perhaps be more complete if I capture an image, any image, any moment," and so it ended up being this. Yellow is for Yau Tong. "la la... I wrote a song for you... la la... and it's all Yellow..." I can't recall the exact words from that Coldplay song...

white homes, orange homes

Pictures taken in my room seem to have this orange tint. The other day I was standing at the podium level of our apartment complex chatting with my uncle who is an expert in homebuying and as we were gazing at the residential skyline of suburban Tseung Kwan O, he said to me how just by looking at the buildings it is so difficult to tell the difference between public housing and private housing and how the difference is almost non-existent at night when all is dark. It was then I noticed that the windows in the public homes gave out white lights (because cheap flourescent light tubes are installed in each of those flats) while the windows of private homes emitted an orange glow because those homes are decorated with lights that are warmer and more cadenced and there must be a good many chandeliers behind those windows! This observation pleased my uncle greatly and he was surprised as to why he, who is so keen on comparing homes, never noticed this.

in this acrobatic continuity

Hovering through the street scenes and looking forward to the next play that would give me a lift, not that I particularly need one now, but a good play has the power to put a stamp in this continuity of time, a positive stamp, that allows me to reflect and say, yes, I lived through that very well. These evenings I come home and try to focus on what I have to do, and amidst this litany of tasks is the procedure of entering the shower, and if after having entered I feel fresher, I could then push myself to carry on my tasks a little longer, and I could be so consumed that I don't feel tired until I actually lie on the bed and think to myself, Why didn't I come to bed earlier?

a room with a view

Only since I turned 30 two months ago that I have begun to admit (or coming to the realization of the fact) that I am not good at living by myself.

This is my wall. I have accumulated bits and pieces of memories since I arrived here and I post them on this wall. This is my temporary room.

Maybe it's true that I'm not good at living by myself. But am I good at taking care of another person? Maybe my ability to take care of another person can make up for my not being good at living by myself. Maybe this is why couples live together. Is this justifiable ground for doing the thing they call marriage?

revisiting the arts centre

I revisit the Arts Centre to see Kearen Pang's 29+1. I had bought myself this ticket a month ago, and it was a month ago, Easter weekend, that I was last at the Arts Centre to see Communicating Doors...

Again, I feel as though I have never left HK. The plays many references to 80s pop culture I can totally relate to. There were some ha-ha funny moments, but the moments that stay with me most are those that came subtly, enough to make me smile from within and reflect, especially when she asked, "Is our concept of love at age 16 different from that at age 30?"

Little by little I'm easing myself back into the "artist's state". Such is a somewhat lame and heavy-handed term, but it's like dipping my feet into the waters again... or more like balancing on the high wire... The state of not knowing or not wanting to know so much or knowing that I don't need to know exactly where I stand in order to do what I want to do.

Earlier today, I shared some poems with my writing group.

As well, I bought the Collected Stories of Virginia Woolf. It's my first time buying an English book since arriving in HK.

May Day, May Day.