Lisboa.. é triste dizer adeus..

Lisbon, the city of never ending hills, where everything is at a short distance but the hike makes it feel so far and as you are about to find yourself in a spot of exhaustion and perhaps defeat, you turn to your side to see an elderly local partnering you in your climb, unconsciously scorning us young foreigners: suck it in.

I just returned from 3 nights in Lisbon. I know that every time I visit a new little pocket of the world I consequently pronounce my love for the city, and I will do so once again, but, this time, Lisbon is different.

I wouldn’t say that Lisbon, as a city, is overly glamorous and beautiful like that of Valencia, the streets are somewhat dirty and the walls are lined with graffiti, not art. It is a sleepy city, not bursting with a confronting culture or life. Siesta is an all day event, not just for the afternoon, which I discovered whilst waiting for peak hour to hit. Needless to say, it never did.

Numerous castles and palaces sprinkle the skyline, telling a story of a wanted land, riddled with constant invasions, each spectacle, marks each victory of settlement, each with a distinct style from a different era. The intricate tile mosaic that decorates the floors, walls, ceilings, pathways and stairs of the city, tells a story of patience and pride and a culture bound by a religious belief. The crammed buildings that line the street, with small doorways and small window openings but vibrant in decorative colour paints and tiles and colour filled window boxes tells of a close social culture that finds the joy that is in everyday. The discovery of a park around each corner showcasing the great views that bless this city, tells a story of an appreciation.

My first experience staying at a hostel was in Nice. The place was small and uninviting with the walls being covered with dirty stickers; the couch, I would only dare to occupy enough space to warrant me to not be standing. I felt cleaner not having a shower than having one. It was such an unpleasant experience that I cut my days short and escaped to Paris as soon as I could. I guess the fact that it had followed a 3-week travel around the whole of Italy, on my first trip overseas and I wasn’t with friends didn’t help the situation. Lisbon restored my faith in hostels and healed the damage that Nice left me with.

The reason why this trip is set apart from the others is owed to the people that I was fortunate enough to meet and the stories that each one had to tell. We met two American guys that made me laugh so much my head remained on the table the entire time as I did not have the strength amongst the fits of laughter to hold it up. They played out and exaggerated the whole American clichés and stereotypes, making a joke of themselves, as well as of each other fuelling the territorial rivalry that exists between them, as one was from the north and the other the south. I apparently looked the sweetest out of the bunch, was out-voted and forced to hustle for some green, which led me to meeting Vinícius, a local from Lisbon who works at the hostel. This guy is beaming with personality and a smile that could light up the darkest of dark rooms. He invited us out for a few drinks with his friends to a bar, where we got told off by two grumpy weird men for being too loud. We stayed up till 5am on one occasion talking about all things random with Pedro, a local and Chris an Australian, Korean background adopted with Dutch parents from Melbourne. Vanessa and Hilda we shared a room with from the states, both can speak fluent Spanish. Vanessa is about to study in Valencia for the summer, we pretty much became instant friends and she has already welcomed a visit from us when she settles. V also adopted and of Korean heritage; probability was way out of whack in this hostel. Hilda was sent by her company to Amsterdam to make sunflower oil (or some kind of oil), now that’s not an everyday occupation you hear of. A Swedish girl, a real life hippie, who upon hearing I was Australian, first asked me if I had been to Nimbin. She serenaded the night with her voice and guitar and blessed everyone throughout the evening with random hugs and a never failing smile. She is one of those people that you meet and want to keep in your pocket; a definite treasure. A pure heart and a carefree life; she couldn’t stop smiling (probably had abit to do with the fact that she was stoned). I looked at her along with a few others in envy, wishing that I could be like that, having no real plan, living life with the winds, truly enjoying each day and taking the next as it comes. Not being “burdened” by a career, but at the same time, I know that the satisfaction in that lifestyle for me would be short lived, but still am tempted at the possibility.

When I return from a venture I am always left with a real sadness, this time was a little heavier then normal as it felt like I was saying goodbye to some friends to which I wish I had more time to get to know properly.

Every time I travel to somewhere new, every time I meet someone new and am expose to others perspectives and to different stories, I find myself re-evaluating my life; the things I prioritise, the things I lay importance in and the things I choose to neglect in the world. These fresh experiences continually highlight everything that I am not, but everything that I could and should be.

Oh and we must not forget the Portuguese Tarts!!

Good Bye Two Five.

If someone had told me of all that were to unfold in the period of 12 months I would have bet my life on their bluff. The year that was my 25th could not have been scripted any more poetic.

It had appeared that the year was to begin with unemployment, which saw me take advantage of the situation and return to studying. The insanity of enduring once again, the pains of uni, had always been in the cards but if it had not been for pending redundancy, habit and money would have continued to take precedence. Late enrollment meant that my sanity would be retained for another semester and fortunately, as timing would have it, my directors, who were like my mentors, asked for me to continue on contract giving me the opportunity to save for the events ahead.

Completing my degree the first time round, saw me becoming well acquainted with forgettable, yet memorable weekend mischief. Great friendships grew over many great drinks, but feelings of a dissatisfied life began to make a home in me. I consciously decided to slowly fail in my reputation of being a trashbag for it was time to save these brain cells and put them to use as I started to struggle with deciphering what exactly it is that I wanted out of myself, and this life.

Above all else, my days of being 25 were all about friendships. Not friendships as in how many people I can accumulate on my FB list or how many people I can manage to mumble an obligatory hello to on the street, but true friendships. The definition and importance of quality was becoming more apparent and refined, which saw the strengthening of existing friendships, resurrecting of the old and discovering the new. Blessed with such bonds left me in a good place, embedded with the confidence and sense of assurance, giving me the strength to venture solo against the world, and for this I thank you.

Linh, who I have only really been friends with for a year now but hold as one of the closest to my heart, I am so glad that you decided to move into Pine St. Your tolerance and patience with my laziness, my indecisive mind and the ritual of hearing me tell you of my new brainwave every morning can only be rivaled by Ika. You have been a massive part of my life for the past year and you are no doubt one of the most-kind hearted, loyal and most giving persons I know. Thank you for always feeding me when I was too hung-over to get off the couch. Sorry for briefly forgetting that you lived with me at my birthday last year, curse you for introducing the junk cupboard into our household, yet forgiven with the introduction of viet spam. Ode to Ogar.

April and Kev who have been two of my longest running friends. Despite the regrettably our friendship going M.I.A for a long while, thank you both for your persistence and for always being there, when I needed you guys. You two have seen me through too many hard times and tears and I am forever grateful for both of your shoulders. Whenever we catch up, you both tend to ground me, and my flighty behavior, pulling me back down from the million-miles-an-hour-life that I tend to get caught up in. Don’t worry now… I’m back down on earth. Kev, no more stupid decisions, I promise.

Steaf, I know you hate emotional talk, so I won’t go on too much further but you know where I’m at. When I fail to see what good came from a bad period in both of our lives, I need not look much further than our friendship. Can you believe that we have only been friends for a few years!? I swear your absent mindedness has rubbed off on me, I was never so blonde but have also never laughed so much over stupidity and nothingness. Wicked wings and lets not forget the coke this time.

Dan, the biggest sweet. Who would have thought, was it 5 years ago, that this random drunk guy I served behind the bar, would become one of my dearest friends. I miss our buffet feasts, inappropriate jokes, spontaneous drunk nights, midnight culinary indulgences and hearing of what a shit and sleepless day you seem to always be having when I see you. Sorry for making you lose 1G but curse you for always disappearing on me on a night out. Thank you for the coffees, random phone calls, for your kind heart and I absolutely cannot wait to see you and Ed soon to continue the late night greasy feasting and mischief. Damn this phone tagging game that we are caught up in!

Chien and Jimmy, you guys are the best and although we have known each other for less than a year, it wouldn’t have been as good if you guys weren’t a part of it. Always entertaining me during work and lunches (with your sandwiches Jimmy), making me an honorary Gun Ho ho. Thanks for the generosity, encouragement and support with everything and for looking after my drunk ass every time. Jimmy your cheesecake is on the way.

Rick, you were an inspiration, encouraging me during a time where my life was neither here nor there, cruising on a plateau. Thank you for always being able to put a smile on my face especially during my moments of being homesick. Sorry for being a bitch on the last day before you left for Dubai and take your time in losing all the weight, for I will have to find another means of making fun of you.

Jess, when you left Oz I was cut, as we had just began to become tight but I promised you I would make it to this side of the world. You and Doug are family. Thank you both for your continual friendship, love and loyalty regardless of all the nonsense, and you two both made 3 years that I would rather forget worth while in the end.

There are loads others that I could go on about… Prue, Chaz, Kat, Abz, Nita and Frankie (you know the colours are reserved for you… but bitch you owe me a scarf and dinner), but it is running the risk of becoming some kind of speech seen at the Oscars.

But of course I cannot go without mentioning my girls, Nat, Iks and Tash. I have no idea what to write here, as there are no words for the love I have for you girls. The only thing I can say is that I can not fkn wait for the day that I see you all again over a big fat meal where Nat follows with an impersonation of the hunch back of Notre Dame saying “Can we go for a walk…” as she still hasn’t learnt when to stop eating. Thank you for never missing a step with me and for humouring me everytime with… “alriiiiight glenda…*eye rolls*” yet full knowing me well enough to see past whatever it is that I am speaking of. I have finally followed through with my words!

The last year my passport has been stamped from Hong Kong with my girl Nat and Charms (shame on you Nat for keeping her to yourself), from Vietnam with Chien and his boys (thanks so much for taking care of me and Chien, you are such a sore loser big 2 and trivial pursuit… “is that your final answer??!”), will definitely be seeing you in Saigon to drink Grey Goose by the bottle and to eat all day and night long once again. Mot... Hai... Ba... Yooooooooo! And of course, living my dream… in London, which has already seen me travel to France, Spain and Ireland.

Where birthdays are traditionally reserved for the deliverance of a life, instead I want to celebrate the people who have in this past amazing year MADE my life, for all who have brought me laughs and unforgettable memories over the past year. Fk I miss you all so dearly. This birthday is not going to be the same without Sydney, but here is to growing up... here is to an amazing year and here is to happily bringing in, hopefully, an even greater year to come… from LISBOA!!! xxx

HAPPY BIRTHDAY RULY… save me some fruit salad!

A Life in Debt.

I write this upon my return from an open mic night at Troy Bar in Shoreditch. Live music, people courageously exploiting their raw talents inspires me every time!

Inside Troy Bar

As each day passes and I begin to experience more of what London is about, the more I am convinced that LONDON IS MY CITY. I have always known since my teenage years that my destiny entailed of making a home outside of Sydney, and it is somewhat of a relief that the belief I had in myself, in my life, was not misguided.

Maybe it is still the novelty that keeps me on the high but I am certain that this feeling will prove to be more than just a fashionable state. I am alone, yet I have never felt more like I fit in, feeling a sense of peace within, here on the streets of London. It is a tough city, a relentless city that does not forgive and that is not generous for those that are unwilling, but I am one that loves a challenge, that loves being pushed and motivated and inspired. I thrive on a tumultuous life.

I think of my childhood, as far up to as my early 20’s, where I was unsure of my place in life. I never felt entirely right about things, not that I had anything to really complain about. Even up until not too long ago, I had always felt somewhat alone inside, despite being surrounded by so many great friends. This just amplified my feeling of isolation, as I never quite felt that I connected on a level that I needed to connect with someone spiritually or artistically (if that makes sense). It is wrong for me to say it had anything to do with the people that I surround myself with (because I could never replace or want to replace the people that I love), but it was me. I was not happy with me.

I feel free here. Though, London does fill me with disgust; dirty with regret. Regret that I have not always embraced the talent that is inside of me. No excuse may be given than the sheer fact that I am a professional procrastinator coupled with being ultra-lazy and having the horrible habit of taking things for granted. I am not saying I am overly talented at what I do, but I know that I do possess a talent of some kind otherwise I would not be in the industry that I am in today, loving what I do and smiling when I do it.

Life is a beautiful thing, how it “not-so” coincidently smacks you front on in the face with signs and wakeup calls at times when it is needed most. For me, one instance stands out above all else. My 2nd year, in my 2nd degree, I had lost heart, and had gone astray with my studies. I had submitted a presentation of two boards in comparison to the standard six. I knew I was going to fail yet even with this knowledge I was not one bit apologetic for my lack of commitment and for choosing sleep over brainwork the night before, until the juror at my presentation conferred of enlightening words.

He stood me aside and said: there is a natural talent that I posses, evident in the two lame panels that I had displayed on the wall, that other people in the class, work twice as hard to produce something close to what I had with a half-assed attitude. WOW. It is nice to be recognized and appreciated without obligation. It was not the fail that crushed me, or the year that I wasted, nor was it the extra 4G that would be added to my mammoth HECS debt, but it was those words. I had failed at being fair to myself. I am in debt to my 2nd year juror.

Recently in London I met this guy. We began chatting and he asked me what I do as a profession, and before I had a chance to process his question, he guessed that I was in the creative industry and that I was a designer. I know this may sound somewhat inconsequential, but it was a massive compliment to me. It was like I was given the assurance that everything about me, is me. I have grown into the person I want to be and who I am meant to be and that my creative spirit radiates from within. Considering in Sydney people only ever assumed I was in finance or business. (I think it was more of a racial generalization because I am Chinese, which is quite funny seeing as though I am terrible at maths, so terrible that my maths teacher in high school would ignore me).

Being in London you are confronted by talent, you are confronted by people that are putting themselves on the line, doing what they love, dreaming of making it big, but hold no fear of disappointment if they do not, as the most important thing is that they are being who they are, they are being real, and that is success in itself. This is my inspiration, people with talent doing what they do with love. I want to be this person as well, and with the passing of each day, it fills me with anxiety that I am not fulfilling my creative potential. I want to contribute to this world, to make my mark in this world (I guess this is why I started this blog). I want to be an everyday artist, not just an artist by occupation.

Avec l'amour de Paris

A play in continual strokes of harmonious collisions between the horizons of blue and green; silently sprinkled with polite intrusions of our existence whilst the clouds dance patterns in the skies and the winds tickle a graceful riot through the blades and branches, to ensure of no slumber.

The fields are a patchwork of greens offering tenderness below to the rugged terrain. Every blade of grass, every spec of soil, every drape of a leaf is of no coincidence. Poetically poised with a purpose, commissioned to tell a story in mother natures’ landscape which we are blessed to call our home.

The magnitude of it all, reminds me of our mortality. We are merely visitors on this earth. The lands have breathed life, centuries before you and I, and will for centuries beyond. Yet we still, like a sacred ritual, magnify our daily curses, which are yielded to nothing but trivial pursuits in contrast to the play that is at hand.

As I return, I contemplate how simplicity in the modern world has been lost. How beauty is something that we search for, when really, all we must to do is pause for a moment and realize that we are living on God’s canvas, floating in the daydreams of Mother Nature.

This piece began on the train returning to London from Paris... I wish now I had taken a photo of the scenery but I guess now it's all up to your imagination.

I want to visit your world.

Lately my mind has been racing from all different directions and I am finding it problematic to grasp just a single thought long enough before it’s position is contested by another in the clutch of my concentration. Even writing poses as no release for me in this instance, as I am not too sure of what I am meant to be writing about. It is an odd feeling I possess, as I am neither upset nor overly joyous, I am not anxious in my confusion nor do I feel confused. I feel like I’m back in Saigon and I have been planted defenseless in the center of the largest intersection, sun blazing, bikes traversing faster then the wind leaving behind a trail of dust and smoke and a concoction of foreign words and beeping horns in my ears as evidence of their passing, whilst I hopelessly try to decipher which way is the safest route out. It was always a mini victory to have survived crossing the road. I was advised to always take small steps, to continually walk slowly forward through the traffic and to never hesitate or turn back, good analogy for life really. The difference is it is hot there (Saigon)… it is cold here. No more picnics for the time being, the God’s must be angry, the English Gods are always angry.

Perhaps this mind congestion all began with a simple question that I am still unable to find an answer to.

Where would you wish to wake up to tomorrow?

Fifty People, One Question: Brooklyn from Fifty People, One Question on Vimeo.

I spent the day drowning in this question, until I slapped myself across the face and told me to pull my head from under the waters, but I am still swimming against the tide. The most apparent answer would be with my friends and family in Sydney, but it holds no truth, for even after the goodbyes they have never left me and I know that they would be disappointed to see a premature return. I wish of no city or reliving of a loving memory. I wish of no fulfillment of a desire or dream. Where do I wish to wake up tomorrow? Am I lost as I cannot think of any aims or goals that I would like to be viewing upon on top of my victory mountain when I wake tomorrow? Is it wrong to not know, to have no direction? Although I do have an enviable list of varied things that I would like to accomplish before my time is up, not one stands out above the other. Someone asked me the other day, if I could be anything (occupation wise) what would I be, to which I also struggled at to find an out right gold medal response; under the pressure, in the end I said a writer. I don’t know.

Perhaps this procrastination just means I am exactly where I am meant to be right now. My time on each little victory mountain will come, in which order is yet to be known. Such a simple question, such a difficult response!

Here’s another one…

Before the end of the day what do you wish to happen?

Fifty People, One Question: New York from Fifty People, One Question on Vimeo.

This is an easier one, my answer would be to make someone smile. There is no greater gift than to see a pure moment of joy alight on someone’s face and knowing that you were the cause.

Here’s another one, from a different project…

What do you want to do before you die?

This is a project done in polaroids... I love polaroids, they have a more tactile quality about them. They seem more real and personal. Hopefully technology one day will also make them more affordable and not obsolete. Check the site:

http://beforeidieiwantto.org/usa_nyc.html

"Hearing hundreds of different answers to this question from hundreds of different people makes one wonder: What make some people more aware of their own mortality than others? What motivates people to take action in their lives? What values do we hold as a society? And what values do other societies around the world find important?"

I love these kind of things, exploring the human mind and their perspectives on things.

We all live on the same planet yet we all live in different worlds.

I wish I could visit everyone’s world… that is what I would like to do before I die.

...

"Your thoughts have the power to paint someone a beautiful life"

-Jason Mraz