Media Naranja
I’m very selective and have only been to three weddings in my life and two of them are my brother and sister’s, respectively.
In the hopes of protecting my siblings’ privacy, there’s only one left for me to write and tell.
Disculpe Papi:)
The stopover
We journeyed from Shanghai to London on a November day. By the time we stepped out of Victoria station, the early fall morning thin fog have hugged me like a blanket.
I love London, I will always come back to London.
A day was well spent in the city, revisiting all our favourites and meeting up with friends. Tate Modern, Hyde Park, a pup dinner, the classics. I remember when I post a picture of River Thames, the groom- to- be commented, how come your London is always so sunny? Well I guess we are just agreeing with each other.
To walk on the street of where John Keats once walked pass, knowing profoundly, we’d be admiring the same golden leaves.
Ah a thing of beauty is indeed, a joy for ever.
The Destination
The next day, we went back to Gatwick and headed to our even sunnier destination.
Canary Islands is such a mixed wonder. 7 islands, of which is beautiful and unique to each its own. Tenerife South is where we landed, and where the wedding is. Blessed with the African sun, the place is hot and dry 360 days year round.
If you take a car and drive one hour up north (we certainly did), you will reach Puerto de la Cruz, a place, to my Chinese audiences, that we’ve heard long ago before we can ever come here. Echo Chen is a writer loved by many of us. To me she’s like the first travel and lifestyle influencer in the 70s and 80s. She married her Spanish husband in Western Sahara, and fleeted to the Canary Islands after the war broke out.
They lived in gran canary but for a period of time, Jose worked in Puerto de la Cuz port. And my Papi, knowing all of the stories, and knowing me too well, took us to a restaurant where we can see the Puerto, listening to the crushing waves, the sun is slowly setting, everything Echo ever wrote, are playing in front of my eyes, as if, they never left, I can almost see them, sitting at the dock, playfully throwing nuts at each other.
Jose died in a diving accident in 1979 and Echo ended her own life in 1991. But they live forever, in the books on my shelves, in our hearts.
The Wedding
If I wasn’t clear before, I will say it again, I only go to weddings under the condition that it’s blood, or something close to that. And maybe my own wedding, let’s see.
I was the best (wo)man of the groom. Whenever people ask me that age old question of whether if it’s possible a man and a woman can just be friends, I always thinking about us and confirm oh so strongly.
I’ve known my papi for over a decade now and he would still only accept the fact that I'm forever 23. Where did the time go? like really. Yesterday we’re just a bunch of kids. He and Firat drove pass my apartment on 重庆北路 the first day I moved in and that was it, we talked until 6 in the morning. Now I’m here, walking down the aisle on his wedding, witness him marrying the best woman we know, his media naranja and signing on their marriage certificate as witness in the holy church, yes I said holy. All of these, are very very adulting and surreal. More than once, I thought I was in a Spanish movie.
During dinner, we had our special table, everybody on the table has once lived in Shanghai. Over the candle light and champagne glasses, we celebrated love and reminisced the youth and knowing evidently, a part of us is gone, luckily, we have memories, and we will always, always, have Shanghai Summer 2014.
Media naranja
Let’s unwind to a year back, I came here to the island to visit my papi and his newly engaged fiancé over Christmas after a long 3 years wait. The moment I saw her, I knew she’s the right one for Papi. They picked me up from the airport, she sat on the back of the car and offering me the shotgun seat. Girls, we all know shotgun is for girlfriend and wife, this is an universal language, the reason, she says of course you and your Papi must have so much to catch up and it’s better view from there. “ Marry her, marry her fast”. That was my comment.
While I’m so incredibly happy for them, they still sensed my vulnerability. It was tough a couple of years for everyone, and it was a tough half a decade for me. I, for a very long time, stuck in the past and can’t seem to move on. I was preparing myself to be alone and I’m okay with that. But one day, they sat me down and said, let’s manifest it, you will continue your love for writing, and you are going to bring someone wonderful to the wedding! And you will only buy grocery that you need :)
To be honest, I wasn’t so sure and was not fully bought in, but Papi has been supportive since day one, he believes in me before I ever did myself. And now her, the sweet wonderful her. Speaking of power couple!
I continued the journey and flew to my promised land for New Years after bid adieu to the loving couple. Desert safari, beach days and two visits to Zaroob in Sheikh Zayed Road later( singing :memory~), at the last day of the year, I took out my laptop and started the process of making a vision board. By the time I came back to Shanghai I was buried in work and forgot I even did that. Until Valentine’s day, I printed out and put on my fridge.
I won’t go into details of what I have created on that board, but there is a specific picture of someone of certain place, and two days later, I got asked out.
And that boy attended the wedding with me.
He’s now sleeping right next to me while I'm typing all these, in our house.
Media naranja, this Spanish term keeps come up in my head when I was in canary islands. It was what I can think of when I see Papi and his love, It was me and min alskling.
Media naranja literally means half an orange, and to its extent, better half, soulmate.
May we all find our half an orange, in whichever form, at any given time.
Con Amore,
Juliette
#untitled
It feels like the perfect time to move my plants under the sun in the morning and move it back to where they belong in the evening
It is also the perfect time to finish all the 12 books I started to read but left here and there in the house, I want to know the end
It is the time that I suddenly have in the evening to make a beef stew, a chicken soup, a rib soup with mountain yam and goji berry that requires 3 hours to cook
It feels right to get detached from everything
When it also feels right to absorb just anything
It’s the time I no longer have to mourn for a feeling at loss
It’s also that time your social media reminder will always punch you in the face
I read about love I read about death
I think of you I dream about us
I wake up and everything disappears
I start to move my plants
-JZ
In Shanghai Lockdown
April 8th, 2022
Ghost
My dearest,
I thought of you on the train while returning from a journey. I like to get an aisle seat on the plane but always a window seat on the train.
It was nearly 6 pm, dark sky, a sort of thin fog coated the land where everything turned yellow already.
In between the street lights when we pass from fields to cities, in between reality and illusion, I saw your face reflecting on the window glass. It was just a mere moment, but I saw you, like a ghost.
You are my ghost.
You are nothing much but a blurry image to me now. I start to have trouble picturing your face. I thought I'd be terrified, instead, I felt liberated.
The late autumn does it to the North what time does it to me, to us.
I'm going back to the South, my love, the place where we met, on one of the hottest days. It will still be warm, the leaves will still be green.
Not for long, not for long my love, because nothing stays.
But just for a second, even just for a mere moment only.
Words by me, firstly written in November 2019. Photos by Marsh.
Marriage, Kids, Death - a Birthday Ode
Two days before my birthday, I had this weird yet vivid dream that I am someone’s wife.
That certain someone is real but I rarely talk to anyone about. The whole dream was like a movie scene, we were dancing at the wedding, we were kissing under the stars, we had two babies and then he died.
I won’t bore you with all the details but at the end of the dream, I was holding one baby on my arm and the other in my hands, smiling at their dad as he walked into the light.
I know, very Nicholas Sparks.
Now hear me out.
I was told that if you dreamed of someone dying, they are going to live a very long life which has proven to be true. I had this nightmare that I lost my grandpa when I was little and he lived until 97. So don’t feel bad for their dad, really.
The part that hunted me and I couldn’t stop thinking about is marriage and kids.
Is my subconscious saying something to me? It can’t be the biological clock is ticking right? I’m barely thirty.
For the longest time, I’m prepared to be the cool fun rich single aunt to all my nephews and nieces, godsons, and goddaughters, biological or adopted. You know, all the children, as long as I don’t have to have them myself.
So what does it say? I’m not as cool as I thought?
I believe in long companionship when I’m awake, but when my head hits the pillow and all of sudden I want a contract of that companionship?
Puzzled.
So I did what every girl would do in this situation, I turned to my friends for help.
One said the "everything is opposite in the dream” theory should apply to all the elements. That the man will live a long happy life and I will be the happy single auntie. Hmm, make sense, but why the trouble?
The other friend is more leaning toward the fact he died in the dream meaning maybe I want to have kids in an unconventional way?
I then received a birthday video call from another girlfriend who was kinda shocked by the statement I had and told me that she always envisions me living in this big mansion in the countryside with my husband and one kid at least. “ The dream is your subconscious speaking to you! ” Could she be right?
All the analysis aside, they all had one question in common: “ Who is the guy?”
Hmm, nosy.
I’ve never invested so much in a dream but I do pay a little bit extra attention to the ones before a special occasion.
Now it’s 20th everywhere in the world and I’m officially a year older, and hopefully wiser. As a being of rituals, or a very slacking writer (ahem), I do feel the need to pen something in these unusual times.
Can people change?
I don’t think so. We evolve, for sure, but to change who we are? Maybe NEVER.
But before we stay true to ourselves, do we really know who we are?
Apparently, my subconscious and consciousness can’t even agree upon.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the subject I’m going to explore in this brand new year.
I may not know exactly what I want, but I know one thing for sure: little mermaid gave her voice up for a man and that’s fucked up.
Consciously, and subconsciously.
Joan Didion
Joan Didion realized in her 28th year that: “ It is distinctly possible to stay too long at the fair.”
Her realization came with a lot of crying in the elevators, taxis, and Chinese laundries, “ I hurt the people I cared for and insulted the ones I don’t.”
She left New York for California that year.
I’ve always resonated deeply with her, ever since reading the piece “On keeping a notebook”. She got her first notebook from her mother and started writing her imagination and observation down at 5, I got mine from my father at the same age and have always been “keeping a notebook” with me wherever I go.
So you would’ve imagined, in my 28th year that I finally realized: “ It is distinctly possible to stay too long at the fair.”
I cried a lot in the elevators, taxis, grew my first white ( grey? ) hair, and developed insomnia. I left the cared ones on “seen” and “read," and waited for a text that would never come.
I left Shanghai that year.
I think part of the reason why we travel is that we want to escape from our usual surroundings. We travel across the ocean in the hopes that the water would block our past right? We climb mountains, yes because “ it’s there”, but also it’s higher than our lives, with a different attitude, we may gain fresh perspectives.
So the biggest escape of my life began, at any given moment, I was packing and unpacking, traveling from zone to zone.
I didn’t have the sense of “ home” for almost three years, maybe even now. I have a house of course, where there’s the bedroom, living room, kitchen, and bathroom, but I left it behind so often that I can hardly say I live there. I have one giant suitcase with me (green ofc ) and that’s it.
Then I stopped.
I am still traveling, maybe more than anyone during this strange time, but I no longer escape. I made peace with myself. I have to.
I still remember the day after walking out of a Costa, crying uncontrollably in the streets of London, and it was in that afternoon a friend sent me a song. “Let It Happen” by Tame Impala. “ For a moving on to better things mindset! ” She wrote.
I wouldn’t say that song saved me, but it did help me to get out of a bad headspace and made some clear decisions and that led to the life I’m having now, and for that, I’m forever grateful.
I was thinking aggressively over something that’s not in my control and the frustration and the powerless feeling hunted me for as long as I can remember. While I let time does its magic, I turned for help. The nights were long and I used them to paint, write, read and dance.
It’s working, but it takes time. So Much Time.
Joan Didion moved back to New York, eventually, 20 years after.
There’s no rush for me either, apparently.
All photos and words are my own.
COVID F**KING 19! …AND 20 …AND 21
Apparently, I should address this long ago, for my ( 3 remaining ) English readers, I am sorry to keep you waiting.
Looking back to when I posted last, I’ve even more so demotivated to write a single word.
But the show must go on.
Let’s see, where were we?
Right, we were talking about books, and then a plague happened. Well, it’s still happening. I have just received quite unsettling news that China is going to close its borders for another year. By the time I can go visit any friends anywhere, half a decade would go by. Like, NOT OKAY:(
Apart from not able to travel abroad, I wouldn’t say my life is all a mess. Sure people are dating, getting engaged and married and pregnant and second baby, and I’m doing NONE of that, but I’ve been fortunate enough to travel to every city in China, and oh how grand is my country!
From the hottest island in February( got a sunburn on the first day there, awesome! ) to take in the freshest air in the very northeast of China in summer. From Plum rain season in Hangzhou to the Panda land of Chengdu on the West coast (we actually don’t have coast in the West, but let’s just say there is ).
I’ve watched more sunsets on the plane than I ever did on the ground and it’s beyond beautiful when it’s up this close and personal.
Of course, it’s not always a bed of roses, if there’s one thing that I miss the most is the routine, the sense of belonging, and an order of life.
In the first two months of COVID when China went to lockdown, I finally got the time I need to paint the wall and install the side table, and decorated my apartment. I loved my avocado toast with a fried egg and chili flakes and making a pot of coffee has never felt this satisfactory. I had more than 20 big plants and finally hang the paintings on the wall. At night I would paint and write.
Maybe it sounds boring to you guys but I miss that time, I miss the quietness and stillness. Yet we are connected more than ever! I think that was the ideal balance I want for work and life- stay alone, minding my own business but connecting to my people whenever needed.
Fast forward to now, I have to give up that apartment since I am barely there. It’s kind of sad, I did spend all these lovely lonely times in that place, checking in with my heart and my soul. On the other hand, not to brag or anything but I really brought the place to life, the agent showed the first viewer my apartment and it was a done deal! I mean who wouldn’t love it!
Sorry to talk so much about the amazing job I have done to my apartment, haha, have I bore you already?
But it was through this process that I came through so much about relationships, any type of relationship. You have to really track the metaphor right now okay? Here goes, try to catch up:
The apartment and I first met on a cold November afternoon, but the light in the house brought up the whole place and made it look like it’s not a cold winter day at all. (Love at first sight)
And then I worked hard to get to the point where the apartment is amazing and I felt cozy. (Honeymoon)
Life happens and one of us has to go, a hard decision to make but we made it nonetheless, because deep down you know it’s better for both sides. (Conflict)
You are happy to see the apartment in good hands because unconditional love is that you are happy for what makes him/her/it happy right? (Growth)
The End!
Ha, Kidding!
Anywayyyy, I think what we all need now is patience, which is something I learned through life lessons.
Here I’m going to talk about something very personal and I never talked about it before. But don’t worry, it’s a happy thing!
I never have a problem talking about my period because it’s not taboo and we should be able to talk about it whenever we want, at least that’s how I was brought up.
We had sex ed in elementary school and I finally got my first period in the 11th grade, yes, in high school. I remember at some point my mother wanted to take me to the hospital just to make sure everything is fine, I, of course, refused to go and told her that everything is fine and she should just be patient. I was the only girl who graduated middle school without hitting puberty, just purely growing the height. And when I finally got it, my mother told my old school, and everyone congratulated her.
So if anything I learned from that experience, is, be patient, with yourself, and with life.
We have an idiom in Chinese “好事多磨” which means “ good things never come easy ” or “good things take time .”
Good things never come easy, and love is the best of all things, think about that.
Be patient my darlings!
But still, fuck COVID!
Words by me, photos by me, and Marsh.
Dress: Cecilie bahnsen
Shoes: Golden Goose
bā lí kè｜Books I Loved In This Soon Ending Decade ( Part 1)
Right, when I put it like what the title says, I got scared a bit too.
Another decade is ending soon. I've noticed as I grow older, I am so much more aware of time. I don't remember the big fuss about turning 2000. I only remembered my mom was preparing something delicious for dinner and the TV was on, but I wasn't paying much attention, my baby brother just turned one and I loved playing with him.
I don't recall anything about the World turning 2010 either. I was in University, and the only things I remember from that year were a) I won the National Scholarship and b) I turned 20 that October. I love even numbers and that year's birthday was 20101020, and I turned 20. Some sort of a lucky sign, I'd think!
I started to pay attention to dates when I moved to the desert, I landed on the 10th of October, 2011. Again, an even number date.
Back to books. I saw a question somewhere the other day: Favorite book of the decade, and I stopped, and thinking how impossible this question is. Even now, wow, to think about all the books I read and loved in 10 years is a scary thought! In the beginning, I wanted to say five books I loved in this decade, then immediately I thought about 8 books' name, so I wanted to number it 10, but then more names dancing on top of my head and I just can't be bothered with the actual number. It's never my style anyway.
So here it goes, in no particular order, as many as it gets, I might stop at three, you never know, ha!
Hundred Years of Solitude (Cien años de soledad) - Gabriel Gracia Marquez, Colombia
I read this book before, in the last decade. But the reason why I put it here is that China didn't get the official authorization from Gabriel Gracia Marquez until early 2010.
Legend has it that Mr. Marquez came to Beijing and Shanghai in the year 1990 (my birth year!) and saw both Hundred Years of Solitude and Love In the Time of Cholera were published without his authorization. He was so furious that he said he will never authorize the copyright to China for 150 years posthumous. The publishing houses in China have been trying so hard since and finally, in 2010, Thinkingdom Media Group got the approval email and Chinese people finally get to read the book legally(?)
If you are wondering, yes I did purchase again his book in 2010, just to see if there's anything different, how naive.
To be honest, I was curious to see if the opening line is still the same. And if so, it is without a doubt, the best opening line I have ever read in my life. I tried several times to write something like that in my final essay and it never failed to get a high mark.
The other reason I love this book so much is that halfway through it, I guessed the ending. I got so thrilled in a way that it almost felt like a high (not that I have ever been high) And when it ended, I cried, not only because it's such a wonderful masterpiece of its own, I felt the author, I agreed with him, I can see him writing the stories with his pen, as if I was there. With him. I guess this is maybe the most wonderful feeling a reader can have, to get this connection with not only the book but the brain behind it. I will always keep a copy somewhere in my bookshelf.
"Many years later, as he faced the firing squad, Colonel Aureliano Buendia was to remember that distant afternoon when his father took him to discover ice."
The Last Quarter of The Moon (额尔古纳河的右岸) - Chi Zijian, China
I have to put this one right after the Hundred Years of Solitude, why? This book reminded me so much of that, a completely different story, a totally different writing style, but while I was at it, I couldn't stop thinking about the Latin masterpiece.
Chi Zijian is one of my favorite contemporary writers, and she's so graceful. The original name of the book in Chinese is "The Right Bank of the Argun River " "Argun" in Mongolian means "baby, treasure." I still remember how I loved the translation of the book name when I found it in a Japanese bookstore in a foreign land, years after I first read it in Chinese. It kept the essence of the book, yet so poetic. Her other books are just as wonderful, the book Peaks of Mountains is something you have to read too!
And guess what? I figured the ending halfway through the book too.
"A long-time confidante of the rain and snow, I am ninety years old. The rain and snow have weathered me, and I too have weathered them."
And The Mountains Echoed - Khaled Hosseini, Afgha-America
You must know his first book, or even saw the movie, The Kite Runner. I cried every time I watch that movie or read the book, it reminded me of our own greatest Lu Xun and his friend Runtu back in early 1900, the relationship, love, loyalty, master and servant, pride, honor, the inevitable change.
And when I read Hosseini's third book, again, the bestseller, I couldn't finish it in one go, I am a very fast reader, but this one I tried several times to pick up and have to drop it again so that I would stop crying. The last time I have to do something like this with a book is Gone with the wind, but that's a bit different too, I read the beginning of gone with the wind for like 20 times until I can continue, and once I did, I finished that book in one afternoon.
And The Mountains Echoed is very different from the previous two books of the author, yet, it's still very very Hosseini. And while the story was opened in the year 1952, reading it never failed to remind me of my desert days and stories that happened there. It's as if it's my own personal treasure box. And I have nothing but the fond memories there. I can smell the heat, I can smell the Arabic scent. It's a book to tell us how we love.
I post the book once on Instagram and one friend commented: "I cried my eyes out reading it."
So you know what I mean?
"Every day, he labored from dawn to sundown, plowing his field and turning the soil and tending to his meager pistachio trees. At any given moment you could spot him in his field, bent at the waist, back as curved as the scythe he swung all day. His hands were always callused, and they often bled, and every night sleep stole him away no sooner than his cheek met the pillow."
West With the Night - Beryl Markham, England
It's a book I randomly picked in the bookstore one raining, humid summer afternoon in Shanghai. I like the feeling of either taking a nap when it's stormy outside or hide in a bookstore lost in an interesting book. West with the night is that interesting book I picked.
I have a weird obsession with Africa. I've been to places but haven't set my foot in the land of that magic raw continent just yet. You must know that not because I can't, it's just one flight away from Dubai before, even now it's just two international flights away. I want it to be like coming home, I want it to be special, that I am waiting for the perfect timing to go.
Or maybe there's no such thing as perfect timing. Things happen in so many mysterious ways, and if we ask why all the time something happens, we'd banging our head to the wall until it bleeds, multi times already.
Beryl lived in Keyna with her father while her mother and brother stayed in England. Her father built her a "Bourgeois" cabin on the farm, she races horses and flies planes. She spent an adventurous childhood among native Africans and became the first licensed female horse trainer in Kenya.
I've watched the movie "Out of Africa" long ago, the movie is based on the memoir of Danish writer Karen Blixen. I have to say the movie made the book so much more influential than Beryl's book. But in so many ways, I loved this book far more than Out of Africa. Out of Africa is a love story, with West with the night, I can imagine Beryl, sit in the coach, in the cabin of Keyna, where she spent almost her whole life, slowly telling the story in her posh English accent,
"I have learned that if you must leave a place that you have lived in and loved and where all your yesteryears are buried deep, leave it any way except a slow way, leave it the fastest way you can. Never turn back and never believe that an hour you remember is a better hour because it is dead. Passed years seem safe ones, vanquished ones, while the future lives in a cloud, formidable from a distance."
Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte, England
I was a Charlotte Bronte fan, Jane Eyre was highly recommended when we are in school, and I love the book, I still have the CD of the 1943 version of the movie starred Orson Welles and Joan Fontaine. So from a young age to most of my teen years, I read this book religiously. I tried to read Wuthering Heights, the second sister's book in my early teens but gave up pretty quickly, I thought it was too dark. What did I know then?
Fast forward to desert years, I read the book in English and completely fall in love. I grow love into this book day by day and that I thought it's far better than Jane Eyre now. The sky was never clear throughout the entire book, and I loved it, my heart ached for Heathcliff and Cathy. That love is rough; love is beyond death; love is to its eternity. When Heathcliff finally lay beside Cathy's tomb, for the first time in forever, the sky of England finally starts to clear.
It's definitely a book that you have to read after you gain some experience, in love and in life. I read this book every Christmas, with a cup of black coffee, no milk nor sugar.
"If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger."
Anil's Ghost - Michael Ondaatje, Sri Lanka- Canada
Have you ever watched the heartbroken movie called "English patient"? You loved it?! Great, do you know who's the writer of the original book?
Yes, Michael Ondaatje, Sri Lankan Canadian writer, who amazes me every day with his poetic writing. Anil's Ghost is a love letter to his home country, the beautiful, troubled country, the pearl of the Indian Ocean.
I have a dear friend from Sri Lanka. She told me about the civil war, that she and her family have to fleed to Singapore and only moved back recently after the war ended. I was dying to know more about the history of the country and found this book.
I recently read it again.
By the Indian Ocean.
Although I read it at the beach, it's definitely not a lighthearted book; you have to immerse yourself in it, it's a book about love, identity, the history, the unknown enemy. "Who is this Sailor? Why is he here? What happened to him? How could we identify him if there's only a skeleton left?"
I was never a fan of any ghost story, I'm way too sunflower for that, but this one, this one ghost, caught my eyes and caught my heart.
Do yourself a favor and pick up a copy now if you haven't read it.
“A person will walk through a hundred doors to carry out the whims of the dead, not realizing he is burying himself away from the others.”
I will stop here, for now, it's 3:10 am and I do have a full day ahead of me with a lot of commitment. So better get some sleep:)
I hope you read the books and let me know how you feel about them!
All opinions my own. All photos by me shot everywhere.
bā lí kè｜Nobody Walks in Bali
The crazy amount of cars and scooters rushing through every corner of Canggu and Ubud. The traffic jam during rush hour on Uluwatu Street at the very south of the island. It is true that nobody walks in Bali.
I, just as guilty as anyone here, would take the scooter to the nearest coco mart to get some chocolate milk, and loved the midnight toll road ride that will give you the driver’s high (if that’s indeed a thing).
But while I am certain all this traffic does no good to the island of gods and the environment itself, could it be possible that we missed out a lot along the way too? As much as we love the touch of the ocean breeze while driving, can we see it all, can we see the hidden secrets, and shall we slow down?
One of these finest days, I did a little experiment and try to survive Bali just with my barefoot, no scooter, no ordering food, not even going to the beach.
Know your Neighbors
I’ve said it before and I will say it again, get out and get to know your neighbours. (The result of being educated both in British and American English, I got mixed up with the spelling...) I've been staying in this village Ungasan for quite a while and I don't know any of the people who live here. I've seen their dogs, but not the owners. So this quiet afternoon, I made myself a cup of coffee and walked around the village to see who's who in the zoo!
First of all, what a charming village! Ungasan is at the very south end of Uluwatu, the Melasti beach is just 7 mins drive away, so the ocean air is right by your ear and on your skin. But the village had a mixed of local Balinese, a touch of Modern European, out far, there are valley and jungle, and because it was wintertime here, it felt a bit like Africa to me too! I was overwelmed for a moment and couldn't quite figure out where I was, and gosh I live for those moments honestly.
I know, curiosity killed the cat but I am that girl who just likes to walk into places and guess what, the results are usually very rewarding! All you need is to say hi!
The first neighbour I came across was an Australian lady, (surprise surprise, there are Australian on this island!) we had a little chat and learned that she'd been here for 26 years. What a life! It can be a very romantic reason for you to move to an island in the first place, but it must be some true calling that you'd spent almost all your life in this one place. She was on her balcony while I was outside on the street, and there are dogs coming around and playing with me, I thought they were her dogs but then the other lady from another villa came out and calling for their names. And she invited me to her house for a cup of coffee too! See, just a short walk and I've made some friends.
Of course, it won't be just the expats living in villas, I made some local friends too. Remember last time at the beach I met a grandpa who only says yes to every single thing I asked? This time I met a grandma who was curious about everything on me, of me. " Where are you coming from? How old are you? Why are you here? Where did you get this dress? What are you drinking? Do you live here? Where do you live? I don't think she cares about the answer, because I said nothing to any of the questions above and she just kept staring at me and laughed. What a creature!
I've met two boys who were trying to fly a kite under the mango tree. Two very skinny cows mowing at me, and then, I walked passed a very tiny tin-roof house. It was so tiny as if it was made up for a stage play. I heard the baby crying, and then there came the grandma, the mom, the sister, but not a man. I wanted to talk to them, but none of them speaks English. I would love to know their story.
There are about 10-12 houses on this side of the village, and not a long walk later, I have come to the deserted area. Where I call it "my Africa". The dogs didn't even bother to follow me here, so I had the place entirely my own, though there was the trail down to the jungle, I didn't meet a single soul there. And I loved that.
Sunset in the village
It was a gorgeous sunset that day. It's always a perfect sunset day here. I decided to chase the sun a little, and for that, I need to cross the street to the other side of the village, where I know nothing about. It's right there but it never accrues to us to check it out.
I was a very independent child from a very young age, I mean my mom dropped and picked up my brother from kindergarten to high school. I, on the other hand, begged my parents if I can bike to school at the age of 9. I know it's not even legal but after my mom followed me for a few days and made sure I can handle the trip on my own, (my school is very close to my house), she trusted me and let me had the freedom to bike to school every day from grade 4-grade 6.
I'd have all this freedom afterschool. I once tried a shortcut and stopped to watch a snake and a frog fight, and forgot about the time. (a story for another time. ) What I like to do most is to stop and wait to see the sun slowly set until it completely disappears. I always wanted to capture the moment that the afternoon turned into evening. But no matter how long I stare at it, no blinking at all, I never just get it, it's always somehow changed the color from dusty pink to deep ocean blue in less than a second time and my eyes are not quick enough to catch I guess.
But this time, maybe because I didn't expect it, so it happened. Like the time I saw the green light over Alaska while flying. I saw the color change in front of me and my eyes could not believe it. It made me so happy I was telling the local girl standing next to me that I saw the magical moment, I think she understands nothing but she's as happy as I did and we jumped and yelled, made the dogs bark too.
It's not what it looks like, not always
I know this island is full of Australian but funny enough, the only two times I thought someone is Australian, they turned out to be both Kiwi:). It proves once again that not everything is what it looks like, even when they are incredibly close. If it's not, it's not. It taught me always to stay open-minded and to embrace everything with my open arms. Everybody has a story to tell, and I can not wait to hear them.
Maybe it is true, most of us don't walk in Bali, but when we do, it certainly does something to you, it moves you, in the little alley, in the deserted land, in a small indomart, in a little girl's smile.
On an island famously known for slowing down, aren't we driving a bit too fast?
Slow down my love, slow down, come walk with me, I will share my cup of coffee, and take you to the deserted land too. And If we are really lucky, the mere moment, the magic second from the afternoon to the evening will appear again.
All photos by me shot in Bali, Indonesia.
Balike | Where Is Home?
bā lí kè
Firstly, the word "Balike", I know, what the hell is that Juliette? Well, let me explain.
If you think that it's not an English word, you are correct. It's the word "巴厘客" in Pinyin, read "bā lí kè", meaning "The Balier", The Balinese" or just "The Bali Guest"?
And what is that suppose to mean? Well, like how I explained to my friend Miss Sparkle Mermaid- yes, that is indeed her real name- the idea comes from "New Yorker". The New Yorker was translated to "纽约客", read “nǐu yuē kè”. I think it's a brilliant translation. Since usually the New Yorker, or the Shanghainese, meaning the people from there, the locals. However, 客，read kè，in Chinese means "guest". Sure, when I was younger, I didn't understand why it's translated that way, fair enough, the sound "ke" is similar to the "er" in English, but is that it? You see, as a kid, I'm already a pain in the neck for some parents and teachers. So I dug in and did some research, to my disappointment, it is just translated by the sound. But I formed my own theory, I think the people who landed on the name 纽约客 thinks bigger, that maybe "everybody is a new yorker", no matter where you come from. Or maybe, that wherever we are, we are just the guests, the land was there before us, it welcomed us when we are passing through, and we are forever the "kè" hosted by this generous Earth.
So I thought about the name "bā lí kè" to be my new column, I've met so many interesting people who called Bali home, they are not from there, but there they are.
Whoever I encountered has a good story of how they landed on the island, and while I'm 100% focused listening to those stories, in my head, I had this idea formed. I want to have this new section on the blog and I would call it Balike, it won't be an interview with someone, but just each article I write inspired by the stories of them though. It can be anything, from witches to recycle, but there's one thing I found interesting is when I ask, where is home, they would always reply to me by asking back, yeah, where is home?
Where is home?
In the movie <Julie and Julia>, (Funny, when Julie named the blog The Julie and Julia Project, I wanted to adapt that idea and start the "The Juliette/Julie/Julia Project and improve my cooking skills, my then-boyfriend was very excited about the idea and all the food that he's gonna devour, oh well.) Meryl Streep asked her diplomatic husband "Where is home?" I felt so relatable.
I don't know, where is home? I've always had a vision in my head, and that place where I had my beautiful home doesn't have a name. So I am forever searching, all the people I met here, they left their original home, and make this place, where they reside now, their adopted home, but then, where to next? In an age when everything changes in a blink of an eye, can we still find a sanctuary place for us to nest?
I know I know, home can be just a concept, not a physical place. " Home is where your heart is" right? But my heart is in several places. Ha! you see, your heart is still longing for a place to rest, to come home to.
Looking back in history, in the special periods of time, a lot of people forced to move their home, from city to country, from east to the west, from mountain to the sea. But then there's also a time when people loved to be in one place their whole life, they loved the stability, the familiarity. I can't imagine people in our generation stays in one place their entire life, possible, but hard to imagine. I surely still have places to go still and " settle" maybe will never be in my dictionary.
What I can say is that I've lived in places and I felt home where I was at that present moment. I've also visited places that I thought maybe I was born there in my last life. I also imagined home in places where I haven't visited yet but longed to.
I got it when I asked the question, almost nobody can give me an answer, and when they ask me, I can say nothing but smile and look over the breathtaking sunset above the Indian Ocean, the yellow light reflects on my sunglasses and their eyelashes. Oh this golden age of ours!
So where is home? I don't know.
In the city where the skyscrapers shine neon lights;
In the jungle where if you look up there's nothing but the stars;
In the seaside where morning walk by the beach is how you meditate and get creative ideas;
In the country where trees are so tall and meadow so green;
In the mountain where birds sing your kids lullaby at night;
Perhaps home is everywhere.
And everywhere is home.
All photos by Xiaoyu shot in Shanghai, China (where once it's home).
Milan | An Italian Job
The colors of the island were still so bright as if they were tattooed in front of my eyes, I wasn't ready to get into autumn clothes or any clothes in that sense. But three phone calls and two flights later, I landed in the pouring rain Milan morning.
Every country has color in my head, and Italy is forever this warm shade of yellow. It tastes like summer and sounds like an Opera. And Milan, to me, is the lady in a fine black Armani dress. Everybody dresses up in Milan. In the light of early morning, I saw a Granny dressed in this trench coat, silk scarf, stockings and kitten heels, and she's just about to go grocery shopping.
I like every city that still has trams, that every single joint has tasty food, that inevitably you will pick up some weight when you leave.
The last time I landed in this city was a beautiful early summer afternoon four years ago, and on my way to the airport, joined by a very dreaming sunset around 9 pm, the radio was playing "Romeo and Juliet" by Dire Stratis. So my memory of this city is sweet and romantic, with a warm shade of yellow, the Italian yellow.
Now I'm back here, every morning on my way to work, my lunch break, coffee break, and the evening walk, I snap the little things to refresh the memory, to remember, because I know, this is another city, that I will miss, even when I am still here.
I'd be honest with you, even though I did scale down the size of big cities in Europe, I am still very much amazed by how tiny the whole city is and how great it feels to just walk and wander around and you can get to pretty much anywhere by your own feet. But fear not, if you are not the type of person who likes to walk all day long, Milan has a pretty good public transportation system where you can take tram, metro and train to get to your destinations. Tram would always be my first choice on a raining day.
Milan rains a lot in autumn, the typical Mediterranean weather. I like it when it rains, it adds a moist thin layer to the yellow, more mysterious. To add more mystery, I decided to see the Cathedral of Milan.
From where I am staying to Duomo is very close and I finally paid a visit. It was raining too, and way too many people, and even more pigeons. I got people who're selling things there forced me to stand still and called what I know all the pigeons to my arm and ask me to feed them. And just when I am busy crying and freaking out they tied a colorful African string made of thread on my wrist and asking for money, the string was tied up so tight that there's no way you can return it in one piece, so I smiled at them and said I have WeChat or Alipay if you take any, and they were asking for cash only and I just shrug and they smiled, and said it's fine, it's okay. Oh the hell is fine, I didn't want this ugly thing in the first place to be on my wrist and you forced me to take it and ask for money, I really don't understand this kind of invasive selling tricks and left that place immediately. The Cathedral is still beautiful and majestic though.
Til this day, I still have this ugly string on my wrist, only I call it the lucky charm now, ha.
Thanks to the jet lag, I had some really quiet nights and early mornings alone with the city. Even it would rain later that day, the sunrise from my window was pretty epic each day. I didn't document many, but the ones I did, they remind me of that every day is a brand new day and there are so many possibilities and chances lay ahead of you.
Watching the dark slowly disappear and that golden layer appears above and becomes larger and larger, I would have this warmth rise within and that I know, as small as humans are, it is still a wonderful thing to be alive and to be here, wherever you are, to have this life, to walk the path, to make mistakes, to learn from them, to laugh, to cry, to dance, to love, to over and beyond.
All photos by me shot in Milan, Italy.