#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
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.
Balibaba | Nothing Is Ever Really Lost
"Nothing is really lost, or can be lost. "
While going through the pictures of my very recent island trip, I can't help but repeat this phrase in my head over and over again.
It’s definitely not a sad post and the trip is the best yet, but somehow Walt Whitman came along and all the sunsets just seemed a bit more sentimental.
Nothing is really lost, or can be lost.
I shall remember that.
Soon I will be entering the last year of my 20s and a stressful yet much-needed change seems like the only way to right all my wrongs for good (If only it's possible, but that's the spirit anyway).
I have so many things written down on my life to-do list. I keep adding more but crossing very few off. Even though everything takes time and each of us has one's own pace, I would like to speed things up a bit.
I know I don't update that often here and one thing that I want to change is to make this little corner of my world a daily show. A habit more than a hobby. I have things written everywhere from my notebook to my note app, napkins, even supermarket receipts. Sometimes I want to keep those thoughts quiet. But I guess typing my thought out loud can't be that scary. I never re-read my stuff anyway, once I hit publish, apart from the "Intellectual property," I don't own it anymore. It's all yours, and I appreciate so much of you who drops me a line, both English and Chinese, sometimes even the language I don't understand and telling me to keep going and keep writing. My humble heart is so grateful for your support.
I've noticed that I write about Travel way too often than any other categories. That's something I want to improve. And I am so guilty as charged to only write in English. I had said to myself before I started this journey that I won't just simply translate each post from English to Chinese or vice versa. These two languages of mine, equally beautiful (debatable), yet so different in many ways. I don't know about you but my writing is entirely different from one another. But fear not, they both sound like the Juliette you know:).
I also promised myself, to never write something like 10 things to do in where and where (not that there's anything wrong with it, in fact, these kind of writing are great and very helpful for those in need, and I enjoy reading them myself), I just wish that when you are reading mine, it feels like I'm your friend, returned from an exciting trip, and now telling you all about it over coffee or dinner. And I encourage you to discover your own path and secret gems when you are on the road. Isn't it wonderful to have your own unique experience rather than tap places off like everyone else? Of course if you need something or tips before going somewhere, I would share with you, fire away!
Back to the trip, do you know that it's actually winter in Bali now? At least in Uluwatu. Of course, it's still sunny and hot weather, and if you spend hours at the beach you will still get a gorgeous tan. But in the small details, in the leaves of the trees, in the field of wild weed, you know that this land is resting and nurturing for the coming season, and at night your scooter ride can be as chilly and a leather jacket would come handy.
I had a great deal of fun driving around the island. We got lost serval times, when I say lost, I meant failed to reach the destination that we set in the beginning, nothing and no one can really be lost right? Wherever we end up, it's either the sunset at the cliff that moves you. Or when we look up, the full moon shines over our head and sends its blessings.
We had quite a few surprises along the way too. Wifey took us to one of her favorite, Blue Point Beach, only to find out that the beach was covered with high tide and there's no way we can lay down and get a tan, staff were there to ensure everybody's safety but the place is so gorgeous, the rock so dreamy that it totally worth the trek down.
On our last day, we went down to our favorite of all time Melasti Beach, which is just 10 mins drive from home. As I was driving down, I thought I took the wrong turn and came to a different place. Again, there's no more beach, the tide was so low that we got to see what's under the ocean, I even identify the rock which cut my leg that time when I was in the water! Nevertheless, we were so psyched and spent hours discovering the rocks and keeping saying "Geology rocks!" like a bunch of 12 years old out for a science field trip.
The very first time I came to this magical island was in the name of love. And it has been in the name of love all along. I only had the sweetest memories here, the memories that close to my hopeless romantic old soul's expectations. The memories that wake me up in the middle of the night, and the memories that make me smile at any given moment.
I was talking to a friend the other day when I was in Manchester, he asked me a question and I replied back in broken sentences and he said to me, darling you just wrote a poem there. I am not sure if it is a poem but I was having Bali in my head when I wrote that in the 15 seconds of time.
"I will wake up around noon, fall asleep at 5.
Going for coffee by the beach and write.
Afternoon walk, barefoot, with you and the dog.
And when the sun starts to set, we watch the day to die.
You will understand why.
Why I sit on the porch and cry.
And sign:
'What a wonderful thing to be alive.' "
Know that you are my safe harbor and I will come to you again and again as long as you will have me.
And so I did.
All photos by me shot in Bali, Indonesia.
Manchester | Red Brick Walls
Before I know anything, I found myself sitting on a bus heading to Manchester in the dark.
I could’ve taken the train, but booking a train ticket on the same day cost me as much as a first-class ticket to Paris. And I like to experience things, thought a 4+ hour bus ride would be fun.
It was fun, actually.
Now I am here, writing on the kitchen floor from a house located in the suburb of Greater Manchester. Messages from my WeChat remind me that tomorrow is the Mid-Autumn Festival and I am far far away from home. It all just feels a bit unreal.
But hey, what a wonderful journey it has been! I am still pretty much reliving the days I just spent on the island of Bali in early August, with my girls. And after a whirlwind of traveling from Shanghai to Paris (epic), London, now I’ve been in Manchester for almost two weeks! Where did the time go?
As industrial as it should be, I still find the soft spots of the city and the red brick walls, they get me every single time.
Weather in Manchester is strangely amazing. I don’t mind the cold and the rain, because I want to feel like I’m in the 19th-century English classic setting. But we are just being blessed with warm sunny days and breathtaking sunsets.
I take long walks along the river and park, write poems in my head and on the paper. Time has slow down here. Shops close at 4. I cook dinner and bake cake (things I can only imagine myself doing when I'm 37 and with my three children ). I often have trouble remembering where I was, and that’s okay too.
People call you love all the time, even with their thick accent, it felt lovely.
So there you go, love, enjoy the sunny Manchester!
Manchester made me realized that London is not the whole UK, just like how people always say Shanghai is not the real China. I was living in a bubble.
But that's why we travel right? To see things, to experience the uncomfortableness, to seek the truth.
I may or may not return to this city in the future, because nobody knows what's gonna happen tomorrow. But I will remember the smiley Ali from the Treehouse Cafe, who gave me a discount just because she thinks I am lovely(shy). All the people who gave me the way on the roundabout when I got so confused without any signal directions. The girl at the McDonald's wants to know where I get my jumper, and the shop owner was wondering if I was having a study break while I was getting a bottle of chocolate milk.
All in all, I had a lovely time here and you should come and experience it too if you haven't been!
Oh, if I have to give you one advice, or rather, a warning, beware of the city bus drivers, if you don't know the rules, they might make you cry.
Just might.
All photos by me shot in Manchester, United Kingdom.
Wuzhen | Last Monday in March
Back in March (now it's the last Monday in July, typical Juliette Style) when my little furry ball came to visit from Amsterdam, we took a day trip down to the famous water town Wuzhen.
We were fortunate enough to have a driver to drive us down there, but it's very convenient to get to Wuzhen by speed train, from Shanghai or Hangzhou. First, you take the train to Tongxiang City, and then you can choose either taxi or take a bus here.
Lies within the triangle formed by Hangzhou, Suzhou, and Shanghai, Wuzhen is famous for so many reasons, an ancient water town to start with, it is also home to the world internet conference, and the annual Wuzhen Theatre Festival, just to name a few.
And the reason I like it is because of a man. Two actually, two writers. Mao Tun is a household name; every Chinese studied his work in school. His book <The Midnight> is a must-read, it's a window to Shanghai in the 30s, the most complicated, chaotic time there was.
And then there's Mu Xin. Writer, painter, poet, and a true artist.
I saw a picture of Mu Xin when he was young much earlier than his poem of his that went viral on the internet a few years ago. Staring at that black and white picture, I murmured "He must come from that time", he looked like a prince, a true gentleman. He was also the mentor of the famous artist Chen Danqing. While Mo Gan Shan is now considering " the hotspot for a weekend retreat, Mu Xin has done his fair share with that place many moons back. He's ahead of us and ahead of his time.
I was obsessed with him for quite a while now and bought all the books I can find about him. Little did I know that Mu Xin met Mao Tun before and he borrowed a lot of books from the Shen Family(Mao Tun's original name is Shen Yanbing, Mao Tun is his pen name).
I love reading his essays, so lightweight but heart-fulfilling. I think we can be friends if we ever met. But that can only be a dream now. After many years of living abroad, Mu Xin returned to his birthplace in 2006 and died there in 2011 December, aged 84.
He took the charm and class that only belongs to his time with him. I am always a little sad when I can only use the past tense to mention someone. But life must go on and luckily he left us an unmeasurable amount of treasure that we can benefit from forever. And now every time I pick one of his books from the shelf, I will remember the first black and white picture that I ever saw of Mu Xin.
Don’t you get fooled by the blonde hair and blue eyes, this Hong Kong-born, Beijing-raised French cutie shared the same childhood memory with me. We ate the same childhood snacks, and tasted the same Chinese popsicles, I’m talking about the ’90s, baby! We eat tea-cooked egg as an afternoon snack and munch on the slow soy milk cooked corn, proof: as shown in the photos.
Obviously, we have something more in common than just the childhood snack collections. We spent a Sunday together and basically became inseparable ever since. She consistently wants to raid my closet and I've been very aware of no longer using a plastic straw, ever! We share the same love for art, food, travel, fashion, and cute mixed Canadian boys.
Xi Zha- West Fence
Rather in an unconventional way, we started our visit from Xi Zha- West Fence ( Literal translation, but you got the image), whilst most of the tourists would start the tour in Dong Zha - East Fence and come over to Xi Zha at night for the light show. We were only here for the day, surely we are going to miss the light show anyway, we figured it doesn't really matter which end we start.
So it goes.
Xi Zha has in total of 12 islands, connected by 70-something bridges. It has all these long quiet flagstone alleys paved among the hotels and resorts. Yes, Xi Zha has excellent hotels with terraces facing the water. I seriously don't mind switching off my phone for a week and just hiding in one of these rooms to read and write.
I like how quiet and serene this place is. We were definitely not alone, despite it being the early spring and the weather is not as warm as it seems, we still had a lot of company. But it didn't feel like a touristy place where it was loud, busy, and noisy. Everyone really just minding their own business. Everybody is connected with this place and wanted to keep it within them. Annabelle and I accidentally walked into a room and couldn't find our way out for quite a while. But that's okay too, the room itself was an interesting history page for us to discover and we eventually find the hidden push button to open the door and back on the flagstone pavements.
Dong Zha - East Fence
If we heard nothing in the West Fence, we are about to hear everything in the East.
If the West is a nicely and carefully curated half of Wuzhen, the East would be the authentic original, raw, organic another half of the water town.
Why authentic, original and raw? There are people who still live here! They are of course the resident of Wuzhen from the very beginning. But like everywhere else, you would think that once something or someplace develops into a tourist spot, you would relocate the people and make it the tourist spot where you charge the admission, but here, the woman still washes the vegetables by the dock in the water. Granny still bakes the same pie she would bake for the grandchildren, only now she sells them to the outsiders too.
My favorite part of this side of the tour was when we stepped into a place where tourists suppose to stop, but the boy who is also a local decided to feed our curiosity and let us pass. We got the chance to see what the local's houses really looked like and what their lives are. After the main entrance, which serves as a front living room, we came into a courtyard where the flowers and grannies are. I felt like they were been living like this for the last century and nothing much has changed, sure they have AC and maybe internet now, but the layout of the house, the way how they prepare their dinner, you can easily place them back to the 1970s and it would most probably still fit in that time. At some point I was indeed Alice in wonderland and fell into the rabbit hole, I can't really figure out where I was, and which year it is. All the noise out before that door was muted. I only remember the sun reflected and saw a spider's web on the corner terrace of the second floor.
I was born in a water town too, and so was the late Jin Yong (Louis Cha Leung- Yung GBM OBE). The legendary Wuxiao novelist once wrote about his hometown, " 如果你到过江南， 会想到那些燕子， 那些杨柳与杏花，那些微雨中的小船。“ ("If you have been to Jiangnan, you will think of the swallows, the weeping willows and the yellow apricots, and those tiny boats in the spring drizzle" ) It certainly lost some of its charms while being translated into English, even the word "Jiangnan" stands for a heavenly place in Chinese rather than just a region south of the Yangtze River. But when I first read those words of his, I felt I have been SEEN and HEARD.
I went to boarding school when I was 11, and never really return home ever since then. So whenever I think about my hometown, I go through my younger memories. I think about the yellow apricot blossoms and the boats in the spring rain. The black sallows fly through and over the weeping willows.
And on the last Monday in March 2019, I got to live that memory again. I was 9 years old again. And the weeping willows and the boats in the rain, they are all coming back to me.
As a matter of fact, they never left.
All photos by Annabelle and me shot in Wuzhen, China.