DESARMER

Brighton, 8/9 June 2012

Wed, 23 Jan 2013 22:03:00 -0500

I had to open my old journal to find the words that matched these pictures. Too much has changed since then, for all 3 of us. When we’re 40 and retreating to the point where our lives converged, it was that salty summer of tears and hawker food. And Brighton was the trip before shit became real life.

We’re on the M23! En route to Brighton. Getting out of central London was hell. I’m at the back with the rice crackers and hummus because I can’t drive or read maps. My value on this road trip will emerge at some point. That awful Carly Rae Jepsen song is playing and we can’t get enough of it, especially since Caroline’s had it on replay for the past 2 weeks. This is so exciting, the three of us in a car to somewhere. We are so young. We are so old. If we crash, my only regret would be not to have warned mum earlier.

We’re sleeping in the car tonight.

Home is an open spot in a multi-storey car park facing the sea. Am eating strawberries and trying to grip the green bits as minimally as possible so the juice doesn’t run onto my fingers. Leaning against Jer’s seat. He looks like he’s sleeping but is really just scrolling through his phone. Rot’s got her face creams in a row on the dashboard and is applying them with care. This is one of those moments when you feel you want nothing more from life. We spent the evening wandering to town for dinner and wandering back. Rot’s been walking around wrapped in the Ikea throw we both have in baby blue. We passed some school kids and there was a girl also wrapped in a blanket (pink) who stared like she’d found her soul mate. Jer and I had a good laugh while Rot stood 10 steps in front judging us for trying to spot pink blanket girl to laugh at some more. The wind is howling and our little car shakes when it gets stronger. A lonely twitching blue-bottle.

.

Woke up shivering at 2, 4 and 6. When this driver wakes we are driving into town for a hot mug of tea. Reading 眠 / Asleep by Banana Yoshimoto.

Still reeling over the mental image of Jeremy brushing his teeth this morning. Rot and I had practically ritualised the process- how often do you brush your teeth in a car park?? We swirled mineral water in our mouths and washed the minty foam further down the shallow drain lining the concrete floor. The boy wasn’t as thrilled.

‘This is so fun! Are you not having fun?’
‘Like out-field.’
(Lolocaust. Forgot he’d done enough of this in the army.)

I really like pebbly peaches. It’s right for this country anyway- sand & cold doesn’t sound like a good combination. I think of the Kooks and then thought of the time I thought of the Kooks last year sitting on this beach. We’ve been around; past the tourist rides and the candy floss and the Hello Kitty machine in the arcade. Just now, Rot borrowed my coat while I shuffled around trying to catch the waves with my shutter. These are going to be our family holiday photos. I’ll print them out and put them in an album with dates and captions on the sides. Also, we got outsmarted by Waitrose and thus have to pay a parking fine. Un-sarcastically, that’s kind of the perfect end to the trip.

Back home. Poor zip car was covered in salt spray and so we washed it down before Jeremy returned it. I love my housemates. We could exist on our own, in this time capsule on St Pancras Way. With the supplies from Jeremy’s bomb shelter of a room. That might suit me for a while, yes. Brighton was such a good idea.

Amsterdam, April 2012

Sat, 06 Oct 2012 21:05:31 -0400

Some monochromes from Amsterdam with the gorgeous film Ivan mailed me.

I remember very little about this trip except renting a bicycle on Day 1 and almost killing myself and a few others along the way. Luckily, Amsterdammers seemed good-natured enough to tolerate the little Asian girl struggling to touch her toes to the ground while her bum stayed on the seat of the giant Macbike-cycles. But really, they’re huge and red and scream ‘Look at meeee I’m a gormless tourist!!!’. I would recommend the black ones from Rent-a-bike on Damstraat for next time.

The city is easy to navigate once you figure out the concentric shape the canals make; and also infused with design. I couldn’t get enough of the home-offices I could peek into, with their huge white work tables in the middle. Me being me stuck my head into the door of a house under renovation and was invited in by the construction workers and given a run-down of the development plans. My future home’ll be a space anywhere with good light, furniture donations welcome.

In the evenings I’d make it back to the shelter (yes, it was called a shelter) in time for dinner and spend the evenings chatting with people- I met Luci when I gave him an imaginary cigarette and Andre the cleaner when he tried to pry me away from my readings (it was 3 weeks to end-of-years) to read the Bible. Meeting people’s always the best part of trips out on alone, although I’d say Amsterdam is a city best enjoyed with some friends. Wouldn’t want to OD on space cakes alone now, would we?

Heart Up

Mon, 20 Aug 2012 13:44:00 -0400

For Nici & Minnie. Please contact me if you’d like your photograph taken.
(tanjunyin@gmail.com)

Oasis

Fri, 10 Aug 2012 13:22:12 -0400

Having alot is having alot to take away. I am scared.

NDSM-Werf

Mon, 06 Aug 2012 10:46:00 -0400

A 15 minute ferry ride from Centraal Station and you’re in a different world. Something like a spat out movie scene: derelict warehouses sitting beside industrial storehouses, graffiti meets whitewash. Home to manufactured products, 100 odd studios and a skateboard hall. Nothing much to do on it really, but noone said anything about entertainment. It’s just a space. Enjoy it if you will.

ACCRA (a travelogue)

Sat, 04 Aug 2012 05:23:00 -0400

25th July 2012
We’re in Accra! It feels so good to be on the road. We’ve been ferried in and out of Abwakua and the lodge for the last 9 days, never quite knowing where in-between was. RIght now I’m lying on the top bunk of room 4 in Pink Hostel in Asylum Down, full from the pizzas we shared at Frankie’s in the Osu district (apparently the Oxford Circus of Accra). Willie and Kojo said goodbye and we cabbed home. The taxi driver was real friendly and told us all about the tribes in Ghana. Tribes are relevant to them as dialect is to the Chinese, maybe even more. Every tribe has their own stereotype. He is from Ewe, the voltic region. Although Ghan is the main language in Accra, Ashanti is dominating the region. The Ashanti are a rich people, their area sits on vast reserves of gold and timber. They are also a proud people, shrewd with a flair for business and a somewhat laisse faire attitude towards education. The King is adorned with gold, so that should he wish to shake his arm about, he’d need someone to hold it up for him. The Ewe, on the other hand, are an educated people, but superstitious and secretive about their wealth. The Ashanti are unafraid to flaunt, therefore openly supporting each others’ business and growing in wealth together. Then there are the Fante, sweet natured and loved by all.
Expenditure for today: 10 dinner + 2 cab
The city feels worn and strangely vast. It’s not half as bustling as I expected it to be though. Kind of like Thailand with 1/5 the population. We’re going to the market tomorrow!

26th July 2012
I am getting my first zits in 3 months. The city is a dirty place, drains with murky water and streets dusty with pollution. Today we all number-twoed into the same toilet (which never flushed) and visited 2 markets: Mallam Atta market in Kokomlemle, and Makola market. Mallam Atta was fascinating, a truly wet market with fat ladies sitting behind pig skins rolled up like Aladdin carpets, live crabs and every kind of local vegetable. We walked into a man carrying a skinned pig over his shoulder. They didn’t like us taking pictures but the whole place was fascinating.. the sounds and the colours and the movement and the smells. Wish I could turn invisible and go back there. Elaine and Tze Ni had indomie (yes, indomie indomie) at a little roadside place which was actually really quiet and clean. The indomie here is fantastic, they put in two packets in one serving and garnish it generously with peppers and a huge omelette.

I had a coke float along Osu and we headed up to Makola market, which is where the entire city goes to get… everything. Holy crap, I have never felt more discriminated against in my life. With my yellow skin I might as well have been glowing. For 2 hours we walked through ‘Ching chong ching chong’, China china’ and ‘HEY SISTA!!!!’ Some men touched our arms, like ‘Ooh what’s this, never seen this before!’ Noone left us in peace, it was crazy. We got extremely edgy after a while, I think a glared at a few men. Elaine estimates there to be at least 50, 000 people at Makola. It was the mangoes that brought us peace. We bought a mango from the roadside and the lady cut it into huge cubes for us to share. She gave us one toothpick. We stood near the bins, in our own dimension of zen passing the toothpick around. It was a sacred toothpick; our eyes followed it as one. That was undoubtedly the best mango I have tasted, ripe and full of sun. Funny how you can taste an entire country in a fruit.

We stopped to ask for directions from a vendor and the tomato women behind us yelled their opinion over. I don’t know what the feminists are playing at, have they never met Ghanaian women?? With their spirit these people could tear down a tree. I feel smothered in their presence. And yet they are very much women. Of course, the entire street watched on as I took a picture of them, silly Asian tourist who gets excited at tomatoes in wooden crates. Also, I’m starting to think if I could invent something to make my hair grow 5 times the normal rate I might just move to Africa. So many people have asked to buy my hair.

27th July 2012
Today I swam under a waterfall. We inched under the fall and looked up against the cascade, catching 2 seconds worth of falling crystal before it pelted our eyes and we had to swipe the water off our eyelids. I am so glad I’m traveling with 3 crazy adventure gurls~~, when we first got to the fall the water was brown and so I said okay guys I think I’m fine admiring this from here and the next thing you know they’ve stripped off and gone in repeating ‘once in a lifetime experience!’ after one another. I said ‘meh’ and did the same and I’m SO GLAD I DID. Under the waterfall there’s nothing but a clear, powerful spray ravaging down your back. I stood there until I could take no more.

There was a rainbow. I saw it from underneath the fall. The sun shone and colours appeared on the lighter sprays of water. It was kooky feeling; a sense of coming into contact with the supernatural. I was actually paralysed for 2 seconds. I felt scared. It’s just a scientific phenomenon explainable by natural laws but I fear the first mover, the one who set these laws into motion. His awesomeness will be too overwhelming to bear.
The most epic moment of the day happened while I was drying my feet. I was standing around in my underwear, very absorbed in balancing on one foot to dry the other when Elaine shouts ‘Jun! People!’ I look up to see a group of African men descending down the stairs (!!!!) ‘Oh fffff…’ I hobble towards a rock that came up to knee-height and try to hide behind it. My friends run towards me with a small towel and my dress, screaming with laughter. Joyce is imploding with silent mirth. The men look very puzzled. Finally Elaine slips my dress over my head and we laugh even more. Now I can say I’ve been walked in on by a bunch of African men. And hey, swam under waterfall is definitely bucket list material!

I stock up on plantain chips (they are soooooo good) and we take the tro tro back to the city. The tro tro is good fun, basically the Ghanaian form of public transport where they stuff you in a van and give people time to sell you things off the top of their heads before driving off. You can buy anything off someone’s head. For the trip to Kofuridua (we had to go from Accra—> Kofuridua—> The Boti Waterfalls) this morning we got packed rice (yes, lady walking around with 20 packed lunches on her head), an egg, plantain, 2 packs of gum and loaker crackers. You can get toothpaste and torchlights too. The trotros run from interchange to interchange in every town, making stops in the copper-coloured villages on the way whenever someone flags. All you have to do is step onto the road and wave. Our driver was having the time of his life with the honk, honking at people and animals alike. Elaine falls asleep on my right shoulder while I try to take pictures without moving it. I felt so refreshed after the waterfall; it was perfect for two hours of hiking. That was a pretty dangerous hike we did in fact, some rocks came up to my face and we literally had to climb them. Our guide Tony shuffled through the whole thing in his slippers. We got to Umbrella Rock, which is basically three huge rocks stacked on one another. We sat that the edge of the bottom rock and enjoyed the view below; definitely an epic picnic spot.

Back in Accra the traffic is disgusting and the grime settles over me like a familiar grip. We are suffocating in the tro tro so we get off early and cab. I thought this today, I feel more alive in third world. Sitting in the tro tro fresh from a waterfall, watching the road winding through villages at dusk, this is the feeling I’ll take away from Africa. And that hilarious image of men taking turns to open Tze Ni’s bottle of juice at the interchange. (We used a knife in the end). Comfort sort of lulls me into a state of deadness, like nothing particularly appeals anymore. Then again, this aliveness is probably just the effect of novelty. Probably both.

28th July 2012
It’s 11pm(ish) and we’re at the departure hall waiting for TAP’s check-in! More like a giant tent, really, but it’s comfortable. Joyce and Tze Ni have stretched out and fallen asleep.

7pm
We left for the airport early because the hostel was going to turn off all electricity for the night at 1030. Took a right instead of a left out of Asylum down, and ended up on a wooden bench by the road, where we got indomie and omelette sandwiches and the best milo I have ever tasted. It came in a plastic looking beer mug, with a wider bottom. There’s something very invigorating about having instant noodles fried in a metal pan over a charcoal fire, a big fat onion omelette above the msg-laden indomie. The sound of the street. Oh-so good.
You meet the most random people by the road. There were two young men who spoke good English and invited us to a nightclub (like the creepy musician who sang to us in Chinese at the beach just now), the guy who reserved Joyce for himself and another one of us ‘sistas’ for his brother (fuck no, said Elaine), and then the most wonderful woman in light blue. You could tell she was educated by the tone of her voice. Her name is Susan, she’s worked 41 years at Barclays and now blends fresh juice to sell to her ex-colleagues. She is SO independent and well-traveled. I wanted to hug her. Her favourite holiday was a wedding she attended in Rotterdam. We bought some juice from her, probably the healthiest thing I’ve had this trip. Before she left she advised us not to rush into marriage, and to build our careers because that would make us independent. God bless you and live the most of your life. I was still smiling when she had gone.

Am so excited to go home, but this has been an amazing trip. On such a low budget too, my fav. One day we will take a road trip through the whole of Africa, living out of our backpacks because life is best when I don’t have ‘stuff’. Reminder: Take malaria pills!!!

/mostly a copy-paste from my travel journal. There was an entire roll of film that didn’t catch, the roll with massive pigs on the beach. Was gutted about that but at the same time it felt good to lose it. Sometimes photographs are just photographs.

GHANA

Wed, 01 Aug 2012 03:05:00 -0400

Ghana. Am really quite stumped about where to start on this one. The pages of my first moleskin are soggy from the humid african air, the sweaty damp of fingers flicking through the pages, scribbling down profiles and drawing up + - balance sheets. We were there on a 10-day Microfinance Brigade; we split into groups of twos and threes and went out to speak to families in the community every day about financial literacy. The whole idea was to introduce the concept of savings to the community so they eventually become self-sustaining. People save into the Central Development Fund until the bank is earning enough profit to provide interest/loans to further the local businesses. You know, like what they say about teaching a man how to fish. I confess my own financial situation is in shambles but I think microfinance (as Muhammad Yunus meant it, not the exploitive systems it has evolved into) is genius. Ben Orki says the only power the poor have is their hunger. But hunger is where all the good things start.

The first thing you will learn in a Ghanaian community is how to dance. These people have got real swag, it’s in their blood. After being ushered in with drums and chanting we were politely coerced into the only dance-off I have ever participated in. Awkwardly but spontaneously we threw ourselves into nothing short of a full-on clubbing session in the midday sun, children clinging to every free hand there was. Women taking an afternoon off work waddled into the crowd, their wrappers rippling behind them. Spurred by their friends’ cheering, they moved in an ancient beat, faces smacking of unrestrained satisfaction. First rule of the game: When in doubt, dance (dead serious here).

Over the next week I met 5 families, picked up the local languages (Fante and Tree), and learnt my Ghanaian name. It’s pretty simple- you’re named after the day of the week you were born on. I was Kukua, for wednesday. Otse den for how are you, eye (o-yeh) for I am good. Med ase (medasi) means thank you- throw in a ‘pa’ at the back for ‘thank you very much’. There’s no limit on the amount of gratitude you can express. ‘Med ase papapapapapapapPA!’

We were a team of 3: Tze Ni, Festus and I. Festus is a linguistics student from the local university, screams like a girl and owes me 50 goats in 50 colours for Tze Ni’s hand in marriage. I’m still waiting for him to respond to my facebook friend request.

We trudged through the dirt paths of the village every day to the families who were waiting for us. Some days were good and the conversations were fruitful, some days we barely got to see anyone at all. There isn’t really a sense of ‘x pm sharp’; weather is time. On days it rained we found only empty houses because everyone had gone out to the fields, or hurried to finish the day’s business in case it rained again. On the third day it poured all morning and so we went on a walk through the community. The sun was out in full force after the storm- we passed goats lazying indoors, women doing each other’s hair and eventually wound up by the river, where an old man was checking his troughs for fish and teenagers took the younger children around in a bright green boat. Festus picked a snail up and we watched it retreat and emerge from its shell, eyes questioning. Mavis (one of the village leaders) said she’d take it home to cook.

This is where I try to introduce the individuals we spoke to. It’s been really frustrating putting together this post, I want to tell you all that I saw and learnt but most of it cannot be communicated. You have to be standing there in the heat, absorbing it into your skin. Nothing was mind-bogglingly new, I knew what Ghana would look and feel like. But being there and interacting with people is a completely different thing. For someone like me who is a part-product of institutionalised education, it is knowledge come alive, and I can only describe it the way you might have read in your secondary school geography textbook. We had to learn to ask the same question in different ways, sometimes because jargon caused misunderstanding, other times because they were reluctant to give us honest answers, presenting the worst of the situation in hopes of getting money. Many problems had no answers, not least because everyone buys and sells on credit and there is literally no money moving in the community. Most of the people the brigade spoke to were women, who received pocket money from their husbands without knowing how much they earned. Couples commonly kept their finances separate, some even living apart from each other. For the subsistence farmers, income is seasonal, and sale prices are not regulated by a farmers’ union of sorts. There was rarely a number to peg to an ‘annual income’. Some join SuSu groups where members saves her money in a group fund and take turns to use as loans. Sometimes though the interest on the loans are high and they end of losing more than they save. Sometimes people default on loans and there is nothing tangible you can do. Trust is a valuable currency in a tight community but it isn’t entirely infallible.

Name: KOFI MANSEN
Occupation: Former mechanic, now farmer
Family: Wife and 3 children
Saving up for: Childrens’ education, mechanic business

We sat in the shade of his mango tree. He is well educated and has worked in the city with other mechanics from Europe. Why are you back here as a farmer then, we asked. I like being here with my family, but the money is not enough. There is no demand for my trade in the village. Maybe I’ll go back and join my brother in his business, he is a mechanic too.

Name: KOFI ATTA
Occupation: Former factory worker, now farmer of 6 acres of land
Crop: Maize and pineapples. (Watermelons too, but it is expensive to cultivate)
Family: Mother, wife and 4 children
Saving up for: Childrens’ education

We saw Kofi Atta only once. The next time we went to visit him we learnt he’d gone out into the neighbouring village for the weekend. This is a picture of his new kitchen in the midst of construction.

Name: EFUA
Occupation: Seamstress
Income: 5 Cedis per garment Family: Mother, husband and baby daughter
Saving up for: Daughter’s education

She hopes her daughter might be a lawyer some day. Such a shy creature she was; we visited 4 times before she seemed comfortable with our presence. The first meeting was quite a disaster because there were chickens flying all over the place, and there were 2 interpreters present. It was hard to find a time when she wasn’t busy breast feeding. She talked about her business and we drew up a little balance sheet for her to make sure she knew how much she was spending and earning, and calculated how much she would need to save a week to afford her daughter’s university education (5 cedis a week).

Name: AUNTIE BABA/SARAH GREY
Occupation: Fabric seller
Family: Daughter and grandchildren
Saving up for: Retirement

This is possibly the most beautiful woman I have ever met. Eyes sentient against the kind lines on her face. She shared openly and systematically with us, stopping to shoo off the little girl holding out a dust-powdered teddy bear at me. The money she keeps in SuSu groups her son often takes as loans for his business in Accra, and she buys and sells fabric to cover the interest on his loans. She also did enough farming to feed the family, selling the surplus at Mankessim (the main market ~30 mins from Abwakua). Time to start saving for your own retirement, and purchase health insurance, we urged. We all agreed she should transfer her savings from the SuSu group into the CDF, where interest rates on loans would be lower. On the second-last day we stopped by for a chat, and she told us of how a white lady from the national service had come to stay with her for two years. They slept on the same bed and ate the same food. ‘Whatever she ate, I would eat as well. One day I ate the ginger she gave me and it was too spicy. Auntie, are you trying to kill me??’. Then the white lady had to leave but she kept sending gifts and letters through a man in the village. One day the man disappeared, and so did the gifts.

We asked to see her cloth and she brought them out in a big bowl, brightly printed fabric neatly folded and stacked. Trisha (one of the interns joining us for the day) and I share 4 yards of a blue piece with geometric yellow prints, and Tze Ni buys 2 yards of another for her grandmother. Auntie Baba gifts us a white silk scarf each, and even Festus won’t translate our protests. We take a picture for memory and when I look at it I can feel her arm against mine, her skin cool and loose. It reminds me of other old people I’ve hugged before.

Name: HANNAH
Occupation: Priestess
Family: Children and grandchildren
Saving up for: Debt repayment (700 cedis)

The first time we met Hannah she told us about her grandchildren and we told her about the one-child policy in China, laughing with her as she worked herself into a robust state of disbelief. The second time we met her she told us about her debt; her house and all her savings had been burnt in a fire the previous year and she owed 700 to her creditors. As a Priestess, she doesn’t charge anything but accepts tokens of appreciation. Given the credit system everyone operates by, you’d be hard-pressed to find customers who pay the full intended amount in cash. People mostly bring her food instead. She does some farming along the side, but the income from that is seasonal and unpredictable- the harvest is in September. She’d like to start a business buying soap from the market and selling it in Abwakua, but she needed a start-up capital of 100 Cedis. As she lifted up her shirt to weep I felt despair at the burden she had to bear. We got her granddaughter (Hannah, after our Hannah) to draw a balance sheet with us for the business, and taught her how to fill in 2 columns for expenditure and earning. Later on we spoke to William (our brigade leader) about making a 70 cedi extended loan to her, conditional upon the money being used for the business. I hope it got through to her.

We’d get back to Weda lodge in the evenings, and I’d run up the roof to catch the sun before it set, trying not to trip over my skirt. The stairs were fixed behind the kitchen and I’d catch the smell of dinner through shallow breaths. The night it was starry we brought Elaine’s tourist mat (It had Union Jacks on it) and lay on the roof talking about the future.

They made us dance again the day we left, till our shirts clung and our hands were dusty from other dusty hands. In return we sang them a song Koju taught us. It means ‘Thank Him’. I have them written in my diary the way the words sound to me.

Danase Danase
Dan oo-nia-me-na-si
Ophre seh, O yeh
Na na doh ye
Do smo-o-o-o
Danase Danase
Dan oo-nia-me-na-si

I pulled out a tissue and wiped my face with it. Obaya took it and tore it and rolled some into little tissue balls. She placed them on her long eyelashes and blinked. The villagers had made us beaded bracelets and I fingered mine as we drove off, the sun low and our damp skin chilly under the air conditioning. Most of the brigade would head back to London soon, but for 4 of us, it was the start of what would be nothing short of an adventure in the city. (next post!) There are so many other things I want to say here, random things. Like how we woke up to Elaine’s 5 alarms on the first day thinking there were 5 different animals outside the window. Or the time Festus showed us how a black girl walks. Water fight day. When we made Kojo rap. Bits already fading from my memory. I think of Auntie Baba living her life and feel like there’s morality right there, everyone just living their lives. Med ase pa.

a short story about a dog

Sun, 08 Apr 2012 18:23:48 -0400

Once upon a time there was a dog.
He liked to play fetch.
In the winter, he would fetch snowballs.
He leapt,
And they exploded over his nose.

the girl sitting on the bench felt her own nose shiver
how lovely winter is, she thought

three pictures of the sun

Sat, 07 Apr 2012 20:55:00 -0400

one, two, three

310112

Fri, 17 Feb 2012 19:18:33 -0500

I stole these in 20 minutes with the pentax 1000 rot borrowed from school; i didn’t have time to think. I didn’t stop to think if it would make a good picture or not, whatever my instinct picked up, i took. Now looking at them I am myself looking at myself, not understanding the promptings behind each picture, not understanding the appeal they hold to me. I spent ages staring at these images, wondering why I like them. I like them each in their own right, but together they piece up the of the past month i struggle to put in words. How do i begin to describe the visceral uncertainty I have felt, mocked by the cruelty of the everyday? The everyday which stares at you in the scratched walls, the etched cracks, the plastic-looking flowers spelling artificial life in someone’s barren garden. Inanimate objects calling out my name, daring me to stay as still as them, to stop breathing so my ears may hear something else but the sound of my own breath. I think about the rhythm in which the days take on, so silently transitioning into the patterns our lives often take. school, work, marriage, childbirth, maybe. Who put those rules into place? We recognize the familiar, but will we recognize what is real, dare we? or will we say, hush, you do not belong in these scratched walls, the cracked edges; you do not fall in line with the pigeons on the window ledge?

Apologies for the long absence; I have been squatting in a little tiled cubicle in my mind, between who I am and who I want to be. Many things i have written about the past month, filed under the drafts section because I felt they weren’t exactly how I wanted them to be. Now i’ve started taking them out one by one, publishing them as they were, as long as they felt real when i made them. These were from the day I cut class to sneak into art school because my wonderful housemate offered to bring me to the darkroom. We were on a tight schedule; I had no film to develop. Give me 20 minutes, I said, and walked out with the camera, exhausting the entire roll, never stopping to think in all 36 times my finger pressed on the shutter. We set off. At least you look the part, she says- architecture or photography, apparently. We tap past security; mission accomplished, technology decided to give me a day off. The darkroom is magic; I study the instructions and pretend I am a chemistry student again, reading off the meniscus, drowning my film in developer and diluted acid, agitating it every 30 seconds, smiling to myself like a loony. This is what visual poetry feels like, I think. A class comes in and I don’t see my scans till the day after.

2011, WANDERLUST

Sun, 01 Jan 2012 21:25:00 -0500

“I wish to be a gypsy.”
- is what I emailed myself on a night when my consciousness was being coy. Travel is an escape, an awakening. It shakes the senses and makes me admit I am alive. 2011 has been a year of chances and strangers, the year I discovered restlessness. There’s no end to this wandering, this craving for the road. How could anyone sit still when there’s such alot of world to see? (thank you, Audrey Hepburn) The most significant thing I have learnt- The world with all its beauty is even more beautiful when you see flesh and rhythm blend into the same creation that is human, that is breath. And breath is hope.

April. SPAIN
(A sunny getaway with Caroline and Bong during our easter break.)

Sevilla

Sevilla smelt like orange blossoms. Here we discovered the friendliness of the Spanish. I shot my first roll of b&w and had my first sangria. We walked everywhere from our hostel, which was beside a church and had a kitchen on the rooftop. The church bells would chime while we had a chilly breakfast on the roof every morning.

Intricate architecture

An exhibition on the street.

Granada

My favourite area of the three we visited- Split geographically into 3 regions: Jewish, Arab and Christian, Granada was huge and culturally loaded. We didn’t finish exploring. I must have taken at least 4 pictures of Spanish balconies, and Caroline took even more.

Gypsy girl outside a spice shop. I told her I loved her hair, and could I take a photograph of it? I picture her to be smiling although she wasn’t facing the camera.

Bong sniffing away at one of at least 40 spices/teas. I bought some lavender for my mother, keeping some to sprinkle into my travel journal. I checked it last month in Germany and the Spain pages still smell faintly of lavender.

Arabian Night lanterns in a shop.

Malaga

The sunniest town of all. We were burnt and happily so, buying munchables from the morning market to savour by the beach. A couple lying in the sun near us were the cutest- guy pulled his partner’s hand over his eyes to shield them from the sun and they lay there in bliss, eyes still closed.

I bought bubbles on the last day and we had some unglamorous fun by the port.

Journalling again.

Getting back in the saddle after something like five years. Bong and Caroline had their first hacks, and the sun ebbed orange and gold over the fields as we headed back to the stables. The best end to the trip.

April. KENT

I walk in the countryside with Kim, who was visiting. Fields of gold which never seemed to end.

The gigantuan sow we saw which was at least thrice my size (I exaggerate not).

May. BRIGHTON

Post-exam trip to sunny Brighton. I love it for The Kooks and its cafes with smoothies and muesli and croissants. Streets filled with vintage shopping and artsy people.

Pebbled boat. I wanted fei to stand in it wearing my white dress but it was too cold by the evening time.

June. HOME/SINGAPORE

Yes, because going home is part of the ‘travel’ plan now, and such a dewy and reminiscently sticky summer it was too. This was the day my sisters and I hijacked the my mother’s sofa and carried out to our field like ants. On hindsight, the pictures I took that day were quite true to myself. I’d disliked them at first sight.

June. MALAYSIA

Kluang

Catching the last train from Malaysia back to Singapore with Louis, Kashing and Caroline. We spent ages eating paddle pop ice cream and people-watching on a little curb in the middle of the road. When our train pulled in at night, the crowd was so insane that my slipper broke while bring trampled on and I walked to the bus stop barefoot at midnight (I seem to do this much too often)

Extremely amusing outgoing and enthusiastic bean curd vendor who offered to pose for us tourists from the other side of the river.

September. SRI LANKA Negombo

On the flight from Singapore back to London, I find my transit in Colombo is 19 hours long and end up on the streets with a local I met at the airport. Edmund showed me around his hometown, Negombo. Since I said I wanted to see his town on foot, we walked for three hours.

The fish market and me sitting on an abandoned boat by the sea. Back at the airport, I discover my new tan and buy a packet of baby wipes for a shower.

September. SWITZERLAND
Basel

First trip intentional trip alone, although not entirely as I stayed with my uncle who practices traditional chinese medicine in Basel. (i can see your eyebrow-raise) Everyday I took the train out to a different city and back to Basel at night, with the exception of a night I spent in the mountains. I walked this street practically every day, through the city tower and into the city centre.

The water in all of Switzerland has to be as uniform as the rest of the country; perpetually aqua with an old man swimming in it. In the sun, it was always startingly blue and sparkling. I tried to imagine swimming in clarke quay back home, shudder shudder.

My aunt (who’s from inner mongolia and met my uncle online, eyebrow raise number two) brought me to their favourite cafe on saturday afternoon. We had latte from coloured bowls and I watched the people in front of me: an old man reading, an a pair of youths playing chess. Pretty good way to spend a saturday.

My uncle’s balcony, where we had dinner when it was just 3 people.

Zurich

To be honest, I loved Zurich only for its macarons. It was very much what I expected of a transportation hub, busy train station (with a fat blue angel to watch over her travelers), town, and a museum. Then again, I probably didn’t spend enough time here to do it justice, I was only here for a morning.

Inside a police station.(yahh)

the life/i would drink from that water if someone just handed me a glass and I was thirsty.

Luzern

I met Tiara and Eric this day and we trained to Luzern, easily the prettiest town amongst those I visited. We took a boat ride out to a dead town, had fun at a childrens’ playground and had a ridiculously expensive dinner, the only non-supermarket meal I would have.

Gimmelwald

I have raved enough about this place, but I am definitely going back- met a bunch of Egyptians in the mountain hostel and went hiking with other travelers I met at night. I panted through the glorious combination of snow and sun. This is all my 50mm could capture.

New friends! We talked and made music (or noise) till 1 in the morning.

November. FRANCE

Paris

A tourist trip, I finally got to see the Eiffel tower and despite how dazzling it was when the lights went on it really didn’t mean much to me. We went home and googled the story of the Eiffel tower and found out the French hated it when it first went up- In fact, there was an artist who ate lunch on it every day because it was the only place in Paris where one could not see the Eiffel tower. Hahaha.

In Shakespeare & Co, one of Paris’s many bookstores. (I loved Paris the most for its bookstores)

Fei in the Louvre.

November. NORFOLK

A weekend getaway with Thea and Sage. I fully understand why sick people are sent out to the country; its unwinding effect lies in its vastness and fresh air. In the day we climbed dunes, walked the beach and I photographed them. At night we had pimms from the local bar and then huddled over the fire at night watching Never Let Me Go.

Thea.

Sage.

December. GERMANY Bielefeld

Term was ending in a week and I was feeling restless. Where shall we go? I asked on facebook. Charlotte (whom we met in a hostel in Paris) said to come visit her in Bielefeld, I said yes and in 48 hours I had a plane ticket to Dusseldorf. These were the most Christmassy days I have spent. The last night we had a sausage party in her garden, where I stood under the flames of an outdoor heater devouring bratwurst and mulled wine. I still haven’t developed the proper photos from this trip, am excited to see them.

Lovers on the dance floor

So that was it: 2012 in travels. New year resolution #1: Stay hungry. Cheers to 2012, I hope you have a good year!

christmas past

Mon, 26 Dec 2011 19:28:00 -0500

You must keep on praying for light.

Chill

Fri, 23 Dec 2011 17:40:00 -0500

1€ Tequilla Party at Stereo, Bielefeld. Thought it would be rude to take a picture of the girl in crutches, rocking the night along with all her friends. Evidently, nothing could stop her from having a good night out. Charlotte says there are often people in wheelchairs on the dance floor as well, and I thought, that’s just awesome stuff.

Last day in Bielefeld, we went to the zoo This stag is the closest I could get to reindeer We had...

Sun, 18 Dec 2011 19:02:57 -0500

Last day in Bielefeld, we went to the zoo
This stag is the closest I could get to reindeer
We had a Bratwurst and Glühwein dinner in Charlotte’s garden tonight, where we ate sausages straight from the grill and wine from a dispenser while the dogs chased each other around in the garden
there was a little christmas tree, and the candle flames on the tables flickered with our breaths when we spoke
Other than Chiang Mai in 2008, this has been my first Christmas away from home
Its been a wonderful one, I hope you have a cosy Christmas too

It is snowing in Bielefeld. I woke up to Charly’s text...

Fri, 16 Dec 2011 06:33:55 -0500

It is snowing in Bielefeld. I woke up to Charly’s text that there would be snow today and looked out to see white flecks dancing outside the window. Am currently sitting in her kitchen with a pot of tea and lighted candles, the biscuit assortment thankfully a little out of my arm’s reach. so content that my even my internship application seems a pleasurable thing to do. This song is what I’m feeling right now :]

Ginger & White

Tue, 13 Dec 2011 20:58:00 -0500

A perfectly chilled day at Ginger & White with Caroline and Nat. I’d only been to this place once last year because its in ‘far away’ Hampstead, and though I now live around ten bus stops near it still feels really away in my mind. Its such an appealing little place tucked away in a little street, which is only another little street away from the little cart where the best crepes in London are made. As you, the observable reader might have noticed, Hampstead is generally a rather quaint area.

Into the tummies: Salted beef, smoked salmon sandwiches, a flat white, mocha and latte, lemon drizzle and ginger loaf cake. The ginger loaf was really a nimble attempt by rot and nat to rescue me from a perfectly amiable stranger who wouldn’t stop talking. “Jun, why don’t you go with nat to pick out a slice of cake?” Hahaha. The conversation did end on a good note, however, as he discovered he was missing a rubber piece on his earphones and I was missing a rubber piece on my earphones and since he was going to get a new pair, left his other rubber piece with me. I now have white earphones with a white earpiece on one side and a black one on the other.

I embarked on this post thinking I was going to stay up all night (out of sheer terror of missing my flight tomorrow), but have sensibly decided to go to bed. 6am will be fine, I will hear my alarm today. Today I had two slices of Kaya toast, spoke mandarin to an asylum seeker and had wine with a barrister who did YL v Birmingham. Am feeling rather finicky right now, and super fidgety for Germany tomorrow. Reminder to self: do KidsCo app.

Back onto Ginger & White: this is the way cafés should be, quaint, warm and for everyone- none of that ‘we serve good coffee without menus, cool people only’ nonsense. A huge wooden communal table with children and grown ups and budding architects doodling in sketchbooks. Good things are for everyone, no?

Ginger & White
4a-5a Perrins Court
Hampstead, London NW3 1QS
020 7431 9098

and nope, they don’t do Grande.

Paris: Café de Flore

Sat, 10 Dec 2011 19:05:00 -0500

THIS IS A HORRENDOUSLY OVERDUE POST.
A month after Paris, I look through our pictures and try to compartmentalize my memory. I can’t. You know how super organized people seem to have brains made out of compartments which they can open, extract a memory, put it back, then shut the drawer, locking for good measure? Mine’s full of noodles and oodles like spaghetti (yay, i did not have to google-spell spaghetti) with strains of loose thoughts crying to be knotted neatly back in. So I decided to do this with my gut- Most memorable things first.

Café de Flore was such a gossip girl morning. We sat in the sun with the best dresses we’d brought, armed with magazines conveniently purchased from the little stall nearby. Clémence Poésy was the subject of our initial conversation- that girl just oozes sex doesn’t she.

The waiter comes along. Like the others, he is briskly smooth (or smoothly brisk, however you may have it), with a touch of that ‘bonjour mademoiselle’ debonair only french waiters can manage. I am so amused I willingly play the part of the chinese tourist, inspecting the menu with a little less elegance than Bong, who seems only to shed her natural poise when guzzling asian food/playing kinect at Cha’s. What can I say, life is unfair.

Bong and I both decide on café viennois (an expresso with whipped cream) and its turns out to be the most decadent coffee I’ve ever had, especially since I ordered the chocolat viennois by mistake and we ended up mixing the hot chocolate into the coffee, fixing ourselves a very rich mocha viennois.

We finish up and ask our waiter to take a picture of us. He willingly obliges, taking at least 5 snaps of us and changing his own facial expression with every shot. As a final testimony to his expertise in humouring tourists, he turns the camera onto himself and presses the shutter. We now own a picture of les nostrils de french waiter, it is sitting proudly in Bong’s iphotos. If I could afford such a brunch every day, I would probably be obese. Just as well that it was a one-off treat!

Café de Flore
172 Boulevard Saint-Germain
75006 Paris, France

where shall we go?

Fri, 09 Dec 2011 22:29:00 -0500

Finally, the days show signs of slowing down. I’ve got so many stories to tell but I haven’t felt like telling them. The passions resignedly buried themselves beneath layers of winter wear, letting the body run its easy mechanic rhythm. Did you realize every living second is a dying second too? Like the Virginia Woolf in Cunningham’s The Hours.

She is better, she is safer, if she rests in Richmond; if she does not speak too much, write too much, feel too much; if she does not travel impetuously to London and walk through its streets; and yet she is dying this way, she is gently dying on a bed of roses.

Of course, I neither mean to suggest that I am dying nor that I am dying on a bed of roses. No, it is much less dramatic than that. But like Fei said, somewhere between we have forgotten what it is like to feel. To want something so badly. To be utterly obsessed, to ache. Now term is ending, and the layers are peeling off me, uncomfortably so. I feel such restlessness, the familiar beckoning of the road. Our speaker tonight told us of his friend who travels without a penny and break dances to stay on the road. What awesomeness, somebody needs to teach me how to break dance, thanks. Anyway, 48 hours and some facebook messaging later, I have a destination. We head solo to Bielefeld, Germany next wednesday to stay with the loveliest girls Bong and I met in Paris. A contented little trip, I hope.

Norfolk: A photo essay

Thu, 24 Nov 2011 20:50:40 -0500

So, while everyone’s putting up pictures from that foggy day at retreat I’m bringing up the rear with (still) Norfolk. But hey, I’ve always been team tortoise! I love these pictures though, literally snaps which bring you back to the moment. Disposables are practically my wide angle lenses- the 50mm is lovely…. on a flower, a shell, 3/4 of that group photo you had to cross a road to take.

On a more American note, my first thanksgiving was lying on a home-made bean bag at Thea’s, absolutely stuffed with turkey, stuffing, mash, beans, pumpkin pie, hazelnut tart and 4 kinds of wine. Good conversation and new faces, a good night. I do feel like I won’t be needing to eat for the next 48 hours though; the food coma has reached new heights. Going to wash the garlic smell of my fingers now, apparently the lemon zest didn’t quite negate 30 mins of garlic-peeling. Happy thanksgiving!

Emptiness

Sun, 20 Nov 2011 16:57:05 -0500

is when you’re uncertain about what belongs to you and what doesn’t anymore. At least to me it is.