The love of being away

Personal archive. Hong Kong.

The whistling winds by my window, the smoothness of their ice. The greying of those structures around me, through the darkening of the skies. They speak to me freedom. Speak to me life.

It is lonely, as my heart lies away. It is lonely, only in a good way. But the air that smells of freedom comes with a price to pay. The price of leaving my creator, the cost of being away. The price of losing him, as the end comes nigh.

However, the heightened sorrow in my heart, today gets a night off. This city’s noise and its breath, has covered me into its love. The heavy waters by the harbour, gush in darkness, asking me to write a story. They welcome me into their arms, they lock me into their view, closely.

I write about independence that tastes rusted in its glory. Washed away with endless struggle, only to create a marvellous history. A story of fears, of decisions, of changes. A story of a woman, who doesn’t know how to swim, yet into the deepest waters of life, she plunges.


Here is a collection of my poems, scribbled in the middle of nights on the phone, or in a forgotten diary carried through a street in some part of this world, or merely sent over WhatsApp as a love note.

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