I posted this in my Tumblr but decided to share it here since it’s about being in Hong Kong.
My new, future bed has a little shelf in the headboard to put things. At least I think that’s what it’s for. And the kitchen is in a tiny nook. My agent apologized for not being able to get me one with an open kitchen, but I like that the kitchen has it’s own designated space. It will have a little washer and even a fridge. There’s even an air vent. I was already surprised by the washer and the fridge and the kitchen, because I wasn’t supposed to get any of those. But apparently every flat has one now, and I’d like to believe that I convinced the landlord to put in kitchens for everyone.
This is the first time I’ll be living on my own, in a new country to boot. I’m really excited. I can’t wait to buy bedsheets. I can’t wait to buy plants. I already know what kind of plants I will get: a succulent and a moss ball. I also brought a mint plant from home that I can finally grow.
There are fleeting moments where I realize that this is my life, this is my reality. But most of the time, I feel like I’m not really here, that this is just a holiday. It hasn’t hit me yet that I’m away from home because I don’t miss home at all.
I still feel like something will go terribly wrong, but at this point, I don’t even care anymore. For the first time ever—being alone in a bright, unfamiliar city—I feel so incredibly alive. Solitude only brings you closer to yourself, amplifying the feeling that you are suspended in the ether. You are the positive space, a hair’s breadth away between everything and nothing.
The negative space is muted. The voice inside my head is loud and clear. I am contained and exposed at the same time.