Archive for the ‘Life as a foreign reporter’ Category
Hear my voice
Hear My Voice is both a rousing song by British soul singer Celeste and now something you do can do by listening to a podcast.
Months ago I got an email from a couple of young guys asking me to be a guest on their podcast. The podcast is called The Open Door and it’s become a sophisticated and seriously good series of episodes with interesting and varied guests. The majority of guests are Britons of mixed or East Asian or Southeast Asian heritage. Highlights include conversations with Jun Kit Man, founder of Resonate, which went deep on mental health; Sophia Luu, a Cambridge graduate who won the Frances Wilmoth prize for highest marked thesis, opening up about being British Vietnamese; and, obviously, with me.
It’s a great thing Anthony and Patrick (the hosts) are doing and you can hear my voice as I chatted with them. In the episode we spoke about the time I went to North Korea as an undercover freelance journalist, the background, and setting behind that. And we talked about identity, what it means to be British Chinese, and my journey into journalism.
You can listen on Anchor FM
You can also follow them on Instagram @theopendooruk
Recent bylines
My journalism has really gone into backslide as I concentrate on other forms of writing, focusing on developing my creative writing, and book stuff.
But I wrote this in-depth feature for one of my favourite publications, Eurogamer. It’s on how videogames like Grand Theft Auto, Pokemon Go, and Animal Crossing were used by protestors in Hong Kong. It also features an intro where I talk about my friend and I eating Vietnamese pho in Wanchai.
I hope you give it a read!
How Animal Crossing became a place of protest in China and Hong Kong • Eurogamer.net
2020: a timeline
2020 was a bit of a weird year. I might summarise what it felt like sometime. I might not. But here is a concise timeline of the year.
December 30, 2019: London Gatwick to Hong Kong.
Celebrated NYE at a houseparty then went to Central island with Masha and Katya, Wing, and met Laurie. Saw in the new year with drinks on the street.
Woke up late on Jan 1 2020, had Vietnamese lunch with Masha then we joined the crowd for the New Year’s Day demonstration. Watched Knives Out in the evening at the cinema.
–
January 8: Hong Kong to Cebu City, for 3 days. Then Siargao where I was adopted by some locals and learned how to surf.
Published: The National – Growth of Haidilao feature
Read the rest of this entry »Taiwan & the convenience of travel
Last year, I spent almost two months in Taiwan, or 55 days to be exact.
Earlier this year, I was back again: from February 21 to March 2.
2020 is a leap year so that was 10 days in total. I did very little while I was in Taiwan. I stayed in the same hostel in Taipei, in Shilin district, as I did last year. I went swimming and used the pool’s “spa”. I went to the gym (pay as you go). I went to a second-hand bookstore and bought a novel: David Szalay’s All That Man Is.
I met a local journalist, a Taiwanese-American, who I befriended over Twitter. I met a couple of friends (one of whom I met last year in Singapore, while another is a friend of the blog). I ate at a canteen where you can choose a meat and two veg dishes, from a selection, with rice and free soup — that costs about £1.30.
Mostly, I made sure to eat. I ate delicious beef noodles. Egg pancake things for breakfast. The freshest, best bubble tea on the planet. And I wandered the local night market, stopping at my favourites. Supping on milk papaya. Getting the local delicacy of grilled mushrooms. Trying a shack that did steak with Camembert. And I queued for the best bao I know of. These bao (meat buns) are just so good. I love them.
I was in Taiwan for 10 days and I mostly ventured within a 100 metre radius of my hostel. Why was I in Taiwan?
I was there as a stop-gap. I’d been in Thailand, and I was up on my 30-day tourist visa, and not wishing to extend another 30 days, I decided to fly from Bangkok to Taipei. It cost £68.29 and it’s a 3hr 45min flight. 10 days in Taipei. And then I flew from Taipei to Cebu (Philippines) for £35.70 — a 3hr flight.
I was in the Philippines for 11 days, eventually flying out from Manila to Fukuoka (Japan) for £45.80 — a 4hr flight.
All of this is to say something about how convenient travel is (or was). Some have wondered how I afford to travel like I do, but looking at these airfares you can see that international travel can cost about as much as train fare. In Europe, these airfares can be even cheaper, but Asia is a larger region than the EU.
And going from Thailand to Taiwan to Philippines really did feel more like taking buses to different stops in the land of Asia than it did proper international travel with its boundaries and borders. Planes collapse our sense of distance.
We all might know this in the abstract, but it’s a different thing when it’s lived experience. Looking back at my time in Taiwan, it feels so fleeting, and, in perspective, it was. It was just 10 days. Yet those 10 days, although I didn’t do a lot, shouldn’t be taken for granted. I want to zoom in on that short transit stay and blow it out, to honour it, now that such convenience is a past time. It was fleeting but those days were once my daily reality.
And maybe this interruption, as our society feels now, will one day also feel like it was a short transit to somewhere else, as it indubitably is, and all these months of worry and anxiety will come to be remembered as a fleeting time, but which was once all that you knew.
The wandering writer’s life – part 756
In the late summer of 2012, I was excited and nervous about my upcoming move to Beijing. I had a flight booked for September and I was looking forward to it with trepidation & eagerness. Moving overseas felt like a major threshold, and a threshold that – until it was crossed – remained beyond direct knowledge.
At night, in my parent’s house over that summer, I had vague dreams about how my time in Beijing would unfold. But I had no real insight into the minutiae of this unfolding until I had made the journey into that great beyond.
If these sentences sound vaguely death-like, then moving to Beijing did capture a death of some kind. The passing of an old life and journeying to a new one. New beginnings, and all that. But I never would’ve countenanced that the experience of living in Beijing would be like dying over and over again.
Living in a too-small apartment was like dying. Surviving on too little income was like dying. Feeling lonely and anxious was like dying. Dreaming of succeeding and clutching tight to my ambition was, definitely, like dying. Because once I made it to the other side — moving to a bigger apartment; making more money; gaining a friendship circle; achieving some of my goals — all propelled me to a feeling I had heretofore not known: an utter aliveness.
This journey is so much about migration. How we all migrate: whether it’s from a small village to a big city (from Boscastle to Bristol, let’s say); or from a small town to the capital of China. It is a rite of passage so fundamental that it is wondrous to me that not more people take the opportunity to make such a journey.
Because to remain still, whether metaphorically or literally, is to be in stasis. Moving is the key. And it doesn’t always have to be forwards. Life may seem linear, but there are cul-de-sacs, weird ass wiggly bits, and looping circles. It doesn’t matter.
It’s now been about 18 months since I left Beijing. Since that time I’ve spent eight months at home in England, and about 10 months on the road. Looking ahead, once I’ve finally figured out what the next stage is, I have the feeling that I will come to see this time as a transition period. That this wandering writer’s life I’ve got going on feels like a meandering path, and doesn’t seem in itself like a definite life-stage, is curious. And I won’t draw any conclusions for now.
What is interesting is that I’ve gotten quite good at it. I have now been in Japan since March and I have not only survived but prospered. I’ve done pretty well at landing commissions to do with my host country (and Japan seems like a veritable bounty in terms of story ideas) but I also see how I can improve my freelancing processes. And all this is underpinned by the fact I’ve had to stay put for several months.
Two roads clearly diverged. (Because pandemic.) I was only supposed to stay in Fukuoka for 10 days before flying out to Kuala Lumpur, where I would’ve stayed for a week or two, before flying to Bali. Covid-19 put paid to all that and Japan has been my home since.
And so the meandering path has deposited me here and all I can see are circles ahead and not straightforward roads. But this is how, perhaps, I wanted it to be – secretly, wishfully – all those moons ago.
Finding buoyancy as a freelancer
I have been very busy. In the past week or so I’ve had up to five commissions. They all have different deadlines and I’ve prioritised them according to their various timelines. Initially, there was a panicky sense that I’d taken on too much, but that feeling has subsided. I knew things would have to change in my schedule and, surely enough, I adapted.
One commission is from BBC Future Planet; another from BBC Worklife. Two are from a new client — Business Insider — the UK version. And lastly, one commission is an unusual case. I’d been working on an article commissioned by a British online publication. I reported and wrote the article. After much patient waiting they eventually decided they had “no space” to run it. (I happen to think it is because the tone of my piece does not fit in with the tone of their publication.) However, they agreed to pay a kill fee and what’s more the kill fee would be the same amount they commissioned for. Additionally, they said they’d be fine with me selling the piece on. I put out a call for my article on Twitter and a journalist friend of mine suggested a contact of hers. I emailed this contact and sent him my piece. He kindly agreed to take it on. And so, I will be paid double for this piece. Everything worked out. Hurrah!
I am not usually this busy. But I have come to enjoy it. Weekends now genuinely feel like a relief rather than just another void in time and space. I get that “Friday feeling” a lot of full-timers talk about (also known as “Fri-yay”).
About that new client. That was also via Twitter. I followed this writer. He followed back. What ensued was a mutual appreciation society, over DM. He then mentioned that he had been recently appointed an editor at Business Insider so if I had any article ideas please send them. I did. And the rest is history. Again, if you are a freelance journalist, and you are not on Twitter actively looking for opportunities then you might consider it.
I am still in Japan, living in a hostel. I do not speak Japanese (although I’ve been commissioned for two articles about Japan-related topics, and have already had one published) so I do feel a language barrier living in this country. I now know what it must feel like for non-Chinese-speaking foreigners living in China. I’ve come to feel a greater sympathy for those monolinguists who lived in Beijing alongside me but could not communicate with the locals. Although I am sure a few of them spoke a European language, Chinese is altogether different to learn.
I, being of Chinese heritage, was able to pick it up, again, with relative ease. But being in Japan I have not made much effort to learn Japanese. I will begin to rectify this and do some study.
Sometimes I do wish I had been stranded somewhere like coastal Thailand and I would’ve been free to swim in the ocean, enjoying the bounties of nature. But being in Japan has had definite upsides, not least in the work I’ve gained.
Right now, work is going well. Socially, life-wise, things could be a little better. But I do not think mine is a unique case in this regard. But, overall, I am grateful for my position. And recognise that I should embrace the luxuries that I have, and not dwell on the things that could be. I am not entitled to everything. And working hard should be its own reward.
Five Years As A Full-Time Freelance Journalist
It’s been over five years since I went full-time freelance, with many tales of woe and wonder accrued, and it was in Beijing, that city of crushing concrete and flickering dreams, where I, an ambitious migrant, learned the ways of this marginal life.
I wanted to draw attention to some of my most memorable and notable articles I worked on over that duration. It has been a journey of near financial ruin, some wonderful highs, truly terrible lows, and an endless procession of images that are so dense and numerous that they don’t stand out easily in my mind, something I consider somewhat of a curse.
Freelance journalism is no kind of career and I do not advise you, dear reader, to enter this occupation. It is badly paid, demands much of you, and the glory of it is a bright mirror made of silver ghosts. They will haunt you, those glories, because they are so elusive and whispering. If you want to do something truly fulfilling, be a doctor, a teacher, a nurse, a public servant without vice and ambition.
(I’m serious about this. If you deeply care about social issues get into public policy, activism or just become seriously rich while pledging part of your income to charity. If you really want to make a difference don’t sit on the fence like a journalist — get into politics. If you want to be truly creative, start writing fiction. If you like celebrity, start TikTok-ing.)
Don’t follow in my footsteps. Don’t get sucked into this vortex of monetary oblivion. Live a wholesome life with regular hours, great benefits, and free coffee. Build up your days with a succession of normal events and normal milestones, properly celebrated and fondly reminisced. If, however, you do decide to plunge in here’s what you might expect.
The time I went to North Korea as an undercover journalist
Aljazeera, Is North Korea on your tourism bucket list?
Although this happened in 2014, I wanted to highlight it because it remains one of the boldest things I’ve done. I decided I wanted to go to North Korea. In a lane off a small street, in downtown Beijing, there exists the offices of the oldest established North Korea tour operator, founded by a Briton no less. In that building is where I laid out my idea, to their general manager, about what I wanted to do, and where we negotiated how I would proceed. Tourism was a growing phenomenon and I thought I would write about it.
The Kims and I, in Pyongyang.
What better way than to “smuggle” myself onto a tour? The investment was high. The tour cost a lot of money, more than I had ever spent. It was eight days, traveling all around North Korea, all inclusive. But I had told zero editors I was going there. Didn’t know who I would pitch the story to afterwards.
While I was there I took a copious amount of notes, which lie in a Moleskine in a drawer in England, and hundreds of photos and dozens of videos. I used a Canon S120, a digital compact camera, and an Olympus Mju-II, a film camera I’d picked up in Beijing. Those Canon S120 photos would eventually be sold to various publications and helped to recoup the money I’d sunk and more.
In hindsight, I could’ve negotiated for more money for the first feature that came out of that trip. I was young and did not realise how much the story was worth. I should’ve asked for more. But back then, $450 for a feature and $450 for a photo gallery seemed a lot to me. It was worth more than that though. Sigh. But, like I said, I eventually recouped my money, plus more, and magazines such as Marie Claire would pay well for the photos. Also, I went to North Korea. As a journalist. So, I’ll always have that.
The time I told everyone that I got a 2:2 degree in journalism
The Guardian, Feeling depressed about your 2:2 degree? Get over it, employers have
I read multimedia journalism at Bournemouth University, earning a B.A. In the UK, a bachelors usually takes three years and you get a final grade for your degree. A First is the highest award and quite hard to get. Most people get a 2:1 and it’s respectable. What most students do not want to get is a 2:2, known colloquially as a “Desmond” (after Desmond Tutu). But that’s what I got.
I always found it ironic though that I was telling everyone I got a 2:2 in journalism, in The Guardian, a publication most student journalists would kill to get a byline in. C’est la vie.
The time I failed at being a travelling journalist in Burma
Watching the sunrise getting messed up by balloons in Bagan, Burma.
CNN Travel, Myanmar monks feel the pressure of tourism
In the winter of 2015, I attempted an experiment at traveling while also doing journalism. It was a precursor to what I do now, which is basically travel the world writing articles. But I was not good at it then. (I am still not sure if I am good at it now.) And I spent three weeks in Myanmar travelling, and mostly failing at finding stories except this one travel story I wrote. But it remains one of my favourite published pieces.
Ups and downs: the rollercoaster of freelance journalism
I would not advise anyone, currently, to consider going into journalism. It has been a tumultuous time for the industry. Over the past couple of weeks, job cuts have been announced at VICE, Quartz, Conde Nast, The Atlantic, Buzzfeed, Vox Media, LA Times, The Economist, among others.
The printed word, as a business, is in a very precarious position as ad spend, the events arm, and other money-making parts of this industry, have been decimated owing to effects from covid-19.
Yet, more than ever before, people are reading and clicking through. Many media titles have reported increases in traffic. Social media platforms such as Facebook and Twitter reap benefits from the content created by news media, making their platforms go-to places for potential sources of information, yet the media do not reap the financial rewards. Facebook and Google suck up the vast majority of worldwide ad spend (in the billions of dollars), while journalism — which plays an important civic role, especially local newspapers — continues its downward trend.
On a personal level, as a freelancer, my fortunes have rollercoastered. If my finances remain fairly stable (although still low) the feeling of freelancing in this current predicament has been fraught and stressful.
Some days, I feel despondent at the entire process of coming up with ideas, researching, crafting a well-written and precise pitch, waiting for editor replies (some of which never come). It is a lot of investment, plus mental labour, for relatively little return. And yet, job cuts and furloughs are not confined to the journalism industry. Whole swathes of the economy are in trouble. Airlines, hotels, restaurants, theatres, retailers, are just a few examples of businesses facing a black hole. Tourism and all the people who rely on it are facing existential crisis.
To be a freelancer, at this time, is to feel simultaneously insecure, and yet, in some way, also stable and liberated. Because I am still working and able to work, as long as I continue toiling and pitching to those editors still with the budget to commission and pay. I am somewhat protected. So maybe do try going into freelance journalism — just know that you’ll likely be competing with the hundreds of journalists who have just been laid off.
And it is remarkable how just one commission, with a new publication, and on a subject close to my heart, can energise and renew my faith in this lark. Freelance journalism is mostly dining on greased up junk food, paying out little nutritional value, but occasionally you get to savour a gloriously fulfilling meal with plenty of vegetables (you’re not an adult if you don’t like vegetables).
View from the rooftop of my hostel in Fukuoka.
But my finances remain on the edge. I realise now, in hindsight, I committed a couple of cardinal errors in the first three months of this year. In February I was in Thailand and I spent too much money, and earned far too little. I should have been more prudent. Now, in Japan, I am enduring on break-even income, budgeting hard, and working hard. I guess mistakes are made, and lessons will be learned. Had the pandemic not have occurred, I would have been in a cheaper country by now, yet having to remain in one place for so long (I have been living in the same hostel since March 13) has done wonders for my productivity and output.
So I will continue toiling until such time something changes.
My writing life
I have been interviewing many people this week for a story I’ve been working on. It’s a feature about British Chinese, a minority group to which I belong. In October 2013, the New Statesman published this story: ‘Where exactly are my British Chinese role models?‘ To this day, it remains the article from which I have received the most email. Although I remain somewhat cynical about journalism, sometimes it really does have an effect on people, and the emails I received from that story are evidence. Hopefully, this new article will have a similar effect.
Recent bylines:
BBC Worklife — Life after lockdown: How China went back to work
February: freelancing woes (and salvation); Bangkok & Taipei; and my hunger for some time off
cafe in bangkok
This year February is longer than usual. And the leap day falls on a Saturday. Will you do something special with this twenty-ninth day?
It’s been a while since I wrote you, reader. And last time we met I was in Chiang Mai chafing at the idyllic nature of it all. After Chiang Mai I went to Bangkok and I simultaneously missed Chiang Mai, its luscious nature, and felt glad to be away from it. Such are our contradictory natures.
I arrived in Chiang Mai on the 22nd January and I left Thailand, via Bangkok, on the 21st February. I spent 30 days in Thailand, unexpectedly extending my stay by several days.
I write you from a hostel in Taipei, Taiwan. It is the same hostel I stayed in for over a month last year. Next Monday I leave and travel back to the Philippines. I won’t explain all my comings and goings to you, but just know that traveling is sometimes based on whims and it is perilous to ignore those whims.
A week ago or so I had a bit of a crisis. Basically I was having a meltdown because I had spent too much money in Thailand and I had no work booked in. The pitches I had managed to send off in the past month had all been rejected and I even had had one commission cut off. The money going out was not being replaced by money coming in. This is not sustainable.
I even thought about quitting journalism and just finding some stable and safe job. Then I hustled. I pitched. I worked. I have mostly stayed in or around my hostel, venturing out only to buy food, to go running and swimming. Salvation came via a commission that wasn’t even my pitch. It was from an editor who I contacted via Twitter last August while I was in Singapore, and with whom I arranged a coffee-meet. Since then I have kept in touch with this editor, pitching her on occasion, and finally I have received paid work. I have received more work, copywriting, via my network too. In Chinese this is known as guanxi — a term that goes beyond the western-equivalent word: networking. To develop good guanxi is key to a good life.
So I will have money coming in again, which is good. Money is always good.
a park in taipei
I also feel like I need to settle down somewhere for a while and work on literary writing. That is really important to me. To find some space and move away from the commercial writing (journalism) and to seek the solace and joy of working on my own stuff. I am still not sure where this place will be. I’ll let you know…
I’ve been a journalist for over seven years and a full-time freelancer for five. Maybe it is natural that my thoughts turn to some kind of career break. It would be great to hear from another journalist, or anyone, who has taken a break of this kind, and what they learned from the experience, or even maybe transitioned to doing something completely else. I always enjoy hearing other people’s stories.
Chiang Mai, productivity, and the need for fixity
I have been in Chiang Mai, Thailand, for two weeks. We have entered February and I have begun to feel the need, urgent and rising, to start getting my nose to the grindstone.
January was taken by time spent in Hong Kong, the Philippines, and Thailand. And it was a wonderful month.
The time I’ve spent in Chiang Mai, so far, has been good. I have succumbed to all the sensations this country, and city, is so well-equipped to provide. But I remember now why I didn’t quite gel with this place in the first place (I first visited Chiang Mai in 2016). It’s to do with the blissfully chilled-out vibe; the sultry heat; the jungle air. This place pulses with a certain energy, like a powerful narcotic, that makes it extremely difficult — for me at least — to be productive.
It really does feel like straining against a strong drug, or a seductive spell, that has slipped over me, and I need to fight and make enormous effort in order to break free of this enchantment. As a freelancer, and a traveling one, I need to work and to slip back into productive schedules otherwise I can kiss this lifestyle goodbye.
Different people gravitate towards different energies. Some people fall in love with Chiang Mai: attracted to its wonderful combination of nature, cafes, traveller, hippie/Thai qualities. Although many people have remarked that my own personality would be a good fit for this place (I generally seem laidback, easy-going, and even, perhaps, lazy) it is a misjudgement. I find myself leaning more towards grittier, dirtier places with dynamism to spare. There are limits. Manila, capital of the Philippines, probably has too much grit than I can take.
But Beijing, where I was based for six years, was gritty and dirty, until it was cleaned up in the past few years. Most travellers are not very fond of Bangkok, preferring natural Chiang Mai or the lazy paradise islands of the south, but I like Bangkok and its superior energy, the pace, the grittiness of its daily life.
Chiang Mai has wreaked havoc on my productivity and I find myself wanting to leave this place.
*
Last year, when I travelled to five different places over four months, my most productive time was spent in Taipei, Taiwan. There’s a good reason for this. I was living in a hostel, which I ended up staying in for over a month. The hostel allowed residents to be quite self-sufficient and I quickly found local landmarks. I fell into a routine. Oolong tea to wake up with, brewed in the common area at my hostel. Go out for a sweet potato bought from the nearby convenience store for breakfast. Walk around for a bit. Return to the hostel to work, or else head to a nearby café to work. Lunch at a local cafeteria which was cheap as chips. Have a bubble tea in the afternoon. Nap. Or swim at the local gym. Evening, head to the night market for dinner. Night-time: work in the kitchen of my hostel, which was quiet and low-ceilinged, and which was conducive to long bouts of writing.
The month I spent in Singapore was also fairly productive; ditto for the half-month I spent in Seoul. But Taipei was king of a productive me.
I find myself in want of this kind of schedule now. I will continue to travel, but I am aware that I may need to make some kind of big change. To find a spot to settle in, in order so I can work and achieve the goals that are important to me. I cannot stay in Chiang Mai. This place destroys my sense of achieving goals. But today, I am faring better, as I write this blog post. But having a fixity — a fixed place; a stable routine — is something I will need to find again. But where shall I go? What city shall I call my temporary home? This is the other question that haunts me. Recommendations welcome.
My writing life
Surfing in Salvacion
We stepped through the sandy dirt leaving flooded footprints, amid rain-soaked palm trees, our bare feet leading us to the beach. I carried the piece of carved polystyrene foam, heavier than I expected, the shape long and sinuous and coloured a baby blue.
It was 6am in the morning. The night before I’d slept with my companions on the second floor of a bamboo hut; preparing makeshift beds on the hard wooden floor; the mosquito net suspended above us endowing an instant cosiness.
The palm jungle lent the air a distinct energy as an endless supply of rain lashed down. The air was warm but gradually shed its heat and humidity as the sky lightened.
So we trudged toward the sand and the surging waves of early morning’s high tide. Kinkin, the local surfer, guided us into the water. The sea was a steely kind of grey; having substantial character and mood. It was overcast and windy. The rain pattered down on our bodies, our boards, and the waves.
Surf to the right, said Kinkin, pointing out a row of mangroves to the left-hand side that one would not want to be entangled. The waves cut across to the right. It was something I’d not really noticed before: that waves have changing characters and shift so much. And sometimes there is a freak wave, or more, that cuts against the grain, taking the opposite course to its previously breaking siblings. Kinkin would tell me which direction to go, always pointing out the danger of going too far left, which the channels would draw us to.
The rain, the elements, the slight cold, and the heat of paddling. The effort of paying attention to standing up and holding position, keeping the knees bent, riding the wave. Wiping out. Doing it again. My chest chafing against the board. Riding a sweet one, getting it right. The sea surging with the moon-energy of high tide, collecting the fresh water of rain and me smelling it all, breathing in this opportunity.
One of my favourite books is Barbarian Days, by William Finnegan, a memoir of his life as a surfer, teacher and journalist — growing up in Hawaii, traveling the world looking for waves, getting political in South Africa, becoming a writer and eventually a correspondent for The New Yorker.
In Barbarian Days there are many words spent discussing water, the ocean, reefs, and endless description — technical, idiomatic, and poetic — of waves and their nature. But it never gets boring. His achievement is to sustain a supreme kind of elegance throughout the hundreds of pages. Reading his memoir was a gateway into a poetry of nature and an impassioned life and I would include some quotations except my copy of the book is thousands of miles away.
It is that kind of achievement to which I aspire. But, lately, I’ve been a little blocked. Not just blocked in writing — actually, I can still write, just the motivation has been a little lacking. But, more troubling, it’s my reading that has suffered.
Ask any dedicated writer and they will tell you that reading is just as important as the act of writing. But for whatever reason I’ve found my ability to read is not as strong as before; my motivation to get stuck into a book is at its lowest ebb for as long as I can remember.
Meanwhile, my subconscious and its store of creativity feels shallower than before, and so I have been convalescing: doing yoga, surfing, swimming, and the physical, natural things our bodies require in order for us to be fully human. The mind-store will replenish. That is just a matter of time. Maybe I have simply read too much and need to write more in order to rebalance the scales. Meanwhile, activities like surfing allow the mind to relax.
We surfed for a couple of hours. Afterward we rode the pickup back to town, the rain still going, the countryside rice paddies getting their necessary deluge. The local girls in the pickup who’d kindly adopted me (the solo traveller) were in high spirits, laughing and bantering, teaching their friend from Manila, the manager of the hostel where I was staying, the local Visayan language. I felt grateful to be among them, glowing from that morning’s rain-soaked surf.
Lu-Hai Liang 