Hong Kong to Australia and back.
Hong Kong to Europe.
Three Eurasian daughters.
Two Portuguese water dogs.
One Gweilo husband.
These books are how I remember it.
Cities. Daughters. Marriage. Airports. Dogs. Small moments that became a life.
How I built my bond, my marriage, my family, my house.
I place myself. I place him. The house changes when I do.
On my husband.
They won’t remember our words. They’ll remember the rhythm. The stillness. The change. This is what remains.
On dinner dates.
On shaded avenues. Rooftop vistas. Cocktails. Downbeat tracks.
I travelled alone this trip. I was marrying him this year and needed this trip for myself. I ate Kimchi jjigae on Garosu-gil and restored what I never should’ve lost.
When I don’t tether him. When I just want to be wrecked.
I was born in Hong Kong.
I grew up in Canberra and attended university in Melbourne before returning home.
Then I met a Gweilo.
I made him mine.
These books follow the life that unfolded afterwards.
Hong Kong.
Canberra.
Sydney.
Berlin.
Bordeaux.
Paris.
Koh Samui.
A husband.
Three daughters.
Parents.
Friends.
Dogs.
Hotels.
Airports.
Markets.
Restaurants.
Bedrooms.
The same woman appears in all of them.
Sometimes she is pregnant.
Sometimes she is exhausted.
Sometimes she is furious.
Sometimes she is naked.
Sometimes she is feeding children.
Sometimes she is feeding a husband.
Sometimes she is being fed.
I live in Europe with my husband,
our daughters,
our dogs.
Some later find their way into books. Most begin with a city and end somewhere else.
View all writingEvery week I publish a new essay.
Sometimes it is about food.
Sometimes it is about daughters.
Sometimes it is about marriage, travel, driving, grief, ageing, dogs, airports, or finding home in a new country.
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