I’m a huge advocate of personal blogs. It’s a neat way to stay tuned into what’s been going on with friends and family, especially when there’s so much distance between us and everyone is just so goddamned busy.

Whenever Tina and I go on break and enjoy a plate of pasta together, we always touch on how important it is to live passionately, but how lately what we’ve become is just a couple of couch potatoes. Well, now that I’ve switched from working graveyard to regular day/night shifts, I feel like I’ve regained some sort of homeostasis and I’m ready to hug the world again. And last week, Tina cleared out her old room and started painting again–she just completed two orchid still lifes (one in watercolor and one in acrylic) to get the hang of working with different mediums again. As it turns out, the only mediums we’ve gotten accustomed to working with these days is makeup on other people’s faces.

What I really want to make more than anything is connections, or even making missed connections would be enough. I want to draw and salvage old dresses and read stories before bedtime without feeling the heavy pull like blinds over my eyelids. Talk about accessories and the last pair of shoes I popped a boner for. And do some yoga with my girls under the sun until we’re all NC 42. And sip on some margarita’s along the shoreline while Roni teaches us how to shake our hips the Tahitian way.

I want to write about nothing at all, which is to say, everything. And appreciate terribly mundane incidents. Stuff that we often overlook when at the end of the day, it’s really what makes living that much more bearable. Like when my dude smiles and takes a mental picture with his eyes. Or that one time when I handed her her change, for 3 seconds our fingers touched and it was electric. Or how I wish more people would hug me the way you did before boarding the plane that morning. Like I existed and you knew I was there. I mean, you hug Marcus Aurelius like that and even his cheese would melt.

All that good stuff, if I understand correctly, is what Amy Hempel calls connective tissue. The space that looks empty initially, but adds up to form something complete when seen from afar. In an interview with The Paris Review she says, “If used honestly and not as a gimmick, these spaces can signify the way the mind really works, noting moments and assembling them in such a way that a kind of logic or pattern comes forward, until the accretion of moments forms a whole experience, observation, state of being.”

I like this song.

Three things about Hong Kong: Originally colonized by the British, its official languages are Chinese (spoken Cantonese) and English. It’s the most densely populated city in world. If it is your first time visiting, you might want to book your trip for longer than a weekend.

Ralph Lauren shirt (from Francis’s closet), UO bag, Jeans from outlet mall, Dolce Vita boots
We stayed at the Imperial Hotel on Nathan road just next door to Chungking Mansion. This is where Chungking Express was filmed. Now all I need is my sunglasses, Burberry trench and a Marilyn Monroe wig and it would be enough to say, “eat your heart out, Faye Wong.”

If you are a born and bread island person, there will be a lot of firsts for you.

Things like commuting via metro

coming out to play in Disneyland

The live theater show, I enjoyed most of course

riding a crystal cable car suspended 112 feet high

goofing around the Avenue of Stars, wataaah!

vintage sweater, Korean boutique pleated skirt

meditating in sacred places

I am like totally zen

Neneee romper
and generally experiencing the hustle and bustle energy of a big city.

City people weren’t always as curteous as the island peeps I am so accustomed to, but you have to hand it to them for keeping it real. “You no buying, no take pikchar. I am not actress,” said the starlet above.

One thing I was super looking forward to was shopping at H&M, but it was pretty much a let down. Over rated and not so different from shopping at Macy’s or any other commercial department store on Guam, even shopping at Disneyland was way more exciting. The provincial markets on Temple street, Tsim Sha Tsui and fisherman’s village yielded the best novelty prezzies to take home.

Bruce Lee tee, various types of Chinese teas: jasmine, pu erh, lychee, ti kuan yin, white and orchid, Little Prince marshmallows–if only for the packaging, Mickey Mouse chocolates, classic Mickey tee (which would look even better after a one billion washes), MMJ make-up bag, remote control helicopter, lots of black workwear, cheap clothes, expensive shoes
“Bring two empty luggages and a lot of money.” That’s what Mieko said when I told her I was going. It’s a good thing I kept it in mind and also stuffed an extra duffel bag into the front pocket of our check-in baggage.

Eat your vegetables!

If there’s such a thing as buyer’s remorse, even worse is the antithetical nonbuyer’s remorse. I’ll forever regret not buying those miniature wind-up dancing robots and funny splatballs from the old man with no voice and kind eyes at the Tsim Sha Tsui market. Our intuition is good; the problem is we ignore it. I need to learn how to be more implulsive. Like when we decided to have 3 dollar 32 ouncers (amazing!) literally smack dab in the middle of the street. Those were really nice served with poached snail thingamagiggies in a dark chili sauce. I forget what the dish is called, but if anyone knows, please please please drop a line.

Last week I finally scavenged eBay only to find those little dancing robots and splatballs I so wanted but tried to convince myself I didn’t need. I bought them anyway. So I don’t need them per se. So what? They are just cool things to have around. Like in case of emergency, break glass and play with these, they’re fun! And since they are being shipped from Hong Kong, I imagine they are coming from that same kind old man in that same crowded old market.

A final note on commuting in Hong Kong: drivers are either suicidal or insane. Or both. Every time we decide to hop in the back of a cab or bus, I find myself hanging on for dear life. All the while The Smiths are playing There is a Light That Never Goes Out” in the back of my head. That song could pretty much sum up the entire duration of our stay.

Best,
Yuko
1 October 2010 4:40pm EDT

Omiyage from Japan:

Dream girls… not.

Yuko wears: dress by Anthropologie, shoes by Anne Klein and (the cutest apple pendant) necklace by Unoaerre via Gilt Groupe.
I am wearing: self-made velvet romper, necklace from *can’t remember, deadstock tights from Salvation Army, and shoes by F-Troupe.

Thanks for visiting, Yuko!

Francis has been going on about Cinnabon ever since I let him try one last week. While we’re having our morning coffee he says, “This would be so good with Cinnabon.” After dinner he puts his fork down and says, “You know what I’m craving for dessert right now? Cinnabon.” On the couch I am applying warm vanilla sugar lotion to my feet while watching the latest episode of Mad Men. He leans in with a big dorky grin, closes his eyes, catches a whiff and says, “Mmmmmm, smells like Cinnabon.” When it got to the point where he was whispering Cinnabon while brushing past me on the bathroom toilet, I knew for sure it was time to get this boy some Cinnabon.

“You can thank Reena for that,” I said. She always insists I try these amazing specialty foods that I wouldn’t be brave enough to try by myself (really, 880 calories for a pastry? crap). Stuff like Deli Manjoo and Beard Papa’s and in the case of our last date, Cinnabon. I love Reena.

Did I tell you about my ongoing theory that the better your are at driving, the better you are at handling life experiences? I am accident prone. You know the terrible Korean driver you poke fun of because ONLY SHE could hit a parked car? *ahem* That would be me. But Reena—I am constantly stepping on the imaginary break pedal from the passenger seat of her car. The lunatic of a driver. Even behind the wheel, she has the practical joking down. She’s the character who will tell you to roll up all your windows just so she can pass the deadliest gas and wait for a reaction. She does not warn you about it and refrains from laughing until just the right moment because it makes the stink all the more unbearable. EVIL.

There’s plenty of crude jokes and more use of the word ‘fierce’ than I can handle, but one thing’s for sure—it’s never boring when Reena’s around. We are different in more ways than we are the same, but I think that might be why we get on so well. She is the frosting to my Cinnabon.