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Why I like Virginia Woolf

A Friend of mine found the narrative of Virgnia Woolf’s To the Lighthouse too chaotic to understand and he decided to pass it up as holiday reading. Instead he chose Joseph Conrad’s Victory. Here’s what he said to me: “I’ve temporarily abandoned To the Lighthouse. It doesn’t seem suitable as holiday reading. I’ll borrow itContinue reading ” Why I like Virginia Woolf”

On My Mother’s Back: A Memory from Queensway

The earliest memory I can summon is not crystal clear, but it holds a warmth that has stayed with me for decades. It was sometime around 1960 or 1961. I was two or three years old, small enough to be carried on my mother’s back, cradled close in a traditional ‘mei dai’ carrier. I don’tContinue reading “On My Mother’s Back: A Memory from Queensway “

The Rest Between the Notes

Sometimes time vanishes without a trace—like those nights of dreamless sleep when the clock leaps forward and we only meet ourselves again at morning. But I’ve never passed a night without a dream—and I don’t think most people do—so I couldn’t quite imagine what that absence feels like until a recent colonoscopy. I was sedatedContinue reading “The Rest Between the Notes”

Am I another Ship of Theseus?

The identity of an object does not lie in its material, but in its form and purpose, which persist even through transformation. Thomas Hobbes As I trace these fragments of myself—Margaret’s scarf in the wind, James’s quiet wisdom, Angel’s laughter dissolving into Pattaya’s sky, the long gone voices —I wonder: if identity is woven fromContinue reading “Am I another Ship of Theseus?”

Moonlit Threads, Human Ties

The sun is setting, and I sit by a window, watching the last glow of day slip into dusk before surrendering to night. On the warm October breeze, childhood finds me again. Then the mid-autumn moon is ascending to the sky – silvering the sill and the glass. Fifty-seven years ago, a ten-year-old boy wouldContinue reading “Moonlit Threads, Human Ties”

For Whoever Finds This

I’ll be honest: I hovered over the “publish” button for way too long, wondering if anyone would read what I wrote—and if it would even matter. But as I watched the words land on the screen, something shifted. Maybe it isn’t about who reads it. Maybe it’s about finding my voice—one that can tell myContinue reading “For Whoever Finds This”