The little I know

What's your understanding of Hong Kong? What has been your exposure to it? Food? Language? Movies? Is it China? Is it NOT China?

I have never been to Hong Kong but my mum recently has and a friend of mine lived there as a child and went back to visit last year. Most of what I know about Hong Kong comes from what they have told me about their travels. My mum spent a lot of time in the 'India town' of Hong-Kong, a similar setup to how we have 'China town' in Melbourne. This surprised me as a didn't realise there was such a Indian presence in Hong Kong. She described it as a vibrant and playful area, showing me photos of brightly coloured cotton hanging from balconies. She brought us home Indian dresses and pants in strong greens and blues. Mum really enjoyed going for walks in the pockets of thick nature on the island as she's often felt the need to escape from the intensity of the city. 

My friend Kat lived in Hong Kong when she was a young child as her dad was working in planning there. She remembers having a huge house and a maid/ nanny  -something which seems so strange to her now. She says she feels kind of bad and asked her parents if they felt guilty, as they have never had a maid or anything in Australia. They put it down to it being the norm there, and said it felt a little strange to have someone else doing so much for them but they were kind to her and paid her well. Kat and I went to high school together and lived pretty similar lives as teenagers but her family was much higher up socio-economically when they lived in Hong Kong, maybe partially because of the prestige of being an international family working for a big company. 

The relationship between China and Hong Kong has always seemed a bit taboo and like something I should already know about but don't. I don't remember learning a lot about it in geography or history at school and often get embarrassed or avoid talking about it as I feel like other people know more about its independence and history than I do. It is a very emotionally charged and important issue for a lot of people so I think little mislabelling or misunderstanding can be very offensive. From my experience, most Australians don't know much about Hong Kong unless they have a personal connection to it. It is a place and culture that is often overlooked or bundled in under the umbrella of 'Asia'. 

Ebb and Flow

Response to the collaborative speedwritng activity: 

The first 3/4 of the first piece remained largely thematically consistent, focusing on confinement and identity related to place. Although the vocabulary and linguistic style varied slightly from author to author, it was mostly done in a reflective, slow-paced narrative style. The content stuck quite directly to both the prompt and the opening author's set-up. The most marked changes came towards the end of the first section when a more mysterious, ominous event was introduced. Rather than being so focused on introspection and themes of belonging, it seemed to focus more on the difficulties of adult life, possibly hinting at financial stress. However, the greatest change in both theme and style came in the last section of the piece which presented a family death and was heavy on dialogue which had been sparse throughout the preceding paragraph. This change in theme was particularly jarring because the subject matter had been so consistent until this point. It was interesting, but seemed out of place and made me question the direction of the earlier work and what its purpose was. The variation in themes adds confusion but also broadens the scope of the piece, potentially allowing it  to address more issues and touch more readers. I think editing and a more consistent tone throughout would allow for these changes in theme to exist in a more cohesive piece. 

The second, shorter collaboration was a more poetic, non-narrative based work. Ideas of place, identity, disassociation and escape bubbled up in different places, interweaving and linking back to one another. It tended to drift off in certain places, reaching ideas such as friendship, reality and earth. However, these all had links back to the overarching theme of escape and each author found a strong grounding in the prompt. I felt that the more consistent tone and style throughout allowed for the thematic variation to exist without seeming out of place or disjointed. I think the shorter writing periods encouraged people to stick more directly to what was written before them as they did not have as much time to take the work off in their own direction or set up many new events. This piece had a strong sense of lyricism and rhythm to it, which meant that any lines that didn't fall into this did not flow as well and drew the reader out of the work a little bit. Overall, it was interesting to see the themes ebb and flow out of the control of the subject setter. 

Granted

What do I take for granted in my writing? 

I think I often presume that my audience is perceptive to the same emotions as I am, that they worry about the same things as I do and will feel hurt by the same things. I guess all of this is a part of my culture and connection to the language I engage with. I have a connection to certain words and they arouse strong feelings in me. I forget that a lot of people aren't as open to feeling when they read or don't connect with writing in the same way that I do. I might also take for granted that people actually want to feel or interrogate these things. In sharing my writing, I hope that what is important to me is important in the lives of my readers, but it may not be. There may be more pressing issues for them than what is urgent for me and they may not be engaged in my work due to this. Sometimes I also take for granted the privilege of writing itself. I am so lucky that I have the education, the time and the passion for writing. In this way, I worry that writing can be elitist/ exclusionary to those who are not afforded the academic and socioeconomic privileges that allow me to spend so much time writing and reading. I think it's really important to always reconsider your practice and power as a writer and thus not fall into taking it for granted. 

Inter/ruptions

What does the interruption of individual creative 'flow' feel like, while you were doing the exercise? Were you comfortable/uncomfortable? Why? How do you think being uncomfortable changes your writing?

Whilst the constant switching was sometimes an interruption of flow, it also provided relief from being stuck on one idea. I found it to be really productive and thought provoking as you had to adapt to a new context and subject matter each time but could also bring over some of the ideas you had been working on in the last piece. Whilst the task was fiction, I used it to work through some personal thoughts and emotions. Approaching my feelings in different ways was very beneficial, not only to myself but to the development of clarity and specificity in my work. I do also think that being pushed or uncomfortable can sometimes be beneficial to your writing skills. It forces you to reach out of habit and laziness, creating new material and methods. However, everyone words differently and sometimes going against your natural tendencies is just painful and doesn't get you far. Being uncomfortable and trying new methods is nonetheless useful, even if only to determine that you don't want to work that way and it may give you more confidence and understanding in your usual process. 

Multilingualism

How does knowing more than one language help/ hinder your creative work? 

Knowing a second language (I speak French but not fluently) has given me more of an understanding of language as a construct that can mold your thoughts. I am aware of the opportunities and limitations of a language and how they shape your thoughts. All of our concepts, emotions and communication are framed in language and therefore what we perceive as possible is bound by the limits of the language we are thinking in. This is evident when you try to translate words that have no equivalent in another language. For example, there isn't really a French equivalent of the word 'fun'. They have words with similar meanings to 'funny', 'amusing', 'interesting' but nothing quite the same as fun. French people, especially in Canada are starting to adopt the English word into their vocabulary. Similarly, the french word 'flâner' means to wander in city streets with no goal but to absorb the ambiance. There is no English word that sums this concept up, and in some fields of academia they are using the French vocabulary. All of this makes me think about language more consciously and helps me not to take English for granted. It is just one language and although it is my primary medium of communication, I can push it's boundaries and use other languages to push my own boundaries of thought.
Learning a second language also broadens your community and the different people you can communicate with. More experience with a greater variety of people always adds depth to your writing and gives you material to develop further understanding and empathy. However, sometimes I am overwhelmed but the amount of words there are to choose from. I am aware of the impossibility of finding the right one, sometimes there is just no perfect word to express a feeling or thought. This may be why some authors use multiple languages in one piece, to try to get a little closer to reality.
 

Interview 2 response

We/ you/ me 

I am brimming with it all,
spilling myself onto this page
in pain
and the mess of everything I cannot see
—how do you hold yourself delicately?
each word so selected
rounded and revered
by your eyes and your lips
each cell of your concentration,
distillation and refinement
—hold me—
in your precision
I need to be held in such lines
so I can stop bleeding
from the corners of my mind
—I know you harbour countless images too;
the light on the footpath
and that man in the mahogany suit
and the way her lips curled when she spoke
but you seem to clot
much quicker than me
set in undivided urgency,
I want to be chosen like one of your words
please arrange me just so,
sit me in your notebook and solidify my crumbling bones
share me with your trusted ones
and decide to share yourself in solitude,
we are coming of age again and again
and in a thousand ways
and a thousand words couldn't
wrap all these
memories. 

Collaborative Speed blogging #2

Can travel ever really provide an escape? What are its limitations and what are its opportunities?

Is there such thing as escape? I don't even know where I am now. I can't escape from what I don't know. What I don't know is all around me, it exists in bubbles and hides around corners. I am yet to find somewhere to know. I go, and therefore I go.

On and together now, sidestep, and sweetly glance outward. You haven't much time. I follow the jangling of a carousel a whole pace away. This is my space. This is my carnival, and I'm not going home. I leave it to the young for the impassioned fun. I will seek only truth from yesteryear, and know that along the way my mind grows clear. 

dissociation is kinda fun for a while but also thats not really real and realness is a good thing to aim for in this depraved life. travel is kinda fun for a while then you realise the structres that up hold this life, and escape from it is essentually futile and well gonna end up in the earth soon. travel has been happening for a minute though.

'Smoke it in a place of comfort otherwise the time will be endless. If you have too much you will not see the afterlife, if you have too little you will freak out.' i have an overpowering amount and begin to see into the future of the festival. My friends are turning on each other

Nothing ever takes you away from yourself. Wherever you go, there you are. It's inescapable, this feeling of self. All I've ever wanted was to escape myself, but I follow me wherever I go. So I live with it, as we all do. At least, I try. That's all you can ever wish of me is to try, and that's all you can ever wish of anything else is to try and that's the best thing.

Collaborative speed blogging

How do you experience being in a new place? Suburbia/ city/ country? State to state? Country to country?


I watch my dad as he stands on the back porch, staring out on our small boxed in backyard as if it is the rambling hills of pasture he grew up on. He doesn't know I'm watching through the kitchen window and he sways back on his heels and sighs. I wonder how many times he's woken up and wished he could stare out into vast green instead of our rotting back fence. I wonder how many times he's considered taking the turn off the highway on his way home from work and heading back to the little weatherboard house by the river. I wonder if he feels happy. I wonder if I might feel happier out there, with a little more room to breathe. But I doubt it.
He's had time to adapt, I know. But do the shadows of your old life ever leave you? It's been almost two decades since he moved away from that vast paddock of green rolling hills and warm mornings. Life is good now. Just different.
He loves to tell stories of growing up on the farm. There's a passion in his voice as he talks about his brother breaking bones from childhood recklessness, that time they almost got washed away by the river, the creatures they found in the grass. But there's more passion in the stories that led him to the life he has today. I know that he's happy here. So why do I wonder if he misses it?
I find myself daydreaming about those stories, wanting the freedom that he had.
I have never known wide open space, an empty sky, life intertwined with nature. He tells me that the beauty of the countryside can never compare to life. City life may be convenient, it may have jaw dropping skyscrapers, the bustle of progress and activity, people and community everywhere to help and enjoy life with. But I think through all the crammed space and activity he sees and emptiness.
This emptiness, could it be a catalyst to a new sense of freedom? Can he seek other options or find himself asking us questions to help us? Should we see his struggles and help him? I want to ask him more questions about the struggles of the city. I feel like something happened that day i came back from school, there was a man who came by, wearing a suit. He held a briefcase and diligently made Dad sign numerous sheets of paper. I watched confused from the window but failed to comprehend what was happening or who this person was. His nostalgic attitude became more prevalent since that day. I get up fill the kettle, the sound of water being the only reminder that I am here. Other than that, silence. I flick the switch and wait for the boiling to begin. I lean against the doorframe and continue to watch dad. I see him reach to the back of his head, stroke his neck and breathe. The gesture of a man weatherd by his life. The water simmers. "Dad, you wanna cuppa?" I shout. He turns around, he is crying, the water has boiled.

"Got a call about nan," I spoke aloud, and I can't believe I did that for her.
"End of the rope."
"End of the line, sure. Maybe I could have stopped him, but he was already too far away."
"What do you mean by that?"
I mean, he... And I didn't say this, but truth be told,
"I wanted him to die. Yes that's right," I said, a look matched these words,  "I wanted it for many years now, and there's not a damn thing I could've done to change it, okay?"
She held palms up, "Okay." And what was said, was done. I delved into my nightmare over again today, and that's why I'm telling you this. I became him.