lost in progress

Charlotte: I just don’t know what I’m supposed to be, you know. I tried being a writer, but I hate what I write.
Bob: You’ll figure that out. I’m not worried about you. Keep writing.
Charlotte: But I’m so mean.
Bob: Mean’s okay.

– sofia coppola’s lost in translation, 2003.

so I’m staying home tonight. with a cup of chai tea and the social network soundtrack. trying to develop my own film into something substantial. tonight I’m being mean. the characters hate each other but cannot go through life without one another. a mix of cultures and opinions. it wasn’t supposed to be political but I’m thinking that’s how it’s going to end. drug addictions and one night stands. that kind of thing. there’s an element of everything I have ever been exposed to, I’m trying to put it all down. but in a way, writing this film is more about understanding myself and finishing a piece of work, rather than creating something awesome. at the end, it might be. but right now, I’m not so concerned about it. I’m just writing. writing, writing, writing. I’m expecting it to be five in the morning the next time I look at the time.

he had me at hello

finally something new. my favorite twins from holland have stopped by in hong kong for the weekend on their way home to melbourne. the two of them, almost identical, and another guy. dutch, no name. there was a click when we first saw each other. we went for a coffee, dinner, walks around soho, a couple of drinks at a bar and then almost the whole night on the roof of the IFC. I’ve missed meeting new people. it was spontaneous, free and completely unforced. lots of chemistry and laughing. swearing in italian and yelling in cantonese, immitating the old ladies. we flirted in french, talked about their long fingers. he understood. analogy of shoes and what they reveal about a person. you’re so hardcore and different. you want me to start crying? it’s been such a long time since I’ve met somebody so intelligent and with a similar sense of humor. we just fit, from the first moment. from the first joke. baby steps. I cannot stop thinking about the way my fingers felt on his back.

I wish you could see the potential, the potential of you and me. but I think last night it was obvious to everyone.