hue is a kiss on the lips, a big fat wet one, with teeth marks. it’s raining now like cats and dogs (or should i say puppies? i’ve seen puppies so thin i could probably mail one to you in an envelope.) this city is a relief, soothing like cold milk coffees and taro ches. the crispy pancakes with bean sprouts and peanut sauce is the breakfast of champions.

i visited the home my grandfather grew up in, and i tried to breathe the air in slowly, imaging that slipping on my grandfather’s youth was as easy as putting on an old coat for the first time. maybe my grandfather as a four year old skipped and screamed through here the same way i did through parking lots in hong kong, or maybe not, maybe not. rediscovering family past is never quite as quick as a plane (or motorcycle) ride. i learned: my grandfather loves hue just before it rains, and that his favorite flowers are water lilies, something that grows tall from the mud.