cla$$

bianca speaks native cantonese, english and italian; and conversational mandarin.

i figured out the other day why i'm immediately drawn to people who speak multiple languages. their world — who they can communicate with, who they can share secrets with, who they can experience life together with — is much bigger, much grander. 

imagine all the stories you can hear first hand if you spoke another language. you speak arabic? that's an extra 300 million people who can now hear you out. you speak mandarin? literally, another billion people can now understand you. (!!)

just the thought makes my heart soar.

can you please tell me what you speak?

neighbourhood watch

last weekend i walked past a dude walking his tortoise in sheung wan, (not shek o, not sai kung, not life aquatic) — and it reminded me of my neighbours last year:

yeah... nothing says these will be used as ingredients for guilingao like three tortoises stacked in the corner of your neighbour's rooftop (which you accidentally entered, once, to make this, and another time, to not spill taro ice cream and honey everywhere).

mathilda

central at dusk.

chet faker — i'm into you

please watch in HD, josh and i produced this last year. i hate producing.

i (82% of the time) love the rain

i'm standing in the middle of central, in the pouring rain. i don't like umbrellas — i have never enjoyed carrying them, and to be honest, i (82% of the time) love the rain. there is something about hong kong though, perhaps the millions of people tightly condensed between slabs of concrete at the foot of a very polluted china — that makes the rain 18% not so loved.

this time i am drenched. my shirt is probably see through. my hair is hugging my skin like vines down my neck. i send myself into a trance as i stare past the traffic. slowly i feel the pitter-patter weight lifting off my shoulder. for the briefest moment i think: the rain has stopped. 

i turn to my right. there is a gentlemen (i'm not sure if he actually is, maybe i should just call him a man). there is a man in a navy pinstripe suit. he looks kind and is trying to appear as less creepy as possible manoeuvring his umbrella over me. i say 'thank you'. then quickly smile in case my words drowned before they reached him. he looks straight ahead (that is kind of creepy). then just as the pedestrian lights turn green he tries handing me the umbrella. 'it's okay' i reply, and resume my pace.

the pitter-patter back on my shoulders, but they feel different now.

sarah tarrant kuang

2011.

jordan dreaming

sha i

photobooth

marrakech by aesop / wannabe 90s gwen / APOM / cup sleeves for cuffs because i'm fashion. (obviously a joke.)

the river, 16mm

i shot this more than a year ago.

recently it became part of the official selection at a french film festival that isn't cannes. rendering the mention of any film-festival-success irrelevant. (i won't allude to the other festival selection in amsterdam then...)

i would love to have shown you, but enough time has passed for me to view the film objectively (rather than as a child i spent months nurturing). honestly? i do not want you to waste those 12 minutes.

you'd be more productive racing raindrops down your window, attempting to make creme caramel, or dancing in your underwear (wait that is always productive).

and yes, that alien is wearing a snuggie®.

edit — it just got into another two film festivals, so if you want to see it, you can here:

festival du film d'altkirch (i have no idea either) 12-14th april
international short film festival of barcelona 18-22nd april

leo at the pier

yeah, same.