This time last year, wanderings through Beijing haze and endless hutongs, reflecting upon the passing of a mentor.

This time last year, realized I prefer the feeling of living on Chinese train platforms over airports. Or standing still.

Sitting in an apartment without any furniture beyond that found on the street, I recall a favorite poem, struck at the suddenly narrow distance between (my) life and art. It goes like so:

The wedding of a dear friend, stepping outside for a moment of quiet, and a walk with the full moon.

This time last year, a public square, moves busted, blurs captured, Fatboy Slim thumping from a boombox cranked to 11.

This time last year, senses equal parts dazzled/sharpened by Taibei. To understand the informal economy's hustle, step out into it.

Its bikes are sturdy and utilitarian, their pathways well-lit. Its public restrooms resemble time machines. What’s not to love?

This time last year, a brisk evening, maids sitting on cardboard boxes playing cards, life surging forward in all directions.

A Sunday spent exploring public spaces. Though this city has the reputation of aloofness, I find the dogs quite guileless.

Steel steed, acquired. Looking forward to gaining a two-wheeled perspective on this city.

Walking home from a rapid-fire first two weeks at work. Exhausted, rained on, extremely happy.