In an old townhouse that was painted in white, stood a bright yellow door in one street light.

You only need to say two words to conjure up the image of neighbourhood locale, Bar Leone: Mortadella Sandwich.

There are only three things that could get me out to Lamma Island on a Monday night after the work day – the promise of warm pita generously sprinkled with spoonfuls of za’atar…

There’s a feeling that writing gives me - when everything turns into a misty white, leaving me at the centre to project my own film reel of images onto the blank canvas. 

My first taste of Wong Kar-wai was in the lecture halls of university. In some whirlwind concoction of homesickness, Asian pride, and artistic curiosity, I found myself with a newfound enthusiasm for Chinese pop culture.

Hidden away in a surprisingly clean alleyway along the steep slope of Old Bailey Street, it was in this “secret” hole-in-the-wall that I’ve never been more grateful for my friends.

“Bittersweet.” The word I had almost chosen from the time-loved novel Stuart Palm handed me in the middle of his act. Perhaps it would have been more fitting.

Sometimes friendships seem to blossom out of the most unexpected places.  We sat in a tiny little alleyway on two wooden patio chairs, squished between the cream painted wall and the edge of a small dog park.