Although I don’t know what I’m “celebrating” about.
And I don’t know what eating a classic Hong Kong dish of roast pork and rice for dinner has anything to do with coming to London.
I feel the need to mark the occasion somehow.
But I don’t know why I should.
Exactly one year ago today, I stepped off my plane from Hong Kong and found myself sitting on a bench in Heathrow, excited of a new start.
In some of my lowest days, my friends provide me with support and encouragement, saying that, from experience, it takes at least one year for people to settle down and find their place in a new location.
Today, it is one year.
In one year, I have learnt to cook. (No mean feat!)
In one year, I have started recycling. (In HK, it’s an activity I view with cynical hippy undertones.)
In one year, I have discovered, and learnt to face, some truly horrible things about myself. (Like the tagline to the movie Moon: “250,000 miles from home, the hardest thing to face…is yourself”)
In one year, I have discovered theatre and it’s consistently put a big grin on my face.
In one year, I have discovered the great outdoors and bought my first hiking boots.
In one year, I have cried more than I’ve ever cried in my entire life.
In one year, I experienced real Christmas for the first time and found it utterly magical.
In one year, I have discovered that being by myself and exploring can actually be a lot of fun.
In one year, I made a snowman for the first time since 1989.
When I started writing this, I didn’t know what there is to celebrate.
But looking back, I think perhaps there is something to celebrate after all. Whatever it is. Even if it’s just an excuse to treat myself to a meal out.
And so char siu fan it is.