So, it has come to this. Chucking in life on the open road to write for in-flight magazines in the unrelenting urbanity of Hong Kong. Is it the ultimate sell out…returning to the office after 8 months of freedom as intrepid freelancer? Or is it just common sense?
Although I have loved the easy-going mornings, the my-own-pace writing, and the divine locations of the road-based writer, it’s not exactly making me millions of bucks. In fact, nothing I have written since October has brought me in any money yet, what with loose deadlines and magazine pay dates. It’s not exactly the kind of job where you get a gold Mastercard; it’s actually the kind of job where your gas and water get cut off.
I’m also craving some kind of routine. Since November I have been feeling a bit rudderless and untethered, as if I might just float away at any time. Whatever else the monotonous routine of an office job gives you it always gives you structure, plus distractions in abundance – welcome at the moment.
So, I am adjusting to the fact that my purse strings – and my sanity, to be honest – require the restoration of order over the joys of chaos. As part of my grand plan I have started applying for desk jobs for my return to the UK. This is also the reason that found me in Hong Kong at 8am this rainy morning, heading out for my first day at an internship with Ink Publishing.
If you’d been here you’d have seen what those HongKongese commuters saw: me dressed up like corporate journalist Barbie, all boots and leggings and more layers than I’ve worn since London. I look in the mirror and see that I have returned to being a faceless drone; the only reminder of my intervening adventure are the tatty bits of string bracelet from the kids in Sapa and the key to my backpack padlock, which I wear for safekeeping around my wrist.
Still, it’s not half bad being back at work. I’d forgotten how the florescent lights give you eye ache, but apart from that the people are kind, the work is pleasant and the freebies are quality (hopefully going to a Vivienne Westwood cocktail party – woop!). My office is on Hollywood Road, which I thought would have loads of stars on the pavement and so on, but it turns out to be an achingly trendy antiques district in Central where sandwiches cost the earth.
It’s a far cry from sitting huddled over my laptop and a cup of tea in a little Thai shack and I do feel momentarily homesick for the warm breeze and wicker chairs of the past. But then the world is full of many different experiences and if you spent your time trying to put them all in order of preference, noting all the ups and downs of each, then you’d go out of your mind in a couple of hours.
I’m just going to take a lesson from my 8 months of the ‘easy life’ and take things as they come. It’s pointless to wonder what life would be like if things were different; they’re not. And life’s not fair, as my mum has always been so fond of telling me. I haven’t given up on my dream, at least not in my heart, but it’s evolving quickly into something a bit more livable. I don’t – I can’t – see it as selling out. I’m just buying something slightly different.
