thank you, dolores

January 15th, 2018

High school for most people is an awkward time and place where you try to figure out how you fit in. It wasn’t that different for me, growing up in Amsterdam. But when you hear that right piece of music, and it feels like it just speaks to you? That was Dolores and the Cranberries for me. Hearing her voice, I remember feeling, relieved and confident, yes, this is what I like, this is who I am.

Years later, I would buy tickets for their concert on two different occasions, and on both occasions they would cancel the concert. I guess I will never have the chance to hear her live.

Rest in peace, Dolores.

Thank you for helping me get through high school.
Thank you for helping me figure out who I am.
May you wake up in heaven and smell the coffee.

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“me too”

October 16th, 2017

i’d almost forgot about it. it was long ago. an abandoned memory buried somewhere in my subconscious.

i love film festivals. i stopped going regularly a few years ago, but for a significant part of my life, film was my church, my home. to be at a film fest was like magic to me. a moment to disappear, to visit other places, to hear people’s stories, to travel in imagination. to be at home and to not be alone.

i was 16 when i first started going to the rotterdam film festival. i’d watch three, sometimes four movies a day. it begins in mid january and lasts about ten days. this meant i was skipping the first two weeks of classes, every year. oh well, priorities.

this one year, fallen angels was supposed to premier at rotterdam. at the last minute this changed, and the premier went to berlin instead – the bigger shinier more prestigious film fest. however, chris doyle, the famous cinematographer, was already in town. and he was giving a talk. i went, had a chat with him, tried to explain i was a fan and was running a website for wong kar wai and his movies. he told me he had a photo exhibition a few days later, gave me a vip ticket. star struck, exhilarated, i went back home.

did i go to the photo exhibition? hell yeah. i remember i was the only one there with a backpack. everyone seemed older, everyone seemed to know what they were doing. im pretty sure i was the only student. when chris saw me, he walked over, chatted with me and introduced me to some of his friends, explaining they were working for the now defunct fortissimo. at some point, we went for dinner, a bit odd, with a group of people i just met, but two people stood out. one was an asian male, and was not giving me good vibes. the other was also an asian male, and seemed friendly in a big brother kind of way, making sure i was included and that i didn’t feel out of place. he even said that he had a gift for me. “for me? wow ok”. he asked me to go with him to get the gift. we started walking, and before i know it, we are inside his hotel room. he got his gift, gave it to me, and i remember thinking .. “ok? this is what you made me walk all the way for?” but ok, a gift is a gift. it’s at this point that i’m sitting on his bed, and he started putting his arm around me. and he is starting to touch me. and i remember just feeling confused, wondering what was going on. wondering what he is doing. but i also remember moving away, instinctively. feeling uncomfortable. it didn’t take too long before he gave up, and we went back to the table. i remember the other guy winking at my “friend”, a wink that didn’t make sense to me until after we got the bill and i left.

at the station, waiting for the train, i am trying to figure out what had happened. i remember that it felt wrong. sometimes it takes the mind a bit longer to realize what your heart, body and bones already know. i called a friend. asked the friend to swear to keep this a secret. telling my friend, that something had happened, to convince myself it was at least somewhat real, that i wasn’t making this up. i didn’t know what to do otherwise.

i was reading this yesterday: “all touches change. and no touch can ever be taken back. remember.”

alyssa milano is asking people to tweet “me too” if you had ever been sexually harassed, that if all who have been sexually harassed or assaulted wrote “me too” as a status, we might give people a sense of the magnitude of the problem. copy, paste and share.

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“i live inside my own heart”

April 21st, 2017


如陽光伴我 心中更明亮


感謝 博群計畫

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a letter to my eight year old self

January 22nd, 2017

dear eight year old lokman,

you have no idea what is awaiting you. most of it will be good. things will get better. life will get better. trust me. im the older you.

not everything will get better, of course. but many things will get easier. things won’t always be as difficult. and even then, there is honor and strength in overcoming difficulties. believe, for you will build up a small body of work you can and should be proud of. trust yourself, even when others don’t always understand you.

you will find shelter in the thoughts, feelings, voices and imagination of others – not necessarily those physically close to you, and this will frustrate you for a while, but you will find it in those from the past, long gone or from far away, preserved in books, songs, movies, and you will find it in those of the future, through this thing called the internet that will change your life for the better.

you will love the library, where you can freely roam, freely explore, what you like, what you don’t like. you are eight, but you will soon start branching out from the children’s section to the adult section. you initially will have no clue what most of these books are about, but don’t for a second let others tell you you are “not ready” or “too young” to read them. it will come. have patience. the library is your friend.

at home, you will have comics, and computer games. you will love these too, but because they are at home, they are not as free. at some point, you will get a bad grade and mum will tell you you can no longer play computer games freely. at some point, your mum will threaten to burn your comics, and you will haul all of your comics in plastic bags to your locker in elementary school. forgive your mum. later when you have left home, you can read all the comics you want, play all the computer games you want. your love for them is true; you will keep reading them as far as the future where i’m writing from. it’s curious though: people ask whether you still read comics, play video games. but people don’t ask whether you still watch movies or read books, do they? again, trust yourself.

don’t think less of yourself, even when others might. at some point, you will go to university, and you will decide to study “china studies”, even though everyone else will try to convince you not to study it. you will learn how to read and write chinese. learning a language is not just that, it is getting access to a whole new world of books, movies, songs, even friends. at some point, you will travel to a far away country called taiwan, you will set foot in this bookstore called eslite, and you will be amazed, amazed that there is this vast universe of books that you never had access to before, and you will be touched, touched that there is a place where people care so much about books that they can treasure, cherish and sustain a bookstore like this. however, learning chinese won’t be easy. not because the language is difficult, even though it is, but because many others will convince you not to study it. be prepared for opposition. stay strong, trust that you know what is right for yourself. you write your own story; don’t let others write it.

but don’t only trust yourself. you will find allies. you will find friends. there will be this amazing thing called the internet. you will not only build websites, but also communities. you will build a home, not just for yourself, but for many others like you around the world, who otherwise wouldn’t have a home, and it will be one of the best things you will do. but also don’t be afraid to let go of it when the time comes.

lokman, your life is your story to write. and it’s gonna be awesome.

the thirty nine year old lokman

eight year old self

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why i am in hong kong

January 1st, 2017

why hong kong, of all places?

i get asked this question sometimes, and sometimes i wonder it myself.

“do you consider yourself from hong kong?”

“are you planning to stay in hong kong?”

“why would you want to stay in hong kong?”

many young people are (thinking of) leaving: 57 percent of people under 30 would emigrate if given the opportunity. so, not only a simple question of residence, or even of identity, of belonging, but also of dreams and hope: is there a future here?

i grew up in holland, born and raised in amstelveen, a suburb just outside amsterdam. i went to high school in amsterdam and lived a big part of my college life in amsterdam. growing up, i would semi-frequently visit hong kong. a place we would go to for holidays. a place where we had many relatives who would buy me gifts and spoil me. a place with good food, cool movies. to be honest, i don’t have that many happy childhood memories, but i cherish my childhood memories of hong kong.

so when i had an opportunity to “come back” to hong kong for work, i seriously considered it. this was unexpected. i thought i would find a job in the states. i never imagined let alone planned coming to hong kong. if it wasn’t for that initial job offer, i probably would not be here right now. but here i am, in hong kong, six years going strong.

maybe this surprises you, but i don’t feel that strongly about “going back” to holland. when i say that, people often give me curious looks.

“wouldn’t you want to go back to holland?

“don’t you miss it?”

“didn’t you grow up there?”

“don’t you miss your friends and family?”

“isn’t amsterdam super cool?”

yes, amsterdam is super cool. yes, i spent most of my years of my life in holland. but no, i don’t really feel strongly about “going back”, at least not right now.

christian morgenstern, a german poet, once said that “home is not where you live, but where they understand you.” i never really felt that holland was that much interested in understanding me. i am grateful i was allowed to grow up there, i am grateful for the good public education i got there, and i am grateful for the many people, including friends, who i connected with and built long lasting relationships with. but as a place, i always felt like i could only be “dutch” in holland. that i had to, what law professor kenji yoshino calls, “cover up” my otherness. and i got good at covering up. i joke that my superpowers is invisibility. but covering up also means covering up an important part of who you are. limiting yourself. and considering the growing backlash against immigrants, not only in holland, but in europe and now also in the united states, there is little reason to stop covering ourselves up. heads down. safety first.

in contrast, hong kong is not only the place where i am better understood, it is also the place that allows me to become myself. in hong kong, i think i can become the better person i believe i can be.

the better me makes a difference.

the better me helps hong kong be free and stay free.

the better me helps students to realize their own potential.

the better me helps the world understand why freedom and freedom of expression are important.

the better me is part of and helps build a community of friends and peers who have in common this aspiration and hope for a freer world.

a war of ideas on the values of freedom and democracy is going on (more on this in a later essay). i know i can make a difference in this “war”. it is hong kong where i think i can best do that.

but is there a future here? well, let’s not forget, the future is open. it is not set in stone. we don’t know what will happen. and because of this, there is hope. as leonard cohen said, “there is a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in”.

i am grateful hong kong is (still relatively) free. i will fight to make sure hong kong stays free, becomes more free. i also believe there is much we can learn from hong kong, that hong kong plays a critical part in the larger struggle for freedom globally. this is why i am in hong kong. this is why i want to stay here.


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soul mate (2016) a review of some sorts

October 27th, 2016

today was one of those days where i was just not feeling it. but i dragged myself out of bed, got myself a hair cut, and wondering what to do next, decided to say fuck it, and went to watch a movie, in the middle of the day, in the middle of the week.

i ended up watching an amazing movie. i can tell you “soulmate” is a coming-of-age story about the friendship between two girls. that it is based on a web serial that was super popular on the chinese internet in the 1990s. that it is the solo debut of hong kong film director derek tsang. that the two actresses are amazing and deserving of every award they are nominated for.

but what i really want to tell you is that this movie made me feel very very alive again; that it also made me very very quiet. wondering, about the life choices i have made, the person i was, and the person i am now. wondering also, about people i deeply cared for, where they are now., whether they still remember me. heart wide open, life a little bit too much right now.

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remember to breath

October 26th, 2016

lunch was hectic. lunch time, everything in sheung wan is packed. lines, and once you’re inside, you’re crammed into a tiny space with people so close to you, you can overhear their conversations, forced to see their every facial feature. you instinctively shrink your body, hunch your shoulders, to preserve some sense of personal space. you eat, you remind yourself and try to eat mindfully, but you can see the line waiting outside in the reflection of the window. you finish, and you gesture you want to pay. you leave the shop, looking for the next stop. starbucks. you get in, it seems full, you look around, there are actually a few spots not taken yet. you look at the line, and you do a quick calculation in your head, if they all sit down, you won’t have a spot, but these people seem to be here for takeout rather than sitting down. you consider heading over to a spot to drop off your bag, but you decide to just stay in line and order a drink first. it seems safe enough. still, in the line, you glance over to make sure the spots are not immediately taken. once you have ordered your drink, you head over and drop off your bag. even the starbucks in sheung wan is tiny. it’s so busy the folks at starbucks havent had the time yet to clean up the tables. so in some form of coordinated anarchy, people move cups, napkins, straws, to the table that is unoccupied. the middle table, “empty”, has officially become landfill. you sit down, open your laptop, breath a sigh of relief. a few minutes of peace.

hello, how are you today?

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notes on being hospitalized

August 27th, 2016

i was hospitalized earlier this month. because i had a fever that would come and go, but wouldn’t quite go away entirely. the doctors couldn’t find out what was wrong with me.

it is scary: there’s something wrong with you, but the doctors cannot figure out what it is. unable to name “it”, to be able to tell people what “it” is, or more importantly, to know what to do about “it”.

the diagnosis: a “fever of unknown origin”. and therefore i got tested and tested and tested, for all kinds of things. process of elimination. mostly blood tests (confession: i am afraid of needles), x-rays of my lungs, and other tests, some more intrusive than others.

doctors still haven’t found the cause of the fever. but my body responded to the mix of antibiotics they gave me. meaning the antibiotics managed to keep the fever under control. meaning it was probably some bacterial infection, rather than … cancer or something else. that’s a good thing.

a few thoughts and observations:

being hospitalized as a patient feels like being a plant, kind of. the doctor asks you questions and you answer. the nurse comes to take blood and you give it (sometimes at like 2am). you are given food and you eat it. when you try to ask a question, the doctor will of course answer it. but it is also clear that this is not something the doctor has a lot of time for. there are a lot of other patients waiting for her. and you meet a barrage of staff, nurses, doctors that come and go. over time, you will get to know them a little bit better, but in the beginning it’s mostly a blur.

being hospitalized with (seven) other patients in a room, can be really intense. my fellow patients were men, really old, in a lot of pain, often immobile, often unable to eat and thus fed through a nose tube, and often unable to go to the toilet and thus had diapers and other means of relieving themselves. because they were often in pain, they would compete for attention, sometimes wailing, sometimes howling, sometimes screaming, sometimes moaning, sometimes whimpering. sometimes you’d hear a sound coming from the other end of the ward and you’d go wide eyed and be like “… holy shit what was that?” sleeping at night wasn’t always easy.

my friends would ask, why don’t you put on your headphones? but certain things or activities felt inappropriate. i would use my phone, and sometimes read on my kindle, but most other activities felt strange and out of place. you’re in this place where everyone around you is suffering and in pain; are you really going to watch some youtube video or listen to your favorite songs? there is a kind of heaviness, soberness, intensity to being hospitalized, i guess.

being hospitalized also meant being close to death. you get to know your fellow patients around you, you talk to their family and friends who visit them, sometimes when they scream for help and no one comes helping them, you help them get help, and then one day, their bed is suddenly empty. you’re quiet for a few seconds; you hope they are someplace happy, pain free and at peace.

being hospitalized means being super appreciative of things you take for granted. slippers, because it meant i could get up, walk around. big deal. but i had to tell myself, be glad you can do this. because being a patient also meant that at some point you lose interest and appetite in a lot of things. you become passive, in taking care of yourself, in getting up to do anything. but then i would look around, and i reminded myself that i should be grateful, that i could get up and take a piss, that i could eat the food myself.

small things that saved my life: phone charger, slippers, wet napkins. and that second, third, and fourth blanket when my fever was acting up and i had chills again.

small things that sparked joy during my time at the hospital: a cup of milk tea brought by a friend. sudden unexpected visit of a friend. soup, brought by relatives. simple, nice chitchat with some of the staff. friends, who really listened to me. and friends, picking up the phone and calling me in those moments when i was feeling really low.

the good news? i have been without fever for a while now. i need to take it easy, but otherwise im slowly getting back on my feet. and i will be going back next week to see the doctor for a checkup.

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being a space cadet

May 6th, 2014

having dinner at classified, finished my pasta and soup, the waitress suddenly taps me on my shoulder and asks: “are you ok?”

I look at her, slightly surprised and nod faintly yes.

she smiles: “you seemed a million miles away.”

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snow falling in april

April 25th, 2010

I remember how surprised I was the first time I saw you. We were in the living room of my parent’s home. We heard the sounds of someone coming down. We turned around and it was you, with a smile so bright, so full of life.

It wasn’t until later that I found out that the smile was hiding a deeper sorrow, a heartache caused by a breakup. But by then, I already had fallen hard for you, and you, unknowingly or not, shattered my heart in return.

I am in my room, sitting on my bed, with a book in my hand, probably a Murakami. A few days before Christmas, it is cold, but the house is alive, with all its family members back, filled with excitement of hosting new guests.

I hear steps coming up to my room. It is you. You ask if you can come in. You ask if you can borrow a book from me. Surprised, but pleasantly so, we start talking. We sit down on the thick carpet of my floor, lean against my bed, and before I know it, we are talking about all the important things in life that people talk about when they first get to know each other – with an understated tension, but a spark of unanticipated excitement.

At some point, you fall asleep in my lap. I am frozen. “Does she like me?” “What does this mean?” “What do I do?” “What am I supposed to do?”. I decide to gently lift and hold you in my arms, carry you to my bed and cover you with a blanket. I look at your face for a long time, serene but so fragile. In amazement of this small miracle. Afraid you will wake up, because I don’t want this moment to end. My finger tracing your neck, thinking I discovered the secret of life. I sit on my bed, next to your side, and guard you, until I forget time.

Hours later, you are up and we are sitting on my bed – a comfortable silence and conversation, deep in the night. And then, there is the blackout. “This can’t be for real”. Sensible as you are, you suggest to look for candles. I go down and come back, you light them. A faint and soft glow envelops the room. We continue our talk, and at some point I mention to you that I don’t know how to tie a tie. You tell me how you used to help your grandpa on Sunday. You look up and ask me if I have a tie, and I hand you one. You get up and sit close behind me. You slowly wrap your arms around me, softly whisper in my ear, gently show and teach me, how to tie a tie.

Days later, and you left. Snow fell the day after, as if to erase the footprints in my memories. Faintly, I still hear you knocking on my door, asking if you can come in.

As if snow was falling in April.

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book and sword : gratitude and revenge

is the first novel written by Jin Yong. The protagonist is Chan Ka Lok, who is the leader of the Red Flower Society. The book title refers to Ka Lok being famous for being well-versed in culture and martial arts, but also for having to make a difficult ethical decision. My father named me and my brother after him.

The subtitle is from a poem Desiderata