Janice Wong // Tokyo
If fineness of sand is any indication of the age of a beach, then she was a young one, speckled blush and beige, waiting for the waves to smooth out her edges. She was a beach that never saw the sunset in all of its glory, only able to catch its muted afterglow. We sat, sand seeping into the pockets of our denim shorts. The tide came steadily over bare feet, unsurprisingly cool at first touch, then warmer at each arrival.
Dear New York,
I fucking love you.
I understand why you have such a reputation now. I get why you’re the subject of so many dreams. You got me.
To say that 2017 was a year of immense growth would be a bit of a strange statement. That would imply that I didn’t grow and change as much or enough during all the other years of my life, and I don’t think that’s true. So in that sense, 2017 was just another year.