Three years after my one and only long haul solo trip, I book a trip to Sydney for five days to see Mumford and Sons. I buy two concert tickets, making it my mission to find a stranger to go with. Here are some of the things I learned on my favorite short haul trip so far.

– Seeing the picture of a landmark as a child and then finally seeing it in person (The Sydney Opera House), and then getting to be inside it to hear your favorite band sing your favorite songs you’ve been listening to for the past ten years is living life on blessed mode.

– If you’re out of practice, it’s hard to talk to strangers in a hostel. So it’s okay if you sit down in front of strangers, plop your laptop down, not say anything, pretend to do work, leave the hostel, go to a coffee shop, and journal for three pages to hype yourself up to go to strangers. It works. Go journal three pages whenever you’re feeling a bit scared.

– Learning French changed my life. I’ll continue to say this till I die. It turns out, everybody in that hostel was from France. Because I’m some American Chinese guy who spoke their language, everybody wanted to be my friend.

– Finally breaking out of my inferiority complex shell, I was a little taken aback to realize that people actually wanted to be my friend. Not only that, the really attractive French girls wanted to talk to me. Me? Are you sure? Except for the snob that was probably from Paris. All the others were from the south.

– Smiling, showing genuine interest, being relaxed, these of course helped to befriend strangers.

– I walked around the CBD on three separate occasions, trying to muster up the courage to ask a stranger to go to the concert with me. I couldn’t speak to anyone. Contrast this to me walking up to strangers in Europe literally asking if I could sleep in their house. It’s okay to go through different seasons. Eventually I realized the best person to go with was Paul, a friend I made in the hostel. Sometimes trying harder doesn’t get you farther.

– Of course there’s a small chance I’ll see these guys again, and that’s okay. Sometimes these little micro friendships that exist in a vacuum are good for your soul. And sometimes you do see them again many years down the line, and it’s still very very good.

– If you talk beyond the surface, especially in a hostel, you will earn all of my trust, and suddenly I care deeply about everything you care for in a nontoxic way. Hearing Liberty share about her little half sister, wow that made me want to be their biggest cheerleaders and supporters. But then suddenly Liberty turned it back to me, and I usually have so much to share, but I didn’t find myself sharing deeply in return. I’m not sure why.

– Being witty, full of personality, taking my joke and building upon it, being a bit piquant, continues to be an incredibly sexy trait.

– Australian coffee tastes really good.

– There are some hilarious animals in Sydney that provide a great contrast to the urban jungle of Hong Kong. Like the bin chicken.

– I got to see cricket played for the first time in my life.

– At the end of the trip, three people sent me off at the metro station. One was tearing up! Are you serious? Is this the influence I can have? Yes. This is the influence anyone can have! if they’re kind, smiley, themselves, not a massive dick, maybe good at french too.

– At the end, I hopped on another plane for nine hours, adding a butt ton of CO2 emissions, (writing this sentence in here for your woke folk), and arrived back in HK rejuvenated. This is the joy and privilege of travel!

– Though it can be really really hard. I will never stop praising the solo trip. And it doesn’t have to be necessarily a "trip". For my next adventure, I’m going "solo" to Baylor to start my master’s degree in film. I never NEVER expected to get a masters degree. You can be sure there will be so many lessons in those 1000 days in Texas. Yeehaw

When I was doing my 104 day hitchhiking adventure throughout Europe, I tried to blog as much as I could.

I wanted to look back and remember the times when I roughed it, and really feel proud of myself. I filled those blog pages with pages and pages of complaints. Lots of disordered eating complaints.

Now, I’m 25 and doing perhaps one last travel hurrah in Sydney. Social hostel, two concert tickets, finding someone to go with, maybe hitchhiking, finding ways to fill my time memorably (or not), inviting strangers to watch a terrible cut of Holding on to Water.

The first time I had stayed in a hostel, as a fresh 19 year old, if I had met someone who was 25, which I think I did, (Monika from Lithuania), I would’ve thought they were so OLD! In a way, they are. In a way, I am.

This hostel life won’t last forever (or will it?!), and I’m excited for one last one. Here’s the "calm before the storm", or the, "man I have no idea what the heck will happen in these next five days."

I look fondly back on literally all of the times I’ve stayed in a hostel.
When I was the odd one out in a room full of Brazillians, who smelled like straight dog shit.
When I went to Park Retiro with probably the most interesting man I’ve ever met, from Norway.
When I met Libby and Matteo in Cats Hostel and became bonded for life.
When I had my first confrontational chat with Sam at the Generator in Barcelona.
When, years later, I remembered the layout, I snuck in and slept in a hallway.
When I walked around Taichung with that man who could barely walk, he told me to hurry up, so I bought him ice cream.
When in the same hostel, I was trying to convince a British cop to hitchhike back to Taipei with me, when I was actually trying to convince myself.
When I went to Seoul, I thought I had so much experience talking to strangers after Europe, but didn’t talk to a single person.
When I told the receptionist in Lisbon that she is really pretty, which was a big deal for me at 22.
When I lay awake in Thessaloniki after one of the best weeks of my life and felt lonely because some german was getting clapped upstairs.
When I was putting my new snow bib on for snowboarding with a group of six friends in Tokyo; waking up and having matcha donuts together.
When we were the only people in probably the only hostel around in Jerash, Jordan, and speaking funny french with Arthur and Victor.
When Matteo and I tried talking to some boring ass strangers in Berlin, so we said, eff it, let’s have a hitchhiking competition to Prague.
When we got to Prague, and I blacked out for the first time, and Matteo made sure I was okay, when I somehow teleported back to the hostel bed.
When I said goodbye to Matteo in Krakow to go on a 10 day silent meditation trip, and wanting to cry afterwards when we hugged.
When I stayed in one purely for a bed and to save money, when I was out schmoozing famous people at Sundance Taiwan.

When the hostel was closed for winter in Perpignan, so I had to knock on Bernard’s door, and he let me in.

Hostels have been so good to me. I love hostels. I’m grateful. So grateful.

Here’s to one more.

Put a camera in my heart and you’d lock me up in jail. You wouldn’t let that beast see the light of day because of how messed up it is.

I used to have thoughts of punching people in the face. Now, I still do, but it doesn’t stop after one punch. I’ve had plenty of other thoughts that scare me – how can my heart be so dark. Sorry parents if you’re reading this. I’m not right in the head.

But I’d go so far to say that all of our hearts are wicked. Put a camera in all of our hearts and we’d have an overpopulated prison problem.

Some would say, “You need Jesus.” And I agree. And then I think of all the people who have Jesus whose hearts are still wicked. I think of when I feel like I had Jesus and my heart still frightened me.

Maybe I can blame it on my parents. I’ll share some sob stories so I can win your empathy. I used to cry over a lack of food on the table. My dad sometimes slowly drove through the neighborhood and openly stared at other women. I’m so tired of feeling icky when the police officers don’t take their fucking shoes off when they walk into my home. I almost killed my sister when we were playing with the futon, and I didn’t have the courage to ask my dad for help.

Sometimes I miss being depressed because if I killed myself, I’d be okay with it. Whereas now, if I killed myself, I’d feel like a stupid idiot.

So welcome in to my wicked heart. If I ever give off the vibe that I have it all together, I don’t. I’m a professional. I’m literally trying to make money off of telling other people how messed up I am.

So grab a seat and come on in. Tell me about your wicked heart, so I at least can feel like I’m not alone.

Heart to Heart, Fart to Fart, and Everything in between

I fear some people might think these silly songs are too revealing. "I miss the days when people kept their private information to themselves."

But what about the supposed "goodness" that comes from talking about your problems out loud?

In the journey of making a movie that’s hyper specific to me, in order to cut through the noise, I have to talk about the gross stuff. I definitely don’t want to. But when creating a personal brand, you are to lean into who you are. And this is who I am. You’ll know what I mean when you watch the doc.

Neil Gaiman said, “The moment that you feel, just possibly, you are walking down the street naked, exposing too much of your heart and your mind, and what exists on the inside, showing too much of yourself…That is the moment, you might be starting to get it right.”

1-2 years after the movie is done, we’ll see if I got it right.,

If you’re an emerging filmmaker you kind of have to play status games.

• Get into Sundance Ignite

• Have a lot of followers but not too much so you’re not an influencer

• Know a guy that knows a guy who’s Spielberg’s grand daughter

• Live in LA and workout (twice a month at most) at equinox even when you can’t afford it

• Get your films into SXSW, Cannes, whatever whatever. Look I’m cool guys. I swear.

It sounds like I’m jabbing at these things. Which I see how my tone conveys that. They’re not bad things. I applied to Ignite. I sent a short to SXSW and Sundance. I know a guy that knows an even cooler head honcho. When you’re emerging, you rely on these opportunities, these little games, to get your work out there. How else will you get recognized and then given more opportunities to make money? And it’s all about the money.

Here’s a completely made up case study on two filmmakers who started on similar paths and now are completely different.

Enter Casey Neistat. Grew up poor. Teenage father. Scrubbed forearm deep clam chowder in large stock pots. In 2009, he and his buddies Josh and Benny Safdie create a movie called Daddy Long Legs. It’s the brother’s first feature. I’m assuming Casey’s too.

It gets into Sundance. It gets into Cannes. I’m not sure if 2009 Sundance was on the map, but here’s a couple movies from that year:
Precious
Bronson
The End of Line
The Cove

Have you watched any of these? I sure as hell haven’t. Have you heard of them? Yes most likely.

The next year in 2010, Casey gets his own TV show on HBO. The brothers keep making features and shorts. Reception is pretty good.

Casey quits the formal industry announces his vlog in 2014. It gets big. He starts his company. In 2016 he sells Beme for 25 million dollars.

With lots of work to show on their belt, the brothers cast Robert Pattison in Good Time in 2017. It’s a fantastic movie. Next is Uncut Gems. The brothers now make their own movies. Josh’s next one has Timmy Chalamet as the lead. Benny’s has The Rock. Okay great.

This is how I interpret it. Casey said eff the status games, I’m doing my own thing. Amasses a huge fortune and audience.

The brothers have their status signals with the festivals, getting into Venice, Cannes again, SXSW. And subsequently get huge (in the industry). But maybe you’ve never heard of their name. But have you seen Oppenheimer? So you’ve seen Benny’s face.

All that is to say, whatever path you choose, the games or not, with a butt ton of hard work, you can get successful. Okay back to working on my applications so I can start winning these games.

It’s the second time I’ve gotten coffee from this lady. The first time she didn’t think I spoke Cantonese, so she said to her coworker, “Wow he’s really handsome.” I looked at her with understanding and said thank you.

A couple months later, I see her again, and she mutters under her breath, just loud enough for me to hear, “He really is handsome.” This makes me feel good.

We love compliments. Asian cultures don’t often use their words to express affection. Because I sometimes exhibit cowardice and for the sake of this blog, I’ll write down some compliments here for my friends.

1. Trevor has a kind caring heart. He visited me in the hospital many times and tried to pull his doctor connections to get me through the emergency room faster. He also has a nice smile. He would be an excellent politician with his true North.

2. Teresa also has a nice smile. Is kind, real, isn’t ashamed to be herself, and is quick to laugh and be joyous. What a great trait!

3. Uday loves coding. You can tell he feels it in his bones. He has a knack for solving coding problems  and that translates to everything else in life.

4. James looks good without hair. He is a leader. Whether that is from learning on the job or being a natural at it, whatever it is, he’s put in the necessary and hard work to get to where he’s at now.

5. Joe is a world traveler and has a heart that deeply feels.

6. Jae can command a room with his presence.

7. Aidan is loud in all the right ways.

8. Emily looks great for her age. Her friend Shegalla too.

9. Fabio is the best bjj teacher in Hong Kong and his gym is making a statement.

10. Greig can beat your ass and also has a heart that has a large capacity to listen, care, and feel. I will regret having never gone skiing with him.

11. Christina is the best out of all of us. She can laugh, listen, be serious, get things done, be a supermom, command a stage, sing, rock a baby to sleep while giving a presentation on mental health, be a superhero, care deeply, cook delicious shabbat food, and much more. If I didn’t meet Christina during my time in Hong Kong, my time would’ve been robbed of more than half of its goodness.

12. Wes is funny. He doesn’t turn away when I jokingly shove the karaoke mic down his throat. He claps with his feet and is himself no matter who’s in the room.

13. Kelly is musically gifted.

14. Jojo is the most gifted person I’ve met at thinking of funny puns on the spot.

15. If Joy from Inside Out was an actual person, it would be Karene.

16. Gabe possesses deep theological knowledge.

17. Flo would be famous if she worked in Hollywood because of her administrative, organized, leader-heavy, and scrupulous personality. Even with all of this, she’s joyful, funny, and kind.

18. Sophie is good looking.

19. Alex excels in everything he points his mind to.

20. Evelyn has a deep, rich way of thinking with nuance. She also would excel at being a movie producer. She has an empathetic heart, loves deeply and widely, and is really cool.

21. Francis is a ride or die. Perhaps to a fault. That means ride or literally die. He’s athletically gifted, is hilariously witty, actually sings really well on the karaoke mics, and works hard.

It’s Chinese New Year in Hong Kong, and I don’t have many people to spend it with. That’s okay. It’s a holiday for families, and I thought it was a good idea to move 8000 miles away from home. Historically, I’ve never felt good about this holiday. My mom would give me $100 or sometimes $200. I would feel bad, because she doesn’t have that kind of money to spend. And she has four kids. I would join her at the Chinese Restaurant, making $8 an hour, to help her stay on top of the grueling lunch and dinner rush that lasted hours and hours and you didn’t even have time to sweat. At the end of the day, the boss would unjustifiably keep some of the tips we worked hard for. Now here in Hong Kong, without any friends inviting me (except for Trevor, thank you Trevor), I stare at my empty wallet and think, "Shit. CNY money was supposed to pay for lunch next week."

So don’t tell me it’s not about money. Because it’s all about money. You can be a pack a backpack and find yourself during your 20s, hopping from country to country, kissing girls in clubs, drinking beer from bottles you can’t read and throwing up in a language you didn’t know you learned, finally begin your career in your 30s with the cushion of daddy’s money under your ass, and proceed to try your best to not feel bad about yourself. Or you work your ass off despite a far less favorable hand, get into an elite school, get a job in consulting or finance, and work your family out of generational poverty.

Or your me: you couldn’t bring yourself to do the corporate thing, though you tried with your first job, being paid a fair wage for only working 1/8 hours in the day and watching YouTube videos with the rest. After graduating from an elite school without paying a dime because of your family’s low income level, you did the country hopping too, because you wanted too wanted to "find yourself." And now at 25, you have consumer debt and medical debt, and you used to laugh at people who had debt. And you think, "How am I going to dig myself out of this?" So it’s about money. And you need money to solve money problems. And you need to build a fortune before you can say, "Wow I still feel empty even with all this money." But you still have to get there before you can confidently make that claim. So happy Chinese new year. May this year bring you dump trucks filled with dollar bills.

While my mom works at a Chinese restaurant again this year, more than ten years later from the first time I did with her, I sit on my keyboard, tap tap taping away at this blogpost, complaining about how little money I have. Sigh. I find it so unfair for someone to tell me that it’s not about money when they make more than me and give less than me proportionally. So I guess all my eggs are in this film thing, to break my family out of generational poverty that seemingly started with my parents. Then I get anxious. Of course like any high achieving child, I want to buy my mom a house that’ll be too big for her to clean and too, "Son this is nice, but you know I love you despite this." And I want to buy my dad a Tesla because he’s been riding a piece of shit on four wheels since he moved to the USA in ’96. And to get there requires lots of hard work and lots of gatekeepers saying yes to the work I make. And I think sometimes I’m not cut out for this, and I’m not good enough. So what do you do? Foot on the gas. Nose to the grindstone. Trade parts of your soul (or all of it) for some numbers in your bank account. That’s even if you have the chops to work work work and work. I don’t know if I do. Happy Chinese New Year.