Traditionally, being a cat lady means living in a house that always smells of Fancy Feast tinned food and not owning a single piece of clothing devoid of faux fur. Deeper than that, it’s an insult reserved for unpartnered older women – whatever older means these days – to dismiss them for not fitting the…
“The one you are waiting for: will not come.” I read the fortune over and over. I am not superstitious. I am not waiting for anyone. And still, I’m crying on the shinkansen, clutching a ceramic fox in one hand and a scrap of paper in the other.
Kitsune – a fox. Omikuji – a…
We wake in a pile of butter-yellow blankets beside a dying fire: me and three dark heads of hair. The world outside is a snowglobe – a beautiful rarity in 逗子 / Zushi / the half-mile beach where the sun was born. In the morning light, there’s a smudge of blue on the inside…
You may think I was in love with her. You would be right. But not in the way you think. She was one of my best friends. We met in year 7 at school, but didn’t become close till after school had ended. We were linked in a way I wasn’t with anyone else. We…
After a bad injury, when I booked my first ever sports massage, I was shocked at the level of intimacy. The experience was more intimate, in fact, than any romantic encounter I’d had up until that point in my life.
I’m British, you see, and we Brits tend to be a bit uptight. It's actually…
My third evening in the Islamic Republic of Iran lands me in an underground music gig in a hip café-cum-alcohol-free-bar in the capital, Tehran, where a special band is playing.
The café swells with young tehranis, a small ocean of dark hair, streetwear and hijabs moving with excitement. Besides the bluish light illuminating the stage,…
It was 9:30pm and happy hour had well and truly begun on Mlini – the loud and jovial boat I was allocated on my Sail Croatia tour. Like a stale rickety staircase shrieks at two in the morning, Mlini creaked and clacked. It bobbed atop the salty waters, like an old, well-loved rubber duck in…
Stickiness glues every inch of my clothes to me. Blaring sun blinds me from all directions. Wine fumes leave no room for fresh air on this street. A bead of sweat slides down my face to land on my upper lip. It tastes slightly of stale wine. I turn a corner and can finally see…
“Olivia's effort and concentration in class have been variable. At times she has participated well, but at other times, has been off-task. In her future studies, I would like to see Olivia ask more questions and seek help if she is unsure. Her absences have unfortunately hindered her progress quite significantly.”
That was my maths…
A love letter to my she-wolfpack
This is an ode to the 29 women whom I just travelled with. 29 babes. The 29 femme fantasies, 19-to-29-year-old horny, but mostly hungry college co-eds; two-and-a-half dozen unapproachable beauties, the kinds that slack jaws when they walk in bars, make men gape agaw and bend over backwards…
“You are a woman. And you are from...” the first man said.
“Norway,” I said to correct what I assumed to be his assumption of my origin. I had done this before, because most people do not grasp how an Indonesian-Norwegian traveller can be travelling. This was not this day and trip’s problem though.
“Yes,…
Enormous clouds cling to the peaks of snow-capped mountains. Winking prickly pears and violet wildflowers greet us on either side of a path that looks as if it were opened up by the gods. It’s early afternoon, the sun is low in the sky, and our bellies are full to the brim with Peruvian avocados,…