The crown of my head rises toward the heavens, bungee-spine releases, tailbone tucks under. One heel fits snugly into the other foot’s arch. Arms drift to breast level, the right curved, the left as if I’ve flicked a handkerchief. A foot slides out, then to the back, and anchors as my knees bend. Balanced torso – perfect prep – push off the back foot – arms whip – body revolves –

WHAM! SPLAT!

Another failed pirouette.

During summer, the city traps the warmth, it holds it; the concrete whispers, tickling you with its hot, sour breath, a heatwave halitosis. Light lingers, and we await the sweet relief of night. In winter we demand summer back; ice radiates off glass doors and metal railings, and the cold corners of streets where gale-force winds break against you. People pat their pockets, checking Mother Nature hasn’t mugged them; note to self, stand behind someone when possible.

My father is a lawyer. As a child I’d try to heft his legal tomes over my head, small arms trembling. The walls of text swarming his desk, his computer screen, were impenetrable to me. To be a lawyer seemed the most tedious job in existence, synonymous with my dreaded notions of adulthood; a world cast in shades of grey. I swore over the kitchen table never to be shunted away behind a desk, under fluorescent lights. I was to be an artist, a writer, and I wandered through my childhood in a dream world, singing softly.

‘You’re wrong, you moron. Check the numbers again.’ 

I gaped at the budget spreadsheet, a mess of numbers swimming before tear-brimmed eyes. Blinking rapidly to clear my vision, I checked the entries and equations. 

‘Well, we’re fucked. Great work, Grace. You’ve really screwed us this time. You are so stupid. Well done.’ 

My black suitcase came around the corner of the baggage carousel slumped on its side. I was in yet another new place. Yet another new start. 

It was the middle of winter and Taipei looked grey. I’d been living in Korea. Before that Amsterdam. Leaving had been imprinted on my soul, though I didn’t begin life like that. After my family’s migration when I was young – from one side of the globe to the other, turning my world on its head – leaving became my go-to when things got tough. By the time I arrived in Taiwan, the number of homes and locales I’d known had frazzled my brain, and my energy for this way of life was waning.