I will not pretend I have something to say that the rest of the world needs to hear. I just wish I can say something others would remember. But I don't really care about others. I write because I can't bear the thought that I cannot.
Writing in Paris is not about writing nor about Paris. I know I can't write. I don't need to travel halfway around the world to figure that out or even to change that. At the end of two months, if I ever make it there and stay that long, there won't be a novel coming out or even a draft of a novel forming. I go to Paris because I can't bear the thought that I'm not already there.
Born under the tropical shades of Kuching, Malaysia, I was raised by a town beauty and a civil servant to be a wealthy industrialist but ended up a religious zealot and a penniless romantic. Graduated in Australia with a degree in optimism, my affair with the land continued and eventually led me to nest in beautiful Melbourne, where I now engage in writing the great Australian novel.
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