Back in China, I had an eye-opening conversation with a girlfriend about a new family trend emerging in tier 1 and 2 cities.
She shared that some close female friends (not just lesbians) are exploring an unconventional approach to motherhood: choosing to conceive using sperm from the same donor to have children who are biologically connected as siblings, despite being raised in different single-mother households.
The reasoning behind this is fascinating. Many Chinese women, especially in urban areas, are increasingly disillusioned with traditional relationships with men. At the same time, they feel empowered and independent enough to raise children on their own. This choice reflects a profound cultural shift that speaks to changing perceptions of family, gender roles, and the prioritisation of personal fulfilment over societal norms.
Now that I've thought about it more, I'm not surprised by this trend.
If you look back at Chinese history, sex and family dynamics have always been... let's say, unconventional by today's standards. For example, the widespread acceptance of homosexuality during certain dynasties. In the Han dynasty, Emperor Ai was famously in love with a male courtier, Dong Xian, so much so that the tale of "cutting the sleeve," where the emperor chose to cut off his sleeve rather than disturb Dong sleeping on it, became a cultural metaphor for same-sex love. It wasn't even considered unusual; poetry and literature from various dynasties are filled with references to these relationships.
Then there's Jin Ping Mei, a novel from the Ming dynasty that paints a vivid (and explicit) picture of sexual politics, manipulation, and power within families. It's essentially a 16th-century soap opera of debauchery, featuring concubines, scheming servants, and some eyebrow-raising love triangles (or octagons, depending on how you count). Of course, the old imperial system took "family planning" to an entirely different level. Emperors maintained sprawling harems with hundreds-sometimes thousands-of concubines, all chosen to secure the lineage and political alliances. But this wasn't just confined to royalty. Wealthy men in ancient China often had multiple wives and concubines, creating sprawling, competitive households where women vied for attention and influence.
And let's not forget practices like "marrying ghosts" (yin hun), where families arranged marriages for deceased loved ones to ensure harmony in the afterlife, or the concept of "shared wives" in certain minority ethnic groups, where brothers in the same family might take one wife together to preserve land and wealth. So when I put today's trend of close friends choosing to create sibling families into a historical context, it almost feels tame by comparison.
China's stories of sex, family, and relationships have always been rich, complex, and by modern standards, a little weird. This new trend is just another chapter in that ongoing evolution.
At the Network School, I had the privilege of meeting an exceptional female entrepreneur who, to my surprise, holds me in high regard as well.
On the day she left the school, she told me she had been observing me for quite some time. Beyond our heartfelt breakfast conversations, she noticed that I possess a core strength and stability that impressed her deeply.
One memorable moment was during an offline escape room challenge we played together. In one task, we had to silently build a tower of blocks based on clues. She accidentally knocked over the blocks, triggering a “ninja attack.” While everyone else panicked and crawled on the floor, I remained calm, steadily picking up the blocks to rebuild the tower instead of rushing to escape.
Another instance occurred when I recently travelled to Vietnam. I mistakenly assumed no visa was required and was stopped at the airport. Without fuss, I paid for an expedited visa and rebooked a flight for the next day. When I returned to school, she heard about the incident and praised how calm I remained throughout, even in such a frustrating situation.
I’ve often wondered how I developed such emotional stability over the years. Perhaps it’s because I believe that most problems have solutions, as long as I avoid overthinking and am willing to pay the price or seek help when needed.
For creators like me, emotional stability is a double-edged sword. I probably won’t write the piercing, heart-wrenching literature I did during my teenage years, but on the flip side, I now have the capacity for steady creative output.
While my writing no longer fluctuates with intense highs and lows, it seems to offer a calm, grounding energy that resonates with readers who seek comfort.
All in all, I’m choosing to embrace who I am now.
In my twenties, I never imagined I’d turn out like this in my thirties, and I’m sure I can’t yet predict what the next decade will bring. Let’s see where this journey takes me!
On a drizzly day like this, there’s nothing better than staying indoors, surrounded by the comforting scent of books. Charlotte, Emily, and Anne Brontë, the legendary sisters, wrote their timeless classics in the quaint village of Haworth, Yorkshire.
I still vividly remember my pilgrimage to their home, staying in an Airbnb near their tombs. Each day, I walked along the wild moorland paths they once wandered, and each night, as if possessed by their spirits, I poured my thoughts onto the page. Those days were simple yet profoundly fulfilling.
Among the three, Emily has always been my favourite. I first read Wuthering Heights in middle school and was immediately captivated by its raw, wild, and tragic story. While many have been moved by the inner struggles and defiant resilience of the plain and petite heroine in Jane Eyre, it never resonated with me. Instead, I’ve always been enthralled by the intense, almost destructive love between Catherine and Heathcliff in Wuthering Heights.
The novel feels like a form of spiritual opium, intoxicating its readers with a crescendo of anguish and ecstasy. Love, after all, has never been rational. Women have always had the right to define their own destinies, and I believe that as emotional, intelligent beings, this is what sets us apart from other creatures, and even AI.
If life demands rationality and restraint, then let love be the realm where we allow ourselves to be utterly unrestrained.
“If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger.”
“He’s more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.”
This year, I discovered a new way to measure time. Every time I visit my friends in the UK, I buy a lot of Yorkshire Tea and tell them, “When these teas are finished, it’ll be time for us to meet again.”
In daily life, I like to listen to the needs of the objects around me: if a teacup is empty, I refill it; if the bed is messy, I make it; if today’s dumbbells and weights haven’t been shown some love, I make sure to touch them. The same applies to my work and writing: when the pen rests too long, it begs to be picked up; when an idea stirs, it demands to be put into words… Slowly, as these small demands are met, one by one, the day quietly folds into a satisfying conclusion.
During my days in Lisbon, I often wandered to the former home of Fernando Pessoa, my favourite Portuguese writer. Along the way, I stumbled upon another treasure: the foundation and museum of José Saramago, Portugal’s only Nobel laureate in literature.
Saramago, awarded the Nobel Prize in 1998, gifted the world masterpieces like Blindness, Seeing, and Baltasar and Blimunda. Yet, he was a man as controversial as he was brilliant. An advocate of anarcho-communism and a member of the Portuguese Communist Party, he angered many by suggesting Portugal should merge with Spain as a single province. His views alienated him from his own people, forcing him to seek refuge in Spain, though in his twilight years, he returned to Lisbon—perhaps drawn back by the same saudade that echoes in the hearts of those who love this city, like me.
But beyond the pages he wrote, there was the quiet poetry of his love story with Pilar del Río, a Spanish journalist. Their bond, captured tenderly in the documentary José e Pilar, reveals a love that defied time and age, a love as enduring and melancholic as the cobbled streets of Lisbon on a rainy day.
Now, far from Lisbon, as I lose myself in his words, I feel the ache of saudade. I long for those golden evenings, for the city’s tender embrace, for the people and moments that left their imprint on my heart. Hope to see you soon, my Lisbon. Until then, I carry your memory like a whispered promise.
I accidentally came across a documentary, The Sinking of the Lisbon Maru, which tells the incredible story of a Japanese ship torpedoed in 1942 while secretly carrying over 1,800 British prisoners of war.
Through survivor stories, rare footage, and expert insights, it reveals their harrowing fight for survival and the emotional memorial held decades later by their descendants. I wonder how many touching stories like this have been buried in the river of history. That’s why I love travelling to different parts of the world and listening to local people’s stories—those that may seem insignificant to others but leave a deep impression on me. We are often drawn to grand historical narratives, forgetting that it is these seemingly ordinary stories that truly shape the world we live in.
I watched the TV series Your Honor, starring Bryan Cranston, during a flight. In the show, his son is depicted as a photography enthusiast who mentions Vivian Maier as his favourite photographer. Intrigued, I looked her up and uncovered the extraordinary life she lived.
In 2013, Vivian Maier’s remarkable story was brought to life in the Oscar-nominated documentary Finding Vivian Maier. The film follows the journey of John Maloof, a young man from Chicago who, in 2007, impulsively bought a box of negatives at an auction. As he reviewed the photographs, he realised he had uncovered the work of a lost master. This discovery led him to piece together Vivian’s life, ultimately revealing a stunning collection of street photography from 1950s and 60s Chicago. By the time her art came to light, Vivian had already passed away, leaving behind only faint traces of her existence and countless unanswered questions: Who was she? Why did she keep these extraordinary images hidden? Was her role as a nanny a deliberate cover for her life as an artist?
Vivian’s story reminds me of one of my favourite authors, Fernando Pessoa. Over the course of his life, Pessoa invented more than 70 fictional authors, each with unique backgrounds and personalities, and published works under their names. Like Vivian, his genius went largely unrecognised during his lifetime. Despite leading such a solitary life, Pessoa indulged deep into his imagination, creating the entire universe within his mind.
I deeply admire creators like Vivian Maier and Fernando Pessoa—those who quietly observed and reflected on the human condition while remaining unnoticed. Free from the distractions of fame and societal expectations, they dedicated themselves to introspection and capturing the essence of our worlds.
For both Vivian and Pessoa, how future generations interpreted their creations likely mattered little. Once a work is complete, it gains a life of its own, open to countless perspectives. For them, the true fulfilment was in the act of creation. As for their enduring impact, that is left for history to decide.
When I read fictional works, three things matter to me most:
First, whether I can find resonance in the story. There’s a unique satisfaction when a creator uses words to express feelings I’ve long held but never had the ability to articulate myself.
Second, whether it opens doors to exploring lives vastly different from my own. After all, I only get to live once, but through literature, I can step into the shoes of people with completely different identities and experiences.
Third, whether it inspires me to ask questions and seek answers. Many works capture the author’s reflections on their time, their struggles, or their emotions. Whether it’s societal issues or personal dilemmas, I often find traces of answers within.
That said, it’s worth noting that fiction, by nature, condenses life into a limited format. This compression often simplifies cause-and-effect relationships. For instance, a character’s action A leads directly to outcome B. But in real life, such straightforward attributions are rare. Life is messy, complex, and unpredictable. Who I am today is the result of countless small, interconnected moments, far too intricate to summarise as neatly as fiction does. Relying too much on fictional stories as guides for life can risk losing yourself in someone else’s narrative and missing out on the richness of your own.
On another note, creation itself is a deeply subjective act of self-expression. Once a piece is complete, however, it no longer belongs to you. As the saying goes, “A thousand readers will have a thousand interpretations of Hamlet.” How others interpret or judge your work is no longer within your control.
What truly matters is that the act of creating allows you to explore and understand yourself. Sometimes, self-reflection feels impossible. But by creating an external object: a character, a story, a world, and then analysing it from a godlike perspective, everything suddenly becomes clear.
To my dear readers,
As we approach the end of another year, I want to take a moment to thank you for being part of this journey. Your support, reflections, and shared curiosity mean the world to me.
May the coming year bring you inspiration, joy, and moments that stir your soul. Let’s continue exploring, creating, and finding beauty in the unexpected together!
Wishing you a vibrant and fulfilling New Year!
With warmth and gratitude,
Camellia ❤️
I like this: Guzheng player: Mindy Meng Wang calls Melbourne home
https://www.theage.com.au/culture/music/playing-a-guzheng-is-hard-enough-finding-europe-in-melbourne-forget-it-20250103-p5l1xu.html
ps
I will be doing a guzhen workshop soon.
this is very very interesting. I have to be very highly selective where to travel now.
its official !
https://www.wired.com/story/boring-cities-are-bad-for-your-health/?ref=thefuturist