Two consecutive posts about identity. Except this one isn’t about government shenanigans, ID cards, and national identity databases – the identity in question is simply, mine.
Most HK bloggers work anonymously (or nearly so). I decided at the outset that I wanted to blog under my own name. I felt, when I started this web site, that I had no need for anonymity. I’m not a regular visitor to Wanchai, and wouldn’t feel the urge to blog about it even if I were; neither am I a well-connected socialite seeking to leak titbits of juicy gossip.
Well, if you’re wondering about the extended lack of updates, it’s because of the lack of anonymity. There’s so much going on right now that I’d love to blog about, but I simply cannot. It would be too indiscreet. I wish it were good, unadulterated filth that I was withholding from you, but it’s not even that exciting: it’s all over the compass – drama, trauma, wry amusements, self-criticism, defiance, the occasional cliffhanger… real soap-opera material, except the acting is even worse.
Sometimes, you can’t wait for a conclusion before writing about your situation. John Diamond’s book about his terminal cancer, for example, would have been rather less successful if he’d waited to see how things worked out before putting pen to paper. I’m not so heroic, and neither do I have Nigella Lawson cooking for me, so I’m going to bashfully avoid going into any further details until… well, I have no idea.
In short: I’m still here. But I’m not sharing right now.