The time has come for me to pack up my shoes.

Trawling the footwear department at IFC Lane Crawford, Hong Kong, this past CNY-recession-rock-bottom-prices-my-ass-sale, where I tried on one Michael Kors fur boot and was informed the left foot had gone walkabout, or rather hopabout, the stylish disarray of last season's collection reminded me of my life in 2008: colourful, displaced, courageous, exhausting and of course, global and glamorous. Much like the shoes, I, too, toured Paris, London, New York. I even dragged my trusty mango water snakeskin Blahniks (see photo: right next to the coral python Sergios on second shelf) through Boston, Chicago, Vienna, Prague, Morocco, and Taipei, too.

From September, 2007 to October, 2008, I had spent collectively only 8 weeks in Shanghai, the city I have called home for the last 7 years.

I had packed a suitcase full of bikinis and cruise wear when my life was spun into cancer circus, and spent much of the following 6 months in modest (!) pajamas instead, recovering in Hong Kong. I was adamant in keeping my apartment here in Shanghai throughout this time because I defiantly wanted to return to the life from which I was so suddenly and unexpectedly removed. After the body had healed, the mind craved the pre-cancer environment to begin its own journey of recovery. Defiant, because I appeared too well adjusted in my hiatus there. Why are you moving back to Shanghai? But I never left! Just because I had a whole new wardrobe, and still more shoes, doesn't mean I wasn't displaced.

Traveling in the Summer offered me a much desired reprieve from cancer. Basking in Ed Hopper's light at Cape Cod, riding through the seductive Sahara, cruising down the (boring) Blue Danube, all truly let things fall into their natural, needleless perspective. I returned to Shanghai refreshed, regenerated, and realised soon after my birthday that, again, I craved change. Not the 'few hours with my colourist et voila, I'm Violet Crumble!' kind of change, rather, I'm hungry for the cathartic self-reinvention that settling into a completely new environment imposes. New attitude, with stories to tell. I'm ready to let my torrid love affair with Shanghai become tabloid-worthy anecdotes, the legendary myth that it deserves to be.

The legend takes yet another unexpected turn, I suppose. Of course, I would rather leave on my own terms, a sustainable income as a voice talent based in New York would be just swell — if I'm leaving now not for a financial reason, I certainly sat tight in the last few months because of one. Yes, that global one — and upheaving my Blahniks for a relationship with my oncologist isn't exactly my ideal exit, but health should be a priority. So, much as I live to defy logic, much as I loathe to leave my twin custom-built shoe caddies (complete with sun-shielding blinds), moving back to Hong Kong is the grown-up thing to do for now.

Whatever the reason, knowing the next stop on my journey is the positive thing that takes me out of limbo, that indirectly answers the questions that had plagued me for months: Where do I want to live if I left Shanghai? What will I do to sustain the lifestyle to which I am so gracefully accustomed? Heavens forbid that fighting cancer should become a career, I'd sooner sell my vintage reptile clutch collection than be known as the 'cancer chick'. It's another bump in the road, or two in the pancreas, that is the imminent challenge I am confronting now. I have all the trust in the Universe to deal the rest.

So many have kindly offered to help me pack (compulsive accumulation x 7 years = a lot of crap), when in truth, everyone knows my OCD wouldn't possibly allow it. It also shouldn't be a surprise that I do actually thoroughly enjoy the act of sorting. Loves it. How many of you have let me house-sit and returned to a DVD collection categorised by genre? Or a globe-trotter's international spare change collection sorted by currency and counted down to the fen? Like writing, organisation is therapeutic for me.

This solo downtime is also precious for processing and internalising the situation, truly appreciate what is happening to my body, away from the institutionalised expertise, to my mind, my spirit, and hopefully move forward with this knowledge as well. I get to take my sweet time to reminisce with every single pair of shoes before they are stolen away to storage. What more can a girl want?

Forecast for the next quarter? Health-conscious chic, slightly retro, not altogether unfamiliar, with Spring touches of fragility, and always the goddess intrepid.

The footwear and I are shipping out by end of the month. I do want to hear from you, but my volatile reaction to side effects means I'm not always prepared for spontaneous phone calls. Write me, and I promise to tear myself away from the sorting to respond.

Highlights: Shanghai, Shanghai