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

This Valentine's Day, I shared my love, and nearly all my worldly belongings with friends. Sugar-coated, maximum calorie sweetness. L.O.V.E.S. I.T.

Highlights: All About Love

rash, diarrhea, anorexia, fatigue, dyspnea, cough, nausea, infection, vomiting, stomatitis, pruritus, dry skin, conjunctivitis, keratoconjunctivitis sicca, abdominal pain, decreased weight, edema, pyrexia, constipation, bone pain, myalgia, depression, dyspepsia, dizziness, headache, insomnia, alopecia, anxiety, neuropathy, flatulence, rigors.

I wouldn't think depression is so much a side effect of the medication I am taking right now as initial reaction to the list of side effects themselves. Who wouldn't be depressed just looking at this list?

Should 'indecisiveness' be included, if I could be diarrhetic and constipated at the same time? At which point does the flatulence happen then? And if there's already weight loss, then why do I need anorexia?!

Recovering from surgeries and radiotherapy are a walk in the park, a dip in the pool even, compared to the hell I went through as a few of the above side effects kicked in on Day 5 of my target therapy this past weekend.

A B S O L U T E          U T T E R          H E L L

My face felt like I popped my head into a burning fire, dry, so very dry, that the skin started flaking off. Pain. Keeping my eyes open was painful since I was stretching the dry skin of the eye lids; talking or eating hurt since the corners of my mouth were cracking. I was so frighteningly red and blotchy that every time I looked at myself in the mirror, I wept. Spraying water soothed it temporarily, but dried it even more after the moisture had gone. Everything I used, ultra-sensitive facial moisturizers, after sun lotion, aloe vera gel, shea butter, all either stung from too much fragrance, or did not absorb at all to relief the dryness.

For me, pain often brings weakness. And so, the floodgates opened. Why? Why is this happening to me? Why am I taking such toxic medication? How can something so damaging help me heal? What have I done to deserve this? Wasn't I ever good enough?

The same senseless questions that bombard anyone afflicted with (perceived) tragedy or trauma. I'm only mortal.

Then another look into the mirror broke the mood and had me giggling. I ran to Ann - who has now returned to London, whom I miss very much - and announced that I don't have cancer, I'm just a muff-diver with an allergy. Right, too much L Word.

The next day, I woke up, still pretty much in the same condition, my face dry and taut, in pain. I showered, crying, and told myself: I am in pain now. But this too, shall pass.

And it did. I was mummifying myself with cotton pads soaked in water while watching Heroes season 3 (would Ali Larter's schizophrenic triplet character just accept her super powers already and deal, for F's sakes!?! I didn't ask for this, either!!!) with PT, when I pulled out a tube of Aveeno moisturizer at his suggestion since it is known to be very mild and hypoallergenic. It calmed and soothed me instantly. I could even smile!

Since the weekend, my skin has somewhat 'warmed up' to the chemistry and the blotchiness has calmed A LOT. I am now lathering vitamin E on my face both before and after bed. So now, I'm an oiled up sun-dried tomato instead!

I still have 20 odd days left of this course of therapy, and maybe the worse is yet to come, maybe I get to try out each and everyone of those side effects above. But just knowing over 100 people have died from the bush fires in Australia, singed alive while fleeing flaming inferno caused by nature itself, I am grateful with my mere sunburn on the face.

At the end of the day, I still have fabulous hair.

Highlights: Cancer Talk