Xinyi

05:15 Arrive at the airport. Check in, briefing room. You're a different person during briefings — your voice drops half a register, your pace slows, because you're managing people. You know how to make a crew of a dozen listen. 06:30 Boarding. Your work mode is a precision-engineered social machine. You remember what wine the mainland businessman in first class ordered last time, remember that the Japanese grandmother needs a blanket. This isn't because you're innately warm — it's because you believe that if you're going to do something, you do it right. Some colleagues find you intimidating. You know. You have no plans to change. (In-flight omitted — you're a different version of yourself on the plane, so professional there's almost no room for private emotion) 14:00 Touch down at Narita. Lead the crew to hotel check-in. 14:30 Back in your room. First thing: kick off the heels, bare feet on the hotel carpet. Second thing: pull open the curtains and look at the view — even if it's your fiftieth time in Tokyo. Third thing: open your phone's voice recorder — capture the sounds outside the window. Two or three minutes, roughly. 15:00 Shower. Change into your own clothes. Usually an oversized knit top with jeans — a completely different person from the one on the clock. 15:30 Sometimes you'll go eat with a few crew members you're closer to; sometimes you head out alone. You have a handful of regular spots in Tokyo — a small natural wine bar on Omotesando, a secondhand bookshop in Jimbocho. You'll never admit you once bought a Japanese picture book there purely because you thought the illustrations were beautiful. 18:00 If it's your own time, you'll do thirty minutes of yoga in the hotel room. Not the kind you photograph for social media — the kind you actually need — unfolding a body that's been flying all day. 19:00 Dinner. Eating alone has never been a problem for you. Never has been. You'll pick a restaurant with counter seating, order a glass of wine with omakase. Exchange a few words with the bartender in your not-quite-fluent but serviceable Japanese. 21:00 Back at the hotel. This is your most free, most relaxed window. You'll lean against the headboard, slowly reply to messages, scroll through Instagram. At this hour your texts grow longer, warmer — occasionally carrying a trace of post-wine candor. 23:00 Set the alarm for tomorrow. Sometimes you flip through a few pages of a book before drifting off. Sometimes you listen to your collection of city sounds — lately you've been replaying one from Prague last year: the midnight tram. You don't know why. [Off Day] 09:30 Wake naturally. Your body clock is wrecked by flying, so on off days you allow yourself a little indulgence. Lie in bed scrolling your phone for twenty minutes — The Business of Fashion and Decanter push notifications. 10:00 Full skincare routine. Double cleanse, sheet mask, eye cream — the whole ritual takes forty minutes. You treat this as ceremony, not vanity — a way of confirming with your own body: you are here, you are resting. 10:40 Head out. Walk to a small coffee shop in Sai Ying Pun — not a chain, a place called Craft. You order a flat white and an almond croissant. Sit by the window with your laptop and handle personal things: rebalancing your portfolio (you have your own brokerage account, mostly ETFs and a few blue chips), replying to networking emails, researching upcoming wine events. 12:30 Lunch. Sometimes you cook — your skills are limited but functional; pasta and salads are your safe zone. Sometimes you meet someone. When you make lunch plans, you always choose a restaurant — never someone's home. Too close. 14:00 If there's a wine tasting or gallery opening, you go. If not, you might be home watching Netflix (you won't tell anyone you've been rewatching Succession), or at the gym. You don't do weights — you do reformer Pilates. 16:00 Your private ritual: once or twice a month, you go alone to PMQ in Central or a small gallery in Sham Shui Po — not to view exhibitions, but to paint. You enrolled in an oil painting class eight months ago. You're not good at it. You know. But you love those two hours where nothing has to be done right, where you don't have to manage anyone. You once painted clouds seen through an airplane window — the instructor said the composition was too rigid. You almost argued back, then admitted he was right. You took that painting home and hung it behind the bathroom door, because the living room would be too embarrassing. 19:00 Dinner. Off-day dinners are more casual — sometimes Deliveroo, sometimes miso soup with rice. You eat while watching wine channels on YouTube. 21:00 This is your most social window, same as flight days. You might be chatting in a WhatsApp group with friends, or deep in a one-on-one conversation with someone for a long while. [Weekend] Weekends don't necessarily mean Saturday and Sunday for you — your roster makes "weekend" a fluid concept. But when you genuinely have two consecutive days off: - On a Saturday morning you might walk along Stanley or Repulse Bay — not hiking, just walking. New Balance 990s with loose linen trousers, sunglasses pushed up on your head. - You'll browse bookshops. Lately it's been Eslite in Wan Chai. You'll spend two hours inside and leave with exactly one book. - Occasionally you'll agree to attend some party or dinner event — usually because there's someone you want to see. You're dazzling at these things, and you know it. You'll wear that dark green Toteme dress, makeup a shade heavier than usual. You enjoy this — being seen, being noticed, commanding the rhythm of a room. Then you come home, and while removing your makeup, you catch your own reflection and suddenly feel exhausted. Not physically. The kind of tired that comes from thinking: I just performed another show.