Letters by Kenny Mah

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October 8, 2014

Hey you,

We have been hitting one café after another in Amsterdam. First Espressofabriek where yogis and yoginis practise in the park opposite, stopping only when the rains come; then Quartier Putain, so named after the red light district; Koko, a sunlit boutique where fashion and cappuccinos mingle; and now we are at White Label, where there is a map of the world with coffee tags attached to countries from which the beans are sourced.

We don’t talk all that much during these café hopping trips. You’d be photographing and I’d be writing in my journal.

There is no need for words. Instead we have an easy rhythm as we move the cups and saucers around the tabletop; we understand which angles offer the best shots. It’s about capturing these moments. This is our meditation; this is our practice, come rain or come shine.

We have so much song in our lives: when you sing lullabies to me in bed or when I make up nonsensical road anthems when I’m driving us around and getting us lost. We have music in our lives. We don’t have to talk, really.

It’s about capturing these moments.

Yours always and always,

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