My drunken nights in Hong Kong and England, how I gave up alcohol and why it’s better being the real me

After years of steady going with alcohol, I decided to purge it from my life.

I was fervently looking forward to the positive physical aspects that would ensue: better sleep, weight loss, boosted energy – and no more hangovers.

Alcohol is sold to us as a normal, fun thing to do, for celebrations, commiserations, congratulations, because we are happy, sad, or bored. It’s supposed to make us laugh, be more honest, boost our confidence and fuel creativity. So why would anyone, especially me, want to shun all this?

Growing up in Hong Kong, a safe city with a lax attitude towards underage drinking, we teenagers had a lot of freedom: HK$20 drinks in Wan Chai, free booze on ladies’ nights, and drinking beer from the convenience store at Repulse Bay beach – the teenage hotspot. Moving later to England, with its heavy booze culture, I sustained my love of drinking and gained a high tolerance to match.

I look back at many of my hazy, drunken memories in Hong Kong with a level of fondness, from waking up in a lion onesie the morning after a Football Club brunch, not quite sure how or why, to dancing on the bar at Carnegie’s in Wan Chai, to grabbing the mic at the Wanch and belting out cover songs. Not forgetting all the drunken hookups that made for funny stories.

Despite drinking most days, I always had a job, exercised regularly, and even completed a Masters in Law degree. I did not see any problem. When I went out socially, though, my first thought was how and when could I get a drink, and if alcohol wasn’t involved I probably would not accept an invite to go out.

However, over the years it stopped being so much fun. Blackouts and “funny” stories started to fill me with shame and I questioned why I kept doing this.

It was on a train returning from a festival that I knew my relationship with alcohol was finished. Something switched.

I never intended to quit drinking entirely. Fed up after another failed moderation attempt, I decided on a dry few weeks. Those were by far the hardest. Any time I felt a rising emotion, I wanted to drink. Initially I spent far too much on soft drinks, but they helped. A lime soda in hand usually stopped people asking questions.

From here I told myself “for one year, do everything sober”, whether it be my birthday, New Year’s Eve, Christmas, or a wedding. It scared me, but I realised I was happier and healthier this way.

Before this alcohol stunted my confidence and chipped away at my self-esteem. Being sober forced me to go for what I wanted, and talk to those I wanted to talk to – coherently. It wasn’t easy to quit drinking. I had to give myself pep talks, but now I turn up and be myself, because there is nothing more I can be, nor want to be.

It takes more than a day for alcohol to clear your system, so effectively your body is dealing with it all week. Now, I’ll talk to a friend, do yoga, Muay Thai, or walk along the harbourfront with ice-cream. Without alcohol clouding thoughts and feelings, you really get to know yourself, your triggers. It’s easier to take a step back, be less reactive and focus on what’s really important.

In awkward situations, I now take a few deep breaths, to work out what I am really feeling. Being in control makes seeing that ex-partner at a party easier – it gives you a choice, to speak or not. It eliminates the chance of stumbling over a bottle of wine later, saying things you did not mean to say and cannot actually remember.

Alcohol is also a huge waste of your precious time. Does reminiscing about the things you could have done “if only I had the time”, sound familiar? Images of an artist with a glass of red wine and plans formed with a neat whisky in a dark bar all sound romantic and creative, but they are not realistic.

These projects take a huge amount of time, effort and focus. Being sober opens an ocean of creative inspiration and it helped me find my voice as a singer-songwriter – perhaps the biggest gift sobriety has given me.

The greatest challenge is that it seems everyone else wants you to drink. You do not have to tell people you aren’t drinking or why. Just say: “No thanks, not tonight.” Be firm. Keep it simple and short, as in the early days it’s easy to be persuaded.

Your circle of friends may change, but view this as a positive. Work out what you want to do and who you want to have around you.

Being alone was often the hardest part for me. At my most tired and vulnerable I could have drunk without anyone knowing. But I reminded myself no one else truly cared past having a drinking buddy – I was doing this for me. Endless cups of tea, scrawling in my journal, reading and listening to sober stories online, and countless short walks kept me sane, and sober.

I haven’t drunk for almost four years and do not miss that life. After my first sober stint, the pleasure I used to feel being a little out of it was replaced with almost instant discomfort. I wanted to be in control of my actions; to deal with my darker emotions, not escape them.

It’s life-affirming to truly experience the positive and joyful feelings that sobriety brings. The buzz from dancing sober is much stronger than from stumbling drunk across a dance floor. Looking at a sunset without a cocktail is more breathtaking than it ever was with one, and I’d never want to change that. My voice as a human rights advocate is louder and stronger too.

If this resonates or appeals to you, 28 days booze-free is a good starter. In all other circumstances not putting toxins and poisons into your body should be celebrated, so do not hide away or feel sorry for yourself. It may not be easy, but it’s not a punishment.

For me, it was the start of the journey to being the person “Teenage Me” wanted to be. And she’d be pretty happy with where I ended up … and where I’m going, off to do my Dive Master course.