I hear wind

Sneaking between the giant buildings

Playing the songs of feelings

Stops by the sea and strokes the dark long hairs

Of those hearts they call the rares

If wind carries

I’m sure the city whispers

Words of callings to a stranger somewhere

**

They say it’s easier to see things from a distance but for me, it’s just a spiral downward as I’m a person who heavily relies on senses for memories and relationships. Hong Kong and I have a complicated relationship. I could never lay my finger upon the moment it started, nor the moment it ended. I blame it on both Hong Kong’s ever-changing personality and my indecisive nature in this relationship, one that is easier to be described as a “love-hate” one according to the general social concept to avoid an infinite conversation. The city’s soil or rather, the huge slice of concrete of this city was where I walked my first step as a three-year old, where I had stumbled on and gained green bruises from learning to bike, where I sometimes sat idle as a kid to comprehend words on paper, and where I laid my back on the ground and tried to make forms and shapes out of cloud every summer. Hong Kong is the city that raised me.

When I left Hong Kong and moved to the United States at the age of fifteen, I realized that I had taken the vast resources the city has for granted, one being the vast electricity network. I remembered when the plane to Chicago took flight, I was in awe with the abundance of light the city had. The constant traffic left streams of light trailing the highways, disguising as the shadow of the Milky Way. The households of seven million people became a network of man-made constipation on ground. The mere abundance of electricity of the city kept me staring outside of the plane’s window for around fifteen minutes until the light trails and household lights finally converged to a single light source. After six years of living in the United States, I know now that the outsider’s glamorous ideas of Hong Kong have only represented a tiny faction of the city, the parts that the city tries to show off.

You see I was oblivious to the greatness of Hong Kong: it never occurred to me that I used to live in one of the most gorgeous cities in the world. In fact, it has been ranked as the most gorgeous city with its three-dimensional skyline. While traditional buildings from the 90s remain in some older districts like Wan Chai and North Point, the districts of Central, Mid-Level, and Admiralty are filled with glass-paved skyscrapers that stood firmly and confidently in the middle of the air, dominating the night sky. To my friends who visited Hong Kong for the first time, they described Hong Kong’s skyline at night as phenomenal, fascinating, and unbelievably gorgeous. Yet, to me, it used to be a mere representation of how crowded the city has become and how much urban development the city has challenged itself. I wasn’t able to comprehend fully the beauty of it until my encounter with Chicago.

When I moved to Chicago and saw the city from more than a hundred stories above at the John Hancock Tower, I was amazed by the strict gridding system of the city that was a legacy from the Great Fire. From a corner near the coast at the southeast direction, the neo-classical architecture of the Field Museum of Natural History and the Museum of Science and Industry shined under lights of white and yellow. The abnormally large distance between buildings at that corner as compared to other places was another legacy of history, one from the World’s Columbian Exposition in 1893. It was quiet and peaceful. In fact, the skyline of Chicago seemed to stretch beyond one’s eyes. Those dim yellow lines of streetlights never converged. Rather, their ends curved a bit at the very Northern end, suggesting their infinity. Yet, I had spent my night seeking for lights and buildings that would make me stand still, keep my eyes fixed, and ponder in silence. I was looking for an attention grabber, may it be a building full of different colors, a corner that was especially shiny, or movement somewhere. It was an impulsive and shallow comparison with Hong Kong’s three-dimensional scene, one that ignored the richness of histories Chicago offered.

You see it was not surprising that I didn’t fall in love with Hong Kong’s night sky until a full year after my first encounter with Chicago’s skyline and staying in the United States. During the first Summer I went back to Hong Kong, I visited the Peak, the highest point on Hong Kong Island, and that moment had confirmed my biased love towards the city. The skyscrapers lengthened the city and shined against the mountains that silently stood behind at the background. They made a sharp contrast with the brick-built ancient buildings at Kowloon across the Victoria Harbor where ferries frequently and slowly made their ways to the ports. Along the coast, highways traced the curvy coasts of the sea at both Hong Kong Island and Kowloon and from far away, you can see cars that became tiny light dots that sometimes disappeared into the mountains when they entered the tunnels. Perhaps what distinguishes Hong Kong’s night view and Chicago’s night view is the presence of life to me. There are movements, actions, and most importantly, memories that are attached to the buildings and places in Hong Kong. This is the city I had stayed for nine years, a particular nine years as a child who was learning everyday about the environment, the people, and the culture from scratch. A nine-year from another period would never be the same. Therefore, I sometimes like to think of the city’s artifacts as time capsules that are particularly designed for every single person who grows up there.

**

In hindsight, it seems to me that those days that I was oblivious towards how the outer world perceives Hong Kong were more innocent and happier than the ones that came after I acknowledged its greatness. Perhaps it was more of a result of the hardship I had to endure after moving to Chicago, somewhere along the line of managing new friendships, being independent with a depressed mom, and finding my identity at school. In this sense, it was an unjustified impression I had imposed upon Chicago. However, I guess emotion, memories, and places are intricately tied together and are indispensable. Therefore, part of what I want to tell you is what it’s like to feel the slow-paced personality of the city, how annoying it could be when the city tries its hardest to agitate you, and some noticeable discrepancies in the society that had showcased the social issues the people faced in this city. These are the dimensions the tourism board website and expat blogs have rarely showcased. For those who came from abroad and decided to build a life here, Hong Kong is often either identified or romanticized as a land of opportunities and a well-balanced fusion of where the East meets the West. These are not deceptive to speak about. However, they are simply told too often that the treasures of Hong Kong’s unique culture could easily be shoved aside. In fact, as I mentioned, another side of the story includes some dark things as well. Something like the implication of parents’ reliance towards private tutorial centers on their children’s education and the vast difference of wealth at different districts are not topics that could be easily seen and evaluated. Their effects and impacts are woven into the very fine details, habits, and emotions in the daily lives of many Hong Kong people. For example, the growing tutorial market meant that on the other end, a child in Hong Kong has rare times to simply go to the park, make friends, and play. It means that the educational curriculum has increased in volume and difficulty. Most importantly, speaking from someone from there, it also symbolizes the social concept of education as the sole means to achieve one’s dream.

**

Two years ago, my American friend visited Hong Kong during Summer. She said, “I’ve been here for a while and got my bearings already. Instead of you being the tour guide, why don’t we try the other way around? I can be your tour guide”. I enthusiastically agreed. When I visited her at her hostel at Tsim Sha Tsui the next day, I met Andrea from Sweden, Tony from the States, Bryna from England, and Raimond from Germany. They had no trouble commuting and asking for directions at all. Bryna said, “The names of places like Prince Edward and Admiralty remind me of home sometimes”. When we went to Lan Kwai Fong, a hub for drinking, clubbing, and dining, after dinner, I for the first time entered a bar full of foreigners only, all expats or tourists. It was exciting to hear where everyone came form and how they decided to Hong Kong. Andrea was here to open a bank account. Bryna and Tony were here as one of the their stopping points of their Southeast Asia backpacking plan. Raimond was here to look for a job in Engineering. In fact, during the three days my friend was being my tour guide, besides the announcements of the MTR stations, Hong Kong’s subway system, I found myself pretty much using English strictly and did not even hear any Cantonese except the side conversations inside the cabinet of the MTR trains. It was not until a phone call from my Dad that I realized I had slowly emerged into the expat community. He asked me, “where did you guys go?” and I automatically used English to reply and described places like Tsim Sha Tsui and Tai O. “Sounds like you guys have fun. I used to go to Tai O a lot as a kid and the tofu dessert at the corner of the port was the best”, he noted. “Oh right…”, I answered confusingly, remembering my dad’s childhood stories. My mind suddenly played back the Tai O my dad knew and the Tai O I’d just been to. The two Tai O similarly still held a kung fu temple at the top of the mountain and steel-made houses. They were still full of fishermen who produced dried seafood and fruits. However, the Tai O my dad knew included a small river where he fished with his friends every weekend, an inevitable conversation about the government with the snack store owner, and a dog that always barked and chased after him at a temple near the port, all of what I didn’t notice or visit with my friends. I felt somehow guilty of not showcasing these sides of Hong Kong to my friends.

After three days, I couldn’t tolerate my oblivion towards the rest of the city anymore and felt the need to bring Hong Kong’s true self to light. I therefore invited my friend to my family’s weekly gatherings at a local dim sum place and took her for a tour at the public school I used to study. We strolled aimlessly at Mong Kok, the area where many young people gather and shop for fast-fashion. Both the people and boutiques in Mong Kok had symbolized the local culture. Streets were nicknamed as the Lady’s Street, the Goldfish Street, the Gym Shoes Street, as the whole streets were filled with carts and tents that literally sell either clothes, or fishes, or gym shoes only. Sometimes, there are local restaurants between alleys. They usually fit at most ten to twenty people with sometimes a mix of middle-aged men reading newspaper leisurely, students in groups hanging out after classes, and one or two scary-looking individuals inside the crowded spaces. A television hangs at the top of the entrance and occasionally, we hear a series of fluent swearwords from other people as they lost their bets in horse racing games. As I tried to place my order, I felt pressured to speak fluently in the codified language. For example, a toast with peanut and jelly would be abbreviated to a three-syllabus Cantonese word. Slants about the amount of sweeteners, the type of toasts and eggs, and different drinks flew in the air as the waiter continued to stare at the television. He didn’t seem to care what you order or you as a customer. It was completely different from the well-spoken English and polite services in the tourist areas. If you somehow opened a conversation about taxi drivers with them, they might stand near your table and tell you how unfair and rude the drivers are, how the flat rate is going up, how it’s harder and harder to make a living in this city, and how they are trying their best to maintain the Cha Chaan Teng, the “tea restaurant”. In fact, similar stories fueled many small shop owners in Hong Kong, even places for food in residential areas. They are representative how Hong Kong had climbed to be one of the most expensive cities to live in in the world, a city made of concrete and dominated by real-estate companies, as many would describe. Yet, occasionally, you heard some pretty hopeful stories as well. I remembered there is a dessert place that sells steamed egg pudding and milk pudding and is internationally famous. Yet, the place did not upgrade to glamorous themed-decorations, nor did they expand the place. Rather, they continue to hire prisoners who were released from jails and hire more of them. In a fast-paced environment, small family-owned businesses rely on integrity and quality to deliver values. They take responsibilities towards the community at hand directly. Strangely, there is a sense of intimacy from these interactions and observations.

Perhaps this is what attracts me about Hong Kong: the closeness of people and the openness to share stories with strangers. You see that Hong Kong’s lack of space and tight-knit areas have actually provided me an environment to expose to multiple elements that could easily develop into social groups, say social economic class. It is not uncommon to find a luxurious car owner standing next to a street janitor on the street. The irony of the picture breaks my heart each time as I ponder about the disparity within this internationally renowned city. Yet, wealth and happiness seem to work in the opposite direction of the general idea in the United States. The lower the wealth, the happier the person seems to be in Hong Kong. I remembered spending a Summer tutoring my little cousin and babysitting her and her other peers. My family is considered the most fortunate one as all my other extended families have occupations that are labor intensive, may it be being a cab driver or the delivery person. Yet, after spending around ten hours per day with children from different social economic backgrounds, I’ve realized that those with less wealth are more content and grateful towards their present situations. They are more present-minded. They don’t have their five-year plan ready or large ambitious goals but they have an appreciation towards what they already have, may it be an ownership of a small apartment or the new restaurant around the corner. When I asked the children why they needed to learn English from me, they simply noted that it would make their parents happy and it was good for future school curriculum. On the other hand, amongst the children whose families have wealthier backgrounds, they doubted their success far more often and in fact was often too tired to engage in activities as they had so many tutorial lessons to attend. In fact, parents who scheduled many activities or tutorial classes for their children were coined as “Monster Parents”. While I believe there was still a diverse of parents out there, that Summer of tutoring my cousin and her friends was a moment of reflection for me to ponder these subtle social issues that were intricately related to the current Hong Kong.

I guess by the end of the day, it was both what the place offers and the people I met in this city had kept my silent love with this city. I don’t mean only the family and friends who live in Hong Kong. I believe that everyone in someway connects with the place their family lives in unlike any other places. What I mean is those conversations and moments of engagements with strangers, perhaps the taxi driver who passionately discusses politics, the mothers of my seven-year-old cousin’s peers who exchange gossips about teachers and exchange cooking recipes, the vegetable sellers at the local market who tell you all about how weather at different parts of mainland China affect each type of vegetables. One could easily spend hours of conversations with them as long as one speaks Cantonese and occasionally nod as they speak. I think the openness of sharing from these people takes away the distance between people in a big city. They are probably conversations that you don’t expect, nor remember afterwards; however, at the moment, you feel that the matter is the center of the speaker’s mind.

**

Now, as I have hinted earlier, Hong Kong and I had a love-hate relationship, one that is far too complicated to fully capture in these white spaces. I didn’t expect the city I grew up in could provide such cultural shocks after I spent three years in the United States. I was confused and cynical towards the city at one point. I remembered one Summer, I lost my motivation to explore and being physically outside of my comfortable home. The hotness and the stuffy polluted air made me physically sick. I felt nauseous, tired, with a slight headache for weeks until I realized that I probably had a heat stroke. Yet, I was cynical towards everything I used to appreciate in Hong Kong. Walking into the MTR station, I was overwhelmed by the amount of people around me. Children in school uniforms were chasing after one each other while their parents leisurely and slowly walking and talking behind. During rush hours, people in suits walked like lightning and if you are inside of the train, you’ll have to brace yourself for being packed like sardines and the smell of sweat. To transit at the Admiralty station, everyone rushed towards the opposite platform for the Kowloon line. It was like a race and those who stayed behind would need to wait for the second or even the third trains to get on board successfully. When I hanged out with my friends, I found myself losing bearings in terms of latest fashion trends, travelling programs, and shopping locations. I was bored as my friends excitedly explore the new dessert place, the shopping center, and the pop-up fusion food restaurants. Just like any major city, I suddenly found Hong Kong people too materialistic, pursuing meaningless purchases and fashion trends that seem redundant. I wanted a quiet coffee shop to study and read but I never found one after walking five streets. The restless life-style and hotness of Summer made me retreat from going anywhere. I felt a strong need of space, fresh air, and trees. I hoped to indulge in the convenience of driving everywhere and being able to find parking spots easily in the suburb of Chicago.

In fact, up to now, it was extremely difficult for me to understand what happened that Summer and why all of a sudden, the ephemeral magic of this city lost its power. I was not able to comprehend the city, nor to figure out if I should call this city my home. The year after that, Hong Kong existed in my imagination and past only. My family and I planned to stay in the United States for long-term and began looking for houses or apartments.  For a year, we visited at least one properties each week and yet, unable to locate a permanent place as something was not within our decision factors. At our rented home, I began to decorate the four walls for real and buy miscellaneous items like vases, table covers, and chair cushions, things that are not necessary to function in daily life. I was confused you see. I didn’t know where to call home. I didn’t think deeply about the definition of home and the years of emotions and cultural norms Hong Kong had provided to me. Now, looking back at it, it felt like a period of betrayal to the city that had raised me.

This was what it came down to, right? The root of a person is intricately related to the surrounding and Hong Kong is my root. Now when Hong Kong comes back to back to me, it is a city frozen at the state when I was fifteen years old and snapshots of memories during each visitation in summer. I can still smell the egg waffle at the corner of my apartment building. I can still hear the television sounds and hissing sound of the blow dry at the salon that I went to when I was a kid. I can still see the Sun glaring over the soccer field I used to spend my afternoons and evenings at, playing basketball and badminton ironically. Senses kept my memories of Hong Kong alive and occasionally, when I traveled to a new place, similar smells, sounds, and sights struck me and took me back to Hong Kong. I suppose that there are parts of Hong Kong that will never change for me – the laughers at the twenty-people family table each Sunday at a dim sum place, the constant complaints about politics from the taxi drivers, and the light trails along the coasts of Hong Kong.