Gotta love these shoddy Chinese contractors. There is a certain degree of affection/endearment I intend when I speak of the shortcomings/flaws of my people. Can I call them my people? Is that silly? I can't say I belong, but I can't say it doesn't feel familiar to hear this foreign tongue yet be able to understand the meaning to some degree.
Also, the anti drug ads remind me of my uncle, whom I'm told had quite the colorful past running with the wrong crowd in hk as a youth. Everywhere we've been, I wonder if my mom walked these steps, or saw these sights. I know so little of our family's past, I wonder if I'll discover anything useful in being here, if I'll make any connections to the past. I wonder where my popo lived, and what she interacted with. I wonder if my mom and her sisters visited and how often. My gong gong and the girls lived in mainland, while my uncle and popo lived in hk. My mom tells me I cut up all her pictures from her days before me. But who leaves scissors accessible to a baby?
Hong Kong is large on such an entirely different scale than anywhere else. It is playing another game all its own. Hk cannot be measured in any degree of large I ever imagined, or learned about. To be global is a label I feel like hk has come to epitomize unlike any other place I've been, reaching far beyond the urbanity of NYC or London (these three often considered the trifecta of international economies).
Soyfully peaked,
Jt
No comments:
Post a Comment