A heart for hong kong

A Heart for Hong Kong

Some years ago I indulged in a documentary on the City of Kowloon. Its labyrinthian apartments sparked numerous wonders on the absolute bedlam and secrets nestled in the packed walls. When I finally got to Hong Kong it felt like all the stories from within this famed city had escaped, belly upturned, and scattered all over the metropolis. Behind every window and inside every door was a story being lived out. There were years to the eyes of almost every soul I passed, each living their own mechanical life within the intricate framework of this bustling place. 

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Hello, Hong Kong

Hong Kong felt like the love child of a haphazard affair between Tokyo’s kitschism and Delhi’s chaos. A character raised from a diverse trading diaspora as a child, then developing the aesthetics and attitude of neon cyber punk as teenager. The adult Hong Kong feels sure of itself, buzzing to fit its 1.3 million population in its relatively minute 1,132km2 area. When I visited, it was fresh in the ebb of its protests for freedom from China. It was December 2019, and against the throes of rationality I’d decided to spend New Year here. 

There was not much agenda to my visit. It was a simple choice between ringing in the new decade in the familiarity of Shah Alam, or to pursue a mini adventure in Hong Kong. I ended up buying my ticket on Friday night for a flight the next morning. Less than 24 hours later I'd found myself in HKIA, then onto a high speed train destined for the city center. From my seat, I caught a view of the glittering skyscrapers, nestled in between looming mountains. Even from far away Hong Kong's density was shouting out to be noticed. 

I was staying with an old friend, Hazlan. The only obligation to my visit was to help him move apartments from North Point to Jordan, and this was settled on the first day. In that welcoming 24 hours I finally understood the meaning of compact living. His old apartment was one room divided into two areas by a curtain, one side hosting a bed and the other, a sofa. Across the corridor, a kitchenette was situated right next to the toilet seat. I prayed that no cooking was ever done in the kitchen-toilet room. This is pretty good, I remember Hazlan telling me, some people actually have it a lot worse. His new apartment was slightly bigger, a modern studio with a balcony and proper kitchen. It was located off a junction on the busy Nathan Road. 

After we had finally unpacked everything, I sat down to rest. From the open balcony, the city was still humming, its twinkling lights the last thing I saw before I drifted off to slumber. 

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Familiarity in the Foreign

I get why you've lived here for so long, I told Hazlan later that week. 

My trip had been blooming at a leisurely pace - late mornings, takeaways, laundry runs, and self initiated explorations. Half days spent watching movies due to the rainy weather, reading away the rest of the night. I hadn't allowed myself a relaxing trip in the past 2 years, preferring to coincide my travels with bits of work or fully fledged agendas. The lack of concern for deliverables, content, assignments, meetings and even a general must-do list had already put this trip as an anomaly. I was free to chill, free to just be and experience the place and its pulse, photographing whatever it was I wanted without thought on technicalities. 

The morning of this particular conversation, we were buying groceries around the area. Our route had taken us through some of the local markets. From here, I had begun to swim in the city's sensory pools. There were so many things to inspect - a cart full of powdery sweets next to ginseng roots; elderly gentlemen having tea in a pawn shop. From street to alleyway, there were all sorts of fashionable get ups. The area was alive with the smell of fried food and smoke and perfume, ringing with the cacophony of traffic. At ground level it was one of the most diverse cities I’ve ever visited, an interestingly similar feeling I got from the likes of London and New York.  

Why? Hazlan asked. He had lived here for the better part of 4 years, working as a full stack developer. 

Because it feels so familiar, I explained. 

Hazlan grinned. 

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Happy New Year

On the morning of the 31st, we hopped onto the MTR and made our way to the popular Tsim Sha Tsui (TST) district. From here, we it was only a short walk to the Avenue of Stars, and it's iconic view of the city skyline. Even from across the waters you could smell and hear the hunger of thousands working and partying, set against the sparkling metropolis of Central Hong Kong. Above, a unifying layer of thin smog and clouds cascaded over the shiny towers and pale apartments. The omnipresent grey sky was a hallmark of the colder months in the city. 

At the time, traces of the Hong Kong protests were still evident on the otherwise clean harbour esplanade. There were hints of graffiti scarring sidewalks and walls, a tinge of both weariness and wariness staining the air. By sunset, armed forces were already out in their protective gear, ready to pull the plug on any overzealous activist. The famed New Year fireworks had been cancelled due to fear of gatherings, and if I wasn't so intrigued by the reason, I would've been disappointed. As it was, we spent the last night of the year navigating through pockets of relatively peaceful protestors, partygoers, and policemen. We caught several small displays of fireworks from private buildings and decided to journey home. 

Right as we exited the Jordan train station to get back to the apartment, a parade of protestors were filing past. They were screaming in unison, waves and waves of echoing sentiments and uproar, ready to march through the night. Most were masked, clad in their solidarity of black. The protestors disrupted traffic as they filed past, scattering debris on the roads, though they didn't bother pedestrians. On social media, reports of violent pockets were prickling throughout the city. Against the buildings around me I could see police lights flickering and reflected, its humming piercing the air. There, in the heart of the masses, with the din of a hundred voices calling for freedom, I looked up to the sky and welcomed the new decade.