Hong Kong

Yesterday I took my mother on a trip to Hong Kong, crossing the border at Futian Port, there and back in a day. The schedule was tight, the trip rushed, and with the unrest in Hong Kong these days I was wary — in short, it wasn’t as enjoyable as it could have been.

By chance, before coming, I had just watched Tokyo Story. In the film, when they first arrived in Tokyo, the mother said: “So Tokyo is this close.” When it came time to leave Tokyo, the mother said: “Tokyo really is far, after all.”

Through the whole trip, I was unsettled by that sense in Tokyo Story — the thinness of family affection, the fading away of life. A quiet heaviness lay in my heart.

My mother said, “Hong Kong was a distant dream. I never thought I’d now be inside the dream.”

Throughout the journey, my mother was full of laughter — obliging, restrained. I felt grateful.

Mong Kok, Yau Ma Tei, Jordan, Tsim Sha Tsui, Causeway Bay, Eslite, Chungking Mansions, Sogo, Victoria Park, the Avenue of Stars. Checked off one by one. The blazing sun beat down.

What my mother bought was shower gel, shampoo, facial masks, perfume, and soft candy — all to take home for the family. She looked at gold, and looked at beaded bracelets, but in the end wanted neither: the gold was too expensive, and she thought the bracelets would fade — she didn’t want to be cheated.

Back at Futian, I realized how real and close Shenzhen feels. Hong Kong, by contrast, seemed fake, like a plastic flower.

I don’t know when next I’ll be able to travel and enjoy myself with both my parents again — to somewhere comfortable, somewhere at ease.

Two-thirds of their time has already passed. And a third of mine has passed as well.

There isn’t much time left…

Written at Haidianju, Nanshan District, 17:58, August 12, 2019