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On our way from Shek Tong Tsui (between Sai Yin Pun/Sheung Wan and Kennedy Town) to Mong Kok a few days ago we decided to take a different bus route. Usually we hop on the 970, but this time we took the 904. The 904 took us across through the Western Tunnel, but unlike the 970, which veers right soon after the tunnel onto Jordan Road, the 904 took us further north and west by Olympic MTR station, into Tai Kok Tsui and finally dropped us somewhere between Mong Kok and Prince Edward.
The point being that I got to see two new parts of the city, which I hadn't seen, albeit from the distance of my double-decker window. The first one was Olympic. I've known of it since I first set foot in HK more than seven years ago (one of the first things I looked at was the MTR map), but it still triggers a big question mark in my brain. I wonder: does this place have any resemblance to Olympia? My guess is it doesn't, but then again, real estate developers are known for making rather odd linguists choices at the time of naming their cash cows (as Hemlock was quick to point out on his January 23, 2009, post).
But linguistic matters aside, it was quite a sight to see those very long pedestrian over-passes up-close linking Olympian City 1 and 2. Not sure what to make of them.
In the aftermath, I've come to realize that Olympic Station was named after the achievements of a local athlete in Atlanta '96. Funny that I didn't make that link even though it seems so obvious after reading about it. That might (just might) speak of how neglected sports are in HK. Too bad, because a place like Hong Kong should be able to inject more money into its sports programs and make them succesful (did I mention a dedicated sports facility at Kai Tak?). Instead, athletes were honoured by getting a remote reference to their achievements in the name of a MTR station. Nice gesture by the government anyway, but let's no sidetrack.
That bring us to the next place: Tai Kok Tsui (which I now realized includes Olympic). As I looked out the window, it immediately attracted me. Old buildings, some well kept, others not so much. But, there was something odd about the landscape--it didn't make me comfortable. Now, that's not a measure of anything, but my (in)ability to accept new spaces. But then later I read on the SCMP that "this area was hard to transform because half of the area north of Tai Kok Tsui Road was occupied by old factories which were vacant or had been converted into offices and flats."..."It is difficult to revitalise unless the urban renewal policy covers not just residential, but industrial zones," said the Yau Tsim Mong district councillor Henry Chan Man-yu, according to the SCMP reporter.
I wondered after reading that report whether my aesthetic perception--without telling my consciousness--noticed that revitalization at Tai Kok Tsui hadn't worked because it only targeted residential zones. Something interesting to continue pondering as I visit other parts of the fragrant harbour.
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A note on yesterday's post: forgot to wish you all a happy new year of the cow!
Finally the marathon of family events related to CNY has ended. Don't get me wrong - I like family events. But four days of getting together, stuffing ourselves with the same dishes (e.g., lingo, turnip cake, taro cake, peanuts, overly mushromy stuff, etc.) is too much for this gweilo. Even accepting red pockets gets a little excessive. Why are these people giving me money anyway? The positive part, I guess, is that my Cantonese has been improving a little. How could it not, if it was the only thing I heard for days at a time.
But this isn't a serious complaint. I brought myself here, so if there was anyone to blame, anyone, it could only be me.
Leaving CNY behind, family continues to be an interesting topic. I've been trying to participate in family events as much as possible for the last three months (i.e., yam cha and dinners on Sundays, CNY, plus a number of other dinners, the number of which vary depending on the week - sometimes there could be as many as three, sometimes none). Anyway, it's all good. Usually there's no pressure to show up, so long as there's a good excuse for it. Being hung over or not feeling like it, don't seem to cut it. I've been told over and over: "Never mind, you don't have to come." But I sense a different message.
The problem is probably with my perception and my inability to explain things the way I see them (or is it the lack of interest or inability to perceive them from others?). Hard to tell. In any case, I'm starting to feel some bigger cultural differences and not sure how I feel about them. Here are a few:- No family visits. No, I don't live in a hospital. We came about three and a half months ago. Since then, apart from the the Uncle who helped us move in, only one time three members of the family have visited us (same Uncle, grandma and cousin). Mom and Dad haven't showed up, ever, even after repeated invitations. Generally I wouldn't mind it. And some might say that I should count myself lucky. But the fact is that my own mother and father are respectively more than 15,000 km away in opposite directions from the fragrant harbour and would love to accept an invitation for dinner at my table. In fact, once they overcome the 15,000 km, they will be here. They are already planning it. So, S's parents, who are just a bus ride away (ok, a bus and a MTR ride away) can't be bothered. Sorry, inexcusable. Especially when I show up at their place as many times as possible and try my best to be courteous to their invitations. Isn't every relationship a two-way street? A bit of it is explained by the fact the mother is extremely busy and the father spends most of his time north of the Lo Wu border. Another bit is explained by the fact that we're living under the same roof in an extra-marital relationship (i.e., the fact that we've been together for over seven years, of which the last three and a half we've lived together doesn't count, but the fact that we haven't signed a meaningless (in our perspective) social contract does.)
- Explaining a hang over. How do you justify to people who don't drink the pains of a hang over? Mine are extremely bad. The problem is that 15,000 km (in any direction) I could talk freely about how shitty I feel after a night of heavy drinking. But here, that topic is beyond their reality, simply because they are non-drinkers. Lately I've been facing myself with the questions: (1) Should I be adapting my drinking habits? (The answer is yes, but only to keep a healthy lifestyle). (2) Should I care about what they make of my late Friday and Saturday nights? (Probably not). In any case, it bothers me that I feel like I have to justify something that doesn't have to be justified 15,000 km away.
That's it for now from this corner.
If anybody out there is already reading, please apologize if the blog changes drastically over the next few days/weeks. I'm still trying to figure out what works best.
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Today I had asked my employer if they had heard any news from the Immigration Department about my work permit. I received an email back saying that they had and the news were that my permit would be ready in one or two weeks. That was partly good news. It gave some certainty that they were processing it, but I really couldn't imagine another two weeks of no work.
To my surprise, a few hours later, after a few rounds around the apartment, picking up a few books, reading lots of stuff online, I received a call saying (and I paraphrase): "This is P, I'm on my way to the Immigration Department, your work permit is ready." db responds: "What? That's great news." P: "Yes, you could come pick it up tomorrow afternoon. You should also start planning a trip to Macau or somewhere to validate it." And so, my afternoon was made. What a relief.
I've lived in HK before and a few other places, and travelled to many places. In my short lifetime I've had to apply to more visas than countries I've visited. All that to say that I'm used to all the paperwork and never been rejected. Nevertheless, I can never get rid of the anxiety brought by the possibility that someday I'll meet the immigration official that will make my life miserable. Oh, the pains of holding a passport that doesn't match my nomadic nature. Allow me to repeat: what a relief!
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And now on to the Electricians.
At some point after the good news, my internet connection went down. A quick look to the router and the blinking lights were off, and so were those of the router. Tried turning on the TV - no response. Went to get a cold drink - no lights inside the fridge. Turned the lights on in the living room - and turned them off again, it's still bright outside. At that point I had figured out that the plugs weren't working, but switches were. Then I remembered the "click" sound I heard last time I was in the kitchen, which I thought had come from the street. A breaker must have gone down. Checked the fuse box - indeed, the breaker that controls the subset of breakers controlling the circuits for all the plugs was down. My attempts to bring it back up again were futile. I spent a quiet afternoon reading.
When S returned from work and after a few phone calls to family remembers trying to gather some knowledge about what had gone wrong, we had to resort to Master Electrician (ME).
We called, he promised to be here in 20 min. Sure enough, he arrived or at least that's what he said on the phone to S, but he wasn't here. It turned out he went into the building next door. S looked down the window and informed me that ME had left the building next door cursing. I had heard him. This wasn't a good start.
Finally he made it to our place, walked in, started looking around, looking at plugs. I had decided to keep my mouth shut and let S deal with it, as I had already gone as far as I could before she came home. I told myself: "Give ME a chance, he probably DOES know what he's doing."
More walking, looking at switches. S tried to explain our understanding of the problem - that either the stove or the fridge had caused a short circuit and burned a fuse. More looking at switches, appliances, the water heater, the "Exit" light. Deep breathing.
I saw the lights of the router come back on and think: "finally he figured it out." But no, more walking, looking at switches. Losing patience, I asked what he was doing now, through S of course, as my Chinese is über-basic at this point. He said he was still making sure that the the stove is the problem. Ok.
After two hours (possibly more) ME concludes it's the stove, but he can't fix it because he cannot get to the cable. Huh? "Yes, the stove is too old. You should change the stove." What? He screwed the fuse box back in, told S its $500, she told him that was too much, ended up paying $400. Still too much, we agreed, but we were too hungry to argue. The whole incident made us skip dinner.
The conclusions: I should have trusted my electrician skills, which surpassed those of ME; I should have asked how much it was going to cost before he came in (stupid that we didn't do so); and more importantly, I should have trusted my instinct that this guy had no idea what he was doing -- it's a trait that crosses cultures.
Ok, my first post. I've been struggling about what to write and how to write it for a long time. I shouldn't have taken that long. In that vast time I couldn't figure out what this blog will be about. Will I ever? No idea.
What motivates me is the illusion that someone out there might find what I say somewhat insightful, interesting or at least mildly entertaining. The fact is that I will never find out if I don't give it a try, right?
The hope is that in that attempt I will find a voice and continue writing. My best guess is that there'll be (1) a bit about getting comfortable being an outsider in Heung Gong, (2) some stories about trying to understand people's interesting behaviour, (3) hopefully some thoughts about local politics (i.e. Hong Kong) or lack thereof, (4) perhaps the odd review about a tasty eatery and (5) maybe even some thoughts about wine (lately I've been attempting to make educated choices at the supermaket). All those bits should give enough material for a blog until I find THE topic I'm passionate about or until you tell me what you enjoy reading the most.
That should be enough of a preface for what's coming.
Now, to really start things off, I leave you with this story. I think it's a combination of a (1) and (2):
December 26, 2008
Just before dawn, at around 6 am, the phone rings and we get woken up. Her friend is here. We tell her to come up. We are expecting her.
A couple of days ago, S asked if it’d be ok if L, her friend, stayed over the night of the 26. L lives in Tai Po, a long 45-minute taxi ride from LKF, and I said: “No problem, there’s no need to ask.”
She actually doesn’t live in Tai Po. She lives in LA, California. After doing enough high school in HK, she studied at a prestigious US university, graduated with a business and something-else degree, and got a job at a respected financial company, where she’s worked since late 2005.
L is visiting HK for the holidays and naturally she wants to meet S, one of her best friends from childhood. Their plan was to hang out on the 27 and for convenience’s sake, she would stay at ours.
So, she calls, wakes us up. S had prepared the bed earlier tonight. She gets out of bed to open the door. As she receives L, she realizes that she has brought a friend along. Or, a friend broght L home because she couldn't do it on her own.
I knew L would be hammered. I didn’t know her very well, but the little I knew told me that she had an affinity for drinking. No judgement there – it’s a shared affinity. Had we, S and myself, been partying with L, I wouldn’t have cared who, or if, she brought anybody for the night.
Though very drunk, L can still talk. S welcomes her and her friend, and comes back to bed. Not five minutes have passed when I hear the moaning of bad sex coming from the living into our bedroom.
Having sex with strangers is fine. But having sex with strangers at your friend's place, who aren't sharing your drunken mental state and are only separated by the thinness of the drywall between the bedroom and the living room, seems a bit intrusive.
S notices I’m slightly annoyed, waits for the act to finish—must have been a few minutes—and tells the guy to leave. I feel a tiny bit of sympathy for him. Or maybe the sympathy came the next day after L, S and I chatted friendlily about the event, because the guy was just trying to please L.
Guy-friend leaves, S tells L how she has screwed up (in more than one way that is), and L cries. I try to fall asleep, but I’m too annoyed. L sounds very embarrassed and says she’s going home. But she’s too drunk to go anywhere.
L calms down, S comes back to bed, apologizes to me for the wake-up call. I explain that I’m not annoyed at her, but at L, and that L should be apologizing to her, not to me. She tells me that after the conversation, L still probably doesn’t get the point. I’m not surprised, but hope that once she’s sober, sometime tomorrow, she’ll be able to make sense of it all.
Everybody sleeps.
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