let lemons be angry

I'm in that smoky cybercafe, the uncrowded one that serves free drinks. The last two days have been usual, with everything where it was last year. The weather is pleasant, but i don't get to wear the warm coat i brought. That's no issue for the hongkongers, who whip out the jackets and scarves at the first hint of autumn, ever ready for a fashion change. I had six-lemon-slices coke in a restaurant that was airing the nz-australia rugby match yesterday. Already my appetite is increasing. I managed to find that little shopping place that stella took me last year, the one where all the film stars are said to hang out. It's amazing. The place is so small but it kept me endlessly fascinated. All the retro earrings, hundreds upon hundreds of them, no two pairs the same, exaggerated and clownlike and kooky and everything i love. And i found my SKULL BAG at long last, but it was a hipsack, not my thing. I love that skull print though. And i walked past Tom Lee, the glass window of which gigi leung knocked her forehead in Tempting Hearts (and where i went to knock my forehead last year). Inside: thousands of guitars, shaped like stars, fangs, squares, flashes; in neon green, kimono-print, glitterblack, every colour. Rows and rows and rows of them. Custom-make your own guitar. And how about a white piano splashed with diamonds? Or black with gold gilding? (yuck, but it exists) And plug a guitar up and try it out. There's no such thing as too much of a good thing, where guitars in Tom Lee are concerned.

Tomorrow i shall eat chicken egg boy for lunch, followed by my chocolate fondue fruit platter. The average tourist thinks hongkong is all about dimsum and thisfashion clothes and brands, and the average tourist would be largely accurate. But there are secret alleys, graffiti-ed alleys with plain-door shops that lead to the jewelled caves of arabian thieves, if you know the magic words. To get to my fondue place, one has to squeeze through unappealing fruit stalls and wet back streets, past vandalised metal, to a street that looks as appetizing as leftover fried rice. But open the right door, and purple smoke! there's your fondue fantasy. Hmm. I do remember writing something about japan being all about packaging, with everything looking nice on the outside but not always being pretty inside. Hongkong's quite the opposite then. This is a country where the dirty and old are left dirty and old, juxtaposed with the elaborately uptown. Beside the glassiest of hotels are the lowliest of shops, and they all come together in a wonderful way.

Stuck in my head is that fashion show i saw on the plane. That repulsively shallow judge sounding so bewildered when she said, "her look is too harsh and i just don't get it!" And tyra banks presenting each model-wannabe with her photo and saying, "Congratulations, you made it to the next round" and in a hushed, amost tearful voice, "You have a chance to be the next top model", welcoming them to the exclusive world that she belongs to, with all emotion accorded to such a rare privilege. Will they ever come back down to earth.

Sometimes i think: what if we sent out all the letters we don't intend to send? Will it bring about all the chaos we're so afraid of creating? Or will it make everything peaceful? I wish i knew.