let lemons be angry

The strange thing is, i'm not an unfriendly or hostile person. I'd actually not mind talking to a complete stranger.

I have two jobs i can go apply for. HMV and Red Earth--smiles all round. This week looks exciting. I go to hongkong every year it seems, but i can't get sick of it. One can't get sick of a second home, and that's what it's become. Firstly there's the comfort of the sheets that always smell the same in Booth Lodge, and the staff who know my dad. There's the orange juice, the ham jing pengs, the fire soup, the egg boy cakes, the smelly tofu, the oyster omelette, the lemon coke, the red bean ice drink, the lemon water, the iced milk tea! And the chaotic women's street with its large glaring overhead lights and five phases, the soft serve ice cream, the freezing drizzle and biting winds, the impeccably posh places for posh hongkongers, the mad rush rush rush of train passengers. But this time it'll be different. I'm giving something back, after all these years of just taking. I remember that awful year that i tried and failed to find that link one is supposed to have with one's place of birth. But how stupidly romantic i was. Feeling the eerie oneness with a place of birth is over-rated. I'm just going to a place i know, and going to talk to the people.

I was thinking and laughing about some insane canteen scenes, when i realised i'd never have another.